Someone approached him. No, not someone, some “thing.” It had one eye the size of a grapefruit, filled with squiggly veins. The other eye was normal-size, but dangled from its socket.

“I don’t like the look of him!” the monster said. “He looks like someone made him out of clay, and forgot to finish him.”

“I think he’s forgotten what he looks like,” said a boy with an unusually small head.

The monster raised a three-fingered claw and pointed it at Lief. “I order you to remember what you look like!”

“Leave him alone!” shouted Nick.

“I order you to remember!”

Lief suspected he knew what this creature was, and he knew he should have been terrified of it, but he was not.

The creature moved closer to Lief. When it opened its mouth, a tongue lashed out that forked into three octopus tentacles. “I order you to remember what you look like, or you’re going overboard.”

Lief smiled happily. “Okay.” Then he closed his eyes, and rummaged around through his mind until he found a memory of his face. The moment he did, he could actually feel his features changing. When he opened his eyes, he knew he was himself again—or at least something close.

The creature studied him with his huge eye, and grunted. “Good enough,” he said.

Nick, still waist-deep in his barrel, watched the creature closely, ready to fight it if necessary. Then something occurred to Nick that almost crushed his newfound courage. “Are you … Are you … the McGill?”

The creature laughed, and limped across the deck over to Nick, crumbs crunching beneath his fungus-ridden feet as he walked.

“Yes, I am,” the creature said. “You’ve heard about me! Tell me what you heard.”

Nick grimaced from the creature’s awful stench. “I heard that you were the devil’s pet dog, and you chewed through your leash.”

That was the wrong thing to say. The McGill roared, and kicked Nick’s barrel so hard it shattered, spilling brine all over the deck. “Pet dog? Who said I was a dog? I’ll put them on a leash!”

“Just some kid,” Nick said, trying not to look at Lief. “If you’re not a dog, then what are you?”

The McGill poked a sharp claw against Nick’s chest. “I’m your king and commander. I own you now.”

Nick didn’t like the sound of that. “So … we’re slaves?” “Associates,” said the boy with the unusually small head.

The McGill ordered their pockets checked for anything of value, and when nothing was found, the McGill raised his claw, and pointed to the hatch. “Take them below!” he said to a group of associates. “Find out what they can do, and make them do it.”

The McGill watched them go with one eye, and kept the other eye trained on Pinhead. Once the two new kids were gone, the McGill waved a clawed hand. “Open the next one.”

Pinhead did as he was told. The next barrel, however, was empty, as was the next, and the next. Just brine with no one inside.