A series of springs vibrated inside the casing. Without my hearing, I couldn’t detect mechanical movements, but I imagined a stack of wheels turning in the chamber, or gears with teeth, sliding levers into notches and shifting pins. Maybe it wasn’t that complicated, but the damned thing had eluded me for seven years.

Until now.

The seal around the casing parted, and for a moment, I didn’t believe my eyes.

It was unlocked.

Painful breaths rushed forth as I cracked it open and found two miniature scrolls of paper within, each no larger than the jade stone.

With only one usable hand, I placed it over the little rolls of paper and worked my fingers in an agonizing attempt to unfurl one of them. The grueling effort became worth it the instant I saw my father’s handwriting.

My beautiful daughter,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably gone from this world and waiting for you in the next. I have so much to tell you, starting with

The tiny paper was snatched out of my grip. With a bellow I couldn’t hear, I scrambled after it. Only my limbs wouldn’t cooperate. My body was too broken to seize the hand that stole my father’s letter. More hands fell upon me, taking the compass, the jade stone, and the second scroll.

The grief that assailed me was unwieldy and devastating. It replaced my blood with poison, my air with smoke, and my limbs with lead weights. I couldn’t breathe or move. Still, I tried.

I reached through the haze, shaking violently, seeking anyone who would listen.

“Please. My father’s letter… I beg you.” I pushed the words out, but not one reached my ears. “I can’t hear. My ears… Something’s wrong. I just want to see the letter. Please.”

The dense mist glowed in pale shades of gray, swirling around me as I lay on my side, bleeding and cracked in so many places. From this angle, with my cheek on the deck, I watched innumerable black boots stepping around me. One pair stopped an inch from my face, and Madwulf lowered into a crouch.

He held one of the tiny scrolls and unrolled it between his big fingers. Then he started reading.

I focused on his lips and made out the word daughter. He was reading the letter out loud, reading my father’s words of love, and I couldn’t hear any of it. I couldn’t interpret the heavy brogue that shaped his cruel mouth.

“Please, Captain.” I tried to lift my hand toward him. “That was…written…for me. I can’t hear…”

He dropped the paper on the deck, and it furled into its original rolled-up shape. His boots pivoted, and he walked away, his attention locked on the second scroll in his hand.

The letter lay only two…three paces away. The chain on my ankle would reach.