Sammy was brought before the Hawk, who stood gazing out of a window overlooking the harbor. The hall was decorated in the style of George I, with a pronounced taste for French Rococo trends and furniture that would not have been out of pce in St. James's Pace. The young woman was made to sit in a gilded brocade chair with curved legs. She squirmed in her seat, but the guards held her firmly.

  "Where is Wilbur?" the Hawk asked in a deep voice, without turning.

  "He stayed behind… searching for something in Balin's house," the sergeant answered, standing at attention.

  The Hawk turned toward Sammy, took a few steps closer, and leaned slightly toward her.

  "Well then, girl…" he said, his tone mixing curiosity with menace. "Where is your grandfather?"

  Sammy lifted her chin, defying the governor's gaze.

  "I don't know. I have no idea where he is," she replied firmly.

  The Hawk let out a brief, dry chuckle.

  "Really?" he scoffed. "And you don't know why he's accused of murder either?"

  Sammy frowned, taken aback.

  "Murder? What are you talking about? My grandfather would never do such a thing."

  The governor let the silence stretch for a few seconds before continuing.

  "Your grandfather isn't as innocent as you think. But…" He paused, as if savoring what he was about to say. "I am willing to pardon him if he cooperates with me. I need him to hand over certain highly important documents."

  "Documents?" Sammy repeated, confused. "What documents?"

  The Hawk took another step forward, leaning in just enough for Sammy to catch the scent of rum on his breath.

  "The ones he mentions in his test novel—a journal," he answered with a twisted smile.

  "It's just fiction!" Sammy protested, stepping back.

  "Fiction?" the Hawk retorted, his expression hardening. "Then why would a pirate from London demand a journal connected to those stories? I'm certain it exists."

  Before Sammy could respond, Wilbur entered the hall, walking cautiously.

  "Perhaps we're overreacting, Governor," he interjected, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

  "It's possible the girl is telling the truth. Sometimes writers just make things up, don't they?"

  The Hawk shot him a piercing gre.

  "And what do you think, Wilbur, of the fact that this pirate risked his life for a supposedly fictional journal?" he said, emphasizing the word "fictional" with disdain. Then he turned to the guards. "Do any of you believe that?" he asked them.

  The guards all shook their heads in unison. The Hawk pnted himself before Sammy, arms crossed, trying to look intimidating.

  "Do you know or don't you know where your grandfather is?" he demanded, his eyes cold and menacing.

  Sammy met his gaze with indifference.

  "No, and if I did, I wouldn't tell you," she answered.

  The Hawk stared at her with disdain, while the soldiers nervously wiped their brows. A teenage girl was standing up to the former legendary corsair—the now all-powerful governor of Is Negra Wilbur bit his lip nervously. Then, the Hawk turned away and addressed the soldiers.

  "Lock her in the dungeons. If Balin Van Buuren doesn't show up by dawn, his granddaughter will be thrown from the walls," he decred before leaving the room.

  The guards dragged Sammy toward the dungeons, while Wilbur remained frozen, watching in horror.

  "WILBUR!" the Hawk's shout made him jump. The elf hurried to the governor's chambers.

  "Shut the door," the Hawk ordered as he entered.

  Wilbur obeyed, trembling, sensing something unusual in the governor's eyes.

  "There's something I want to show you," the Hawk continued, opening a wooden chest. He pulled out some worn navigation charts and spread them across the table. "These charts…" he said, pointing to the characters on them, "no one has been able to decipher them."

  Wilbur examined the charts, rubbing his chin.

  "These symbols…" he murmured. "They're Elvish characters… Where did you get them?"

  The Hawk walked over to a bookshelf where he kept bottles of wine, grabbed one, and poured himself a drink, downing it in one gulp, and started to expin.

  "Many years ago, before I became a corsair in service of the king, I was a pirate raiding Spanish galleons. And one day, we attacked a ship sailing alone without any escort. It was a stroke of luck for us—it carried gold and silver, but it also carried documents. In a special cabin, there was a heavily secured chest, and it even sparked a revolt because it had special guards protecting it. After we defeated those scoundrels, we took the chest. It was a struggle to open—it had special locks—but when we finally did, instead of finding diamonds or rubies, we found these navigation charts."

  "I recognize these symbols," Wilbur said. "But they're written in a ciphered form."

  "We knew the journal was the key to deciphering the charts… but that's when Teddy the Cripple disappeared with it."

  Wilbur looked at the Hawk, clearly impressed.

  "Then we must find that journal," he said. "If, as Teddy told Balin, it's real, and as Balin describes it in the novel he wrote under a pseudonym, then that notebook is the key to understanding the navigation charts and leading us to the treasure described in the story."

  "And what treasure is that?"asked Hawk, intrigued.

  Wilbur cleared his throat and spoke in a low voice, as if not wanting the specters to hear:

  "The Verbeck treasure."

  Hawk narrowed his eyes, evaluating him.

  "Then, we have to find the journal, Wilbur. And remember: the girl's time is running out," he said.