CHAPTER 847: 847: DIVINE GAME – CARD SWAP 96

She missed out on Crab’s god-gift, but Rita hadn’t come away empty-handed. Crab’s boat sat lower than their yacht, and in that brief scrape past, she had clearly seen their pet-in-a-box: a black ball marked with a white 8.

The ships they had collided with were scattering in the aftermath, and within ten meters there was no longer any vessel flagged for PvP. Rita slipped back into the helm.

Motor was elbow-deep in repair kits, trying to push their durability back up from seventy-two percent after the hit and sabotage. Mistblade was crouched at the console, holding the fish she had hooked just before the last strike and nudging it closer to the seven-ball, testing whether it would suddenly "wake up" and eat.

Rita dropped beside Maple Syrup and Fat Goose and shared what she’d seen. "If the cue wielder has teams, are we with the white-cloud cue or the storm-cloud cue?"

If the white-cloud striker was their teammate, why toy with them like that? Even with perfect timing, their yacht had lost five percent durability. The ships that failed to shield warped as if they’d been punched in the ribs. How did that help the cue’s side at all?

If the strikers destroyed their own cue-balls, who scored the pocket?

Or did they only need one cue-ball to finish the round?

They fell into silence until Mistblade said, "Come here, quick."

Rita flashed to her side and followed her finger. Their seven-ball had become a sphere of clear water, the tiny white-and-blue fish she’d caught now swimming inside, its size barely one percent of its former self.

The seven still showed, slightly raised on the surface of the sphere, easy to read when the light hit.

Motor dipped a fingertip into the water-ball. Her eyes lit pale blue as she grinned and jerked her chin, motioning for everyone to touch it.

One by one they reached in, like performing a secret rite. Whoever touched it, grinned.

On a nearby skiff, Frenzied Shark and Pine Bloom hovered behind Autumn Deer, waiting. When that entire team began smiling, Frenzied Shark snapped, "Well? Did you hear anything?"

Autumn Deer killed his eavesdropping skill, annoyed. "Nothing but giggling. Moonlight Marsh students have brain problems."

Pine Bloom and Frenzied Shark exchanged a grave look. Together: "It’s definitely a trap."

On the far side, Mudbear scratched his head and asked Wither Monarch, both of them still focused on their lines, "What kind of trap?"

Wither Monarch raked his fingers over his scalp. "No idea..."

There was no trap. When Rita’s team put their hands into the water sphere, they found they could steer the ship.

Not only steer it. The sphere acted like a tiny helm and directional pad.

It wasn’t unlimited, though. The little fish inside was also fuel. Mistblade’s palm-sized catch would give them three seconds of movement.

[Fat Goose]: If I’d known, we would’ve bought more rods and bait, fewer fuel drums.

[Rita]: If we hadn’t gotten a pet-in-a-box, our current loadout would be correct.

[Mistblade]: Yeah. For teams without a pet, rods and bait are probably pointless.

[Motor]: Do we all start fishing? Isn’t that too obvious?

[Rita]: Fish.

[Maple Syrup]: Fish.

[Mistblade]: Fish.

[Fat Goose]: Let’s fish. With the gear Mistblade skimmed, we have five sets. One each.

While the chat scrolled, the others besides Motor were already selecting rods and settling on the rail. This secret would spread anyway. Hiding it to buy a minute more was foolish. Better to make distance now while they had rods and bait and most others didn’t.

Autumn Deer jabbed Pine Bloom and Frenzied Shark with a horn. "Hey. They started fishing!"

Fishing spread by observation. Two cue cycles later, anyone not fighting was casting lines.

Maple Syrup stood with her rod tucked in her armpit, watching the latest strike. "That was a decent hit."

Rita hovered beside her, rod in one hand, deadpan. "Better than the one that whiffed the eight-ball."

Mistblade sat cross-legged, eyes on the water. "You two won’t catch anything like—"

Rita yanked her rod. A half-meter fish exploded out of the sea.

Next to her, Maple Syrup flicked her wrist and slapped a wriggling fish onto the deck.

Maple Syrup glanced over. "Sorry, what?"

Mistblade didn’t blink. "I said that eight-ball shot was truly awful."

Fat Goose tossed his third fish into the console well where Motor could stuff it into the water sphere. He glanced at Mistblade, hesitant. "So. That tiny fish you hooked earlier. How long did it take you?"

Mistblade: "...Mind your own rod."

"Over here!" Rita pointed out to the others. "That ship. Is it sinking?"

Fat Goose and Mistblade dropped their rods and jogged over. "Looks like it."

Motor clanked up with a wrench. "Let me see."

Mistblade: "What number?"

Maple Syrup: "Three. They failed the shield on the last hit."

Rita added, "And the first round too."

It would have been bad enough to whiff the shield, but they had slammed into too many targets afterward. Now a dozen teams had converged to finish them, eager to see what happened when a cue-ball actually sank.

Under concentrated fire, the warped hull slipped lower and lower.

Students evacuated in a rush, splashing toward nearby ships. Most eyes stayed glued to the sinking vessel. No one bothered knocking the survivors off their neighbors’ decks.

A hush fell over the sea. Every neck stretched like a line of meerkats.

Rita and Maple Syrup rose nine meters into the air to see better.

When the last piece of the hull slid beneath the surface, something floated up above the spot where it vanished. A shard of light, about the size of a small boat, hung five meters above the waves, slowly rotating so that everyone could see.

The image on it was ocean. Nothing else. But the word flashed through every mind: map.

"Treasure map?!"

"A map?"

"A treasure map!"

Noise surged across the water. Even if they were wrong, it was the first obvious thread tied to the objective.

"Treasure map?!"

"A map?"

"A treasure map!"

Even the cautious ones couldn’t help it. The whole sea buzzed. For now, it was the only clear lead.

But it was far. Too far. Most could only stare, helpless.

Motor hissed, "We’re at least a thousand meters out. We have, what, one minute of autonomous movement? We can’t make it..."

The smart ones held position like Rita’s team and didn’t waste fuel. Others couldn’t help themselves and started creeping that way, ridiculous as it was.

The closest ships moved first, of course. But each team that rushed the shimmering shard came away empty-handed. Their hands sank through it.

Rita frowned. "Why can’t anyone take it?"

The instant she spoke, the shard blinked out of existence.

A white paw closed on it. A tabby cat’s paw.

Exile Island’s Pocket Tabby.

How could it do that?