Is Andrés still here? What if he has managed to leave the wreck? If so, how will we find him?

“Miranda?” Nicolas whispers as I pause, crouched on the deck, lost in my thoughts. “Did you hear something? Is it Andrés?”

I shake my head and murmur that all is well. All is not well. I am becoming Portia, fretting over eventualities. That isn’t like me. No, it can be me, just as it can be Rosalind. It is good to consider possibilities and not run headlong into danger. Only there is no grave danger right now. We are safely onboard. So why am I searching for things to fret about?

Because I am unsettled. Something about this bothers me.

“Miss Miranda,” Lord Thomas says as he appears from the fog. “My son will return to check on Emily this morning. We must hurry while she is belowdecks with only one guard.”

Annoyance sparks. We have been moving as fast as we can, and it is never fast enough for Lord Thomas. Move faster. Do this. No, don’t do that. Quickly!

Shame douses the annoyance. The man has discovered his only son is robbing his people of their livelihood. Now that son has taken his only grandchild captive. Can I blame him for being in a constant state of panicked excitement? No. He is beside himself with worry, and he is pleading with us to hurry.

With the badly tilting deck, we cannot hurry. We need to hold tight to the side as we pick our way. We creep toward the ladder descending belowdecks. I am almost there when a figure flickers to my left. I nearly ignore it, presuming it is Lord Thomas urging us to hurry. Then I see a waving hand, a hand that is certainly not Lord Thomas’s pudgy and wrinkled one. I spin, and I have only the faintest impression of Andrés, waving to get my attention before he vanishes again.

“Andrés?” I whisper.

Nicolas turns. “You see him?”

“Briefly and not well. He seems to be trying to say something.”

That tension in me coils tighter.

Something is wrong.

Nicolas nods. “No doubt he is trying to tell us there is a young woman captive below. I can only imagine the panic that would cause for him. He doubtless fears she is about to suffer his fate.”

That makes sense. And yet . . .

I peer down the hatch into the darkness belowdecks.

What if this is not what it seems? What if it is a trap? Yes, Emily could be there, but perhaps she is not a captive but a willing lure. She seemed to be an ally, and my instincts say she is. Do I trust that?

Nicolas has begun descending the ladder. I motion for him to come back up, but he cannot see me. I pause only a heartbeat before climbing down after him.

We’re on the first level among the crew quarters. Water pools around our feet, and to my left, the tilted corridor is under several feet of water. That is one reason for Emily’s captors choosing the captain’s quarters—it is a high point, still almost dry.