“Would you like the below-decks tour?” he asks when my stream of questions finally slows.

“Please.”

“There are a few areas that are not safe for exploration. I do not exaggerate when I say she has been left to rot. The North Sea is not kind to abandoned vessels. I have applied what minor remedies I can, but the patient, I fear, is not long for this world.”

“That is a shame,” I say. “I am certain she has many stories to tell, and many more she could tell.”

“Many stories, indeed, and a life cut short before her time.” His eyes twinkle. “Perhaps you can immortalize her in prose?”

“If you will tell me a few of those stories.”

“I will tell you stories until you beg me to stop, crécerelle. Now, let the tour begin.”

We tour the ship. She has a name, of course. The Temerity. As Nicolas said, she is in ill health, and there are areas—such as the galley—that he cannot show me. He has sectioned off storerooms for his goods, and that is where he has concentrated his preservation efforts.

As for those goods, he is acting as a middleman between smugglers and the shopkeepers who would sell and distribute exotic items. He is also storing more mundane goods to avoid Lord Norrington’s tariffs, which are one part for the Crown and one part for his pocket.

Nicolas and his confederates buy goods from the shipowners wishing to avoid the tariffs and then sell them to the villagers who could not afford those tariffs. It is more complicated than that, but the exact mechanics do not concern me as much as the fact that, whatever laws Nicolas is breaking, he is doing it for the good of others and not to line his own pockets.

Speaking of pockets, we end the tour in a storeroom filled with clothing, some of it exotic in nature and some merely imported from other parts of the British Isles.

“Your wardrobe awaits, my lady,” he says, waving his lantern at the crates. “Find something that suits you better than that dreadful outfit.”

I bristle. “You mean find myself a pretty frock?”

“Not at all, crécerelle,” he says mildly. “Unless that is what you wish. You certainly may select a dress, but I must warn that you would likely find it inconvenient for climbing in and out of caves and pirate ships.”

I dip my chin. “I apologize for the undeserved presumption.” I look around. “There is much to choose from.”

“Might I make a true presumption and offer my aid, as one more accustomed to male attire?”

“Please do.”

Nicolas finds me an outfit—a loose shirt and tight trousers and a pair of knee-high boots with polished silver buckles that make my heart skip. He leaves me to dress and knocks when he returns. I open the storeroom door and strike a pose.