“You fell from the rope,” I say. “Do not move yet. Please.”

He cocks his head. “I think I am fine.”

“Are you actually a doctor, Nico? Because if you are, you should know better. Lie still.”

His lips curve in a smile. “You called me Nico again.”

I sigh and run my hands along his neck. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

“It all hurts.”

“How hard did you hit your head?”

“I do believe I am fine, crécerelle. I have heard it said that alcohol consumption can reduce physical damage from a fall. The theory is that, if inebriated, one does not have the wits to tense before landing.”

He rolls his shoulders. “I am very sore, and I suspect I will be even more sore come morning, but I believe I can rise.”

“Carefully.”

“Oui.” He sits up and tests his arms and then his legs. “The worst injury seems to be to my pride. I do not know how I lost my grip like that.”

“You . . . don’t recall what happened?”

He glances up at me as he gets to his feet. “I was descending the rigging, and I slipped.”

“You did not feel anything unusual?”

“Non. Why?”

I look out over the ship’s deck, which is now empty. “It was the ghost. He charged at you. Flew into the air and ran you through. I saw your face. You looked terrified.”

“Interesting . . .”

“That is not the word I would use, Nicolas.”

“Nico. You know how to say it, and so I now expect it.”

“Even calling you by your first name is scandalous enough, Dr. Dupuis.”

“Then embrace the scandal fully by employing my diminutive of choice.” He takes a few tentative steps, wincing and rubbing his back. “You say the ghost rushed at me? I do not remember anything, but that would explain my fall. Is he still here? Can you ask him why he did so?”

“He is gone.”

“Hmm, that is poorly done. Attack a man from the back and then flee.” He raises his voice. “Out with you, sir. Do not hide your face. I demand recompense. Failing that, I would accept an explanation.”

I shake my head.

“Did it say anything?” he asks.

“No. It did make a rather strange noise when it rushed at you. A guttural sort of sound. It seemed a noise rather than a word. An exclamation of—”

I cut myself off, remembering what I’d thought just before the ghost attacked. That the boy knew Nicolas.

“Miranda?”

I turn away as if surveying the deck. “While ghosts are usually harmless, they can be angry, and they can misdirect their anger at anyone who comes within their sights.”

“So this ghost uttered a noise of anger as he attacked me. I would not expect him to utter a noise of joy.”

“Precisely. Now, as you have been injured, you should sit here and allow me to find and speak to this ghost.”

“I will do nothing of the sort. I do not fear further attacks. I understand that the anger is not directed at me, and the specter is blindly lashing out . . .”