Jute laughed, a touch uneasily. He walked Cartheron back to the side and saw him off.

Tonight then. They had to make some progress through the night. Some measurable progress.

He waved Buen over. ‘Have the crew take a rest. We’ll resume at the evening watch.’

The first mate frowned, not liking loss of motion, but nodded and went to give the orders. Jute turned to Ieleen, meaning to give her the news, but one glance at her rigid back, her hands bloodless upon the walking stick as if it were a lifeline, and he decided not to disturb her.

If they made any headway this night, then she could rest. He’d see to it.

He ordered a general rest. The crew took turns napping. He would’ve himself, but Ieleen wasn’t getting any sleep so he couldn’t bear to lie down. He knew it would be useless.

Behind, the following three vessels slowed as well. Jute ordered the smallest launch lowered, a tiny skiff used for repairs, to be taken across to the others to let them know to be ready this night. Then he sat to await the dusk.

When twilight thickened, Buen came to him. ‘Permission to resume rowing?’

‘No. Wait for a bearing. No sense running off chasing our own shadow.’

The first mate appeared dubious, his brows rising. ‘As you say, captain. But I really think …’

Jute gave him a sharp look. ‘You think what?’

The man ducked his head. ‘Nothing, captain.’ He marched off.

Jute watched him go. That had been a strange outburst. Be-calmings can be hard on the nerves – was the man feeling it already? Damned soon for that.

He stared out across the rippling waters. Calm. Too calm for a body like this. The winds should kick up larger waves over all these leagues of water. Strange. He was not a man given to brooding, but something about this sea troubled him. He drew a hand down his face, rubbed his gritty eyes: perhaps he was just reacting to Ieleen’s troubles.

Gradually, the stars emerged. Jute’s mood darkened with the night as he realized that he couldn’t recognize any of the constellations. It was as if he was staring up at someone else’s night sky. Yet how could that be? Must be a trick of the night and the mists here on the sea. Even so, none of that would matter if he could just identify a pole star: a star that did not move.

Yet which was it? Amid all this panoply of glimmering infinity … which?

He hunched, defeated. The only explanation that he could think of was sorcery. They’d been ensorcelled. In which case, as well as Ieleen, they now had a further authority to turn to.

He called to Buen. ‘Ready the launch!’

Four oarsmen took him across to the side of Lady Orosenn’s intimidatingly tall galleon. No watch or officer hailed him from the darkened vessel. As they’d approached he’d seen a single brazier burning towards the bow. Now, from so low next to the side, it was only visible as a faint glow above.