Ghelath spat over the side, then waved a hairy hand to dismiss the entire matter. ‘Ach! Well, it’s gone now, isn’t it? Too late.’ He turned to go.

‘Turn us round. Drop anchor. Do whatever is necessary.’

Ghelath just waved the hand over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. ‘Too dangerous.’

Shimmer crossed her arms, called, ‘Gwynn …’

The mage appeared amid-deck. He carried a tall staff of ebony wood. This he stamped to the planking and black flames burst to life, rippling all up and down the stave. The sailors on night watch scrambled away.

Master Ghelath slowly remounted the short set of stairs that led to the stern deck, pulling at his long grizzled beard. He cleared his throat and addressed the apprentice pilot in a weak voice: ‘See if you can’t get us a little closer, Levin.’

The lad didn’t move. He licked his lips. ‘I can’t – that is … I don’t know these waters well enough …’

Hoarse laughter drew everyone’s attention. The old master pilot, Havvin, all bones and pale skin, came edging past Gwynn. He pushed his apprentice aside, offered Shimmer a broad wink. ‘Rouse the lads, boy. Prepare to bring us round.’

The apprentice rang the bell, clearly relieved that his master had taken over. In a flurry of stamping feet the rest of the crew came pouring up on to the deck. ‘Man the lines!’ Levin shouted.

Havvin pushed the tiller arm over. ‘Have to lose headway, don’t you think?’ he directed his apprentice.

The lad nodded frantic assent, shouted: ‘Reef the mains’l! Lower the fores’l!’

Ghelath watched silently, one fist closed on his ragged beard. After a moment he caught the old pilot’s eye and pointed to the bow. Havvin nodded a brief acknowledgement.

Blues came up to the stern deck to stand next to Shimmer. He too was peering off over the side, to the glow of the distant bonfire.

‘Eyes up front, don’t you think, Levin?’ Havvin murmured, adjusting the tiller arm slightly.

The lad swallowed, nodding. ‘Aye. Four lookouts on the bows!’

Shimmer leaned close to Gwynn. ‘Black flames?’ she murmured.

He shrugged. ‘Thought it would be impressive.’

Ghelath shook his head. ‘I still don’t like it, Havvin. Lose all the canvas. Prepare the sweeps.’

Havvin nodded. ‘Aye, aye.’ He gestured to Levin.

The lad drew a great breath, shouted, ‘Lower the yardarm! Un-ship the sweeps!’

The crew scrambled to obey. The heavy yardarm scraped down the mainmast. Long thin oars that had been stored along the hull, just above the decking, were set into holes beneath the top railing.

‘Man the sweeps,’ Blues called down to Bars, who gave his curt assent and gestured to the gathered Avowed. They brushed the sailors aside to take the oars.

‘Dead stop,’ Shimmer called.