But the bowsprit pointed out to open sea. Perhaps they’d been ashore and had attempted to leave on a low tide while fully laden. This edge of the reef was a few feet shallower than the southern side of the cove. If they’d anchored in the deeper water, the crew might not have realised the need to be so careful when leaving. And although a low tide here only changed the depth by a few feet, it was enough to make the difference between these rocks being harmless or ship-killers.

She surfaced to take a breath.

Knigh raised his eyebrows. “The rocks?”

“That’s what I thought. Look, I’ve practised this—don’t try and match how long I stay under. Come up for breath when you need to.”

“Good thing you warned me—I was planning on drowning.”

She snorted. “Two jokes in one day? You are loosening up.”

“Don’t get used to it. Must be sunstroke.”

“And here I thought I was just a bad influence on you.” She flashed him a grin, then drew a deep breath and dived.

A natural swimmer, this deeper diving was near-effortless for her. Still, Knigh managed to keep up, his muscles apparently useful as well as easy on the eye, even if he did have to surface for breath more often.

Clusters of barnacles studded the wreck’s broken hull, and seaweed waved, but it wasn’t much thicker than the coating on The Morrigan—this ship couldn’t have been here much more than two or three months. Perhaps it hadn’t been picked over yet.

They swam across the main deck at its listing angle, identifying at least a dozen cannons. The others could have fallen away, sinking into the depths off the edge of the reef. Belowdecks, barrels and crates littered the hold, some scattered as if they’d fallen, others floating against the highest parts of the hull.

No exciting chests, full of treasure. And no bodies yet, either—the crew must have abandoned ship and made their way to shore.

After surfacing again for breath, they dived for the captain’s cabin. Together, they wrenched the swollen door open and sculled inside.

Dim, rippling light illuminated a table, chairs, candelabra, a wide bunk. If not for everything loose lying scattered in one corner of the room and weed choking the cabinet and staining an ornate mirror frame green, this could have been FitzRoy’s cabin.

They navigated the room by pulling their way along the algae-slimed furniture. Vice went astern towards a desk, while Knigh made for the bed and a low shape that could only be a sea chest.

Nothing in the desk drawers but stationery, but behind the desk, a blocky shape stuck out, as if something had fallen back there and become wedged between it and the wall. Gritting her teeth, she scrabbled down the back, fingers closing around—a box?