Smith’s eyes widened slowly, his brows rising. “Oh, her? And you reckon that’s Lady Vice?” He shook his head with an apologetic wince. “Sorry, ser, of course you do. Well, I suppose it might be. Quite a few merchant ships take women in their crews these days, though, not just the pirates, so she wouldn’t’ve stuck out to most of us, ser. Only really remember her because—well, as you said, her face is uncommon pretty, ser, if you don’t mind me saying such about a pirate.”

Knigh scoffed softly and shook his head. “You wouldn’t be the first to notice.” Or to be distracted by it. He’d let a ballroom and a pretty face lower his guard. Well, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

But it hadn’t only been that, had it? There was this disarming honesty to her—apparent honesty, anyway. She’d been lying through her teeth the whole time.

Lady Lyons—ha!

Although … she did call herself Lady Vice. He’d always assumed it was a piratical affectation—they so often liked to elevate themselves. But perhaps it wasn’t. She’d passed herself off as a lady so easily—her accent and manners had both been excellent if a little forward. Maybe she had some experience amongst the gentry. She must have had some sort of life before piracy. Who had she been? Someone of consequence?

Exhaling, Smith’s gaze went into the distance. “I didn’t have nothing to do with them loading, ser, but I saw Barrels speaking to the lady when she arrived yesterday. He’s over there—maybe he knows something, ser.”

Hope flared in Knigh’s chest, bright and warm in the cool morning air. If he could get a lead right away, he might even manage a capture within a day or two. That would undoubtedly silence any comments from the Governor or anyone else who’d seen him sharing a drink with Lady Vice.

He thanked Smith and strode straight for the pot-bellied man he’d called Barrels.

With a swift greeting, he got the niceties out the way before asking about Lady Vice. Like the others, he claimed ignorance, although a flicker of a reaction laced his movements—a shift in stance, a twitch of the eyebrows, a thumb pressing to his lips.

Could be nerves—speaking to an officer had that effect on some dock workers—but then again, it could be the sign of a lie. Time to probe deeper.

“Yesterday, you were seen speaking to a tall young woman, dark hair, pretty. Do you remember her?” If he didn’t, he’d have to be blind or a damn fool.

“Oh, her? Aye, ser. Very pretty and tall, ser.”

“Where is she? What ship did she come in on?”

“I’m afraid they’ve gone, ser.”

Knigh huffed. It had been too much to hope they were still in dock. “Gone where?”