Either way, Perry, Bricus, and most of the crew had now gone off carousing, and she was stuck on watch duty, the Venatrix’s fine lines making her heart leap.

That ship was meant to be hers, damn it.

Sighing, she thrust the spyglass into its case at her belt and paced the deck, absently scratching Barnacle under the chin. This was a friendly port—even if FitzRoy agreed to go after the Venatrix, he’d never open fire here and risk neighbouring ships, the wharves and taverns, and Kayracou’s goodwill.

Fingers itching to do something, she yanked out the glass again and watched the Venatrix. They’d anchored, sails stowed. A flurry of movement suggested they were lowering their boat to come ashore. Scanning left and right, she groaned—where they’d anchored, every ship leaving would have to pass within yards of their hull.

The Morrigan was again disguised as merchantman The Three but that disguise was only designed to fool a cursory glance, not close inspection by a pirate hunter. After she’d tweaked Blackwood’s nose in Port Royal, Perry had driven it into her that he’d be on full alert. He knew what to look for—he’d notice the outline of their closed gunports.

If he recognised The Morrigan as they passed to port, they’d be in the prime location to take a full broadside from his—she squinted into the spyglass—ten guns.

“Bollocks.” And she’d have to hide as he’d probably recognise her, too. “Bollocks!”

The dozen hands left on watch looked up from their game of dice, eyebrows raised. Even Barnacle leapt off her shoulder and turned to give a sharp miaow of irritation for ruining her favourite spot.

“Sorry, little goblin-cat,” Vice muttered.

Putting the glass away once more, she puffed out her cheeks and approached her crewmates. “Hunter out at the harbour mouth,” she muttered. “Make sure our name and gunports are covered and don’t even think the words Morrigan, Vice, or FitzRoy.”

Saba rose, dark eyes alert, face calm. “Aye, ma’am.” Her teeth gleamed bright against her jasper-brown skin as she grinned, one eyebrow quirking at calling her something so formal. Tossing her long braid over her shoulder, she set to work, and the others rushed to follow, game abandoned.

Eyes narrowed, Vice surveyed the rest of the harbour. Several ships bobbed between her and the Venatrix—they were hidden well enough for now.

But she still had to report this to the captain and Perry. No doubt they’d find some way it was her fault.

Vice sighed and squared her shoulders before making for FitzRoy’s cabin.

Then again, could this be an opportunity? With a little sneaking, she could disable the Venatrix. A few lines cut here, a couple of knots hopelessly tangled there, and they wouldn’t be able to set sail. The Morrigan would be able to slip by without pursuit.