Plus, if she could raise the tide just a little earlier, say half an hour, then Blackwood’s crew wouldn’t even be on alert. Why be on watch, cannon loaded when no smart captain would be leaving port for another half hour?

It would only take a few hours. Perry and the Captain wouldn’t even need to know until she came back victorious. Instead of reporting a problem, she’d present them with a solution already executed and tied in a bow. FitzRoy did love a gift. And the more points she could score with him, the more likely he was to finally give her that captaincy.

Smiling, she backed away from the door and diverted her course.

“Tonight,” she said, sidling up to Saba, “cover for me. If anyone asks—I snuck off with one of the lads from the Firefly.”

Saba looked up from her work, eyebrows raised. “And where will you be?”

“With one of the lads from the Firefly.”

“You’re going”—she glanced towards the Venatrix—“Vice, don’t. Perry will have your guts for garters.” Her dark eyes gleamed in a pointed look.

“Only if I fail. Besides, she’ll have to catch me first to pull them out.” Vice flashed a grin.

“I can’t—”

“You can, and you will. It’ll only take an hour or so.”

Saba sighed through her nose and lifted one shoulder. “Fine, but you be careful—that’s a Navy ship, they run differently to us—they’ll have a proper watch on deck.”

“Noted.” Chest pounding, Vice saluted and backed away to her cabin, gaze still on the Venatrix.

Quiet Work

A few hours later, once the bright colours of sunset had faded and the sky was ink-dark and full of stars, Vice crept out into the night. She wore dark clothes and daggers. This wasn’t a job for pistols, far too loud, but she felt their absence keenly, and her hand kept going to the empty spot at her belt.

It would be fine—no one would see her anyway, so there was no need for weapons. Sneak in, slip out, job done.

She circled around to the wharf nearest the Venatrix, passing through dark alleys between warehouses, and skirting the scant lamplight.

Pausing, she scanned the area. No guards—this was a good spot.

She eased into the dark water. It was cool but bearable, and any discomfort was offset by the welcome rightness of being in the sea. She swam slowly, taking a sweeping route across the few hundred feet to the Venatrix, the lap of waves covering her muted sloshing.

Once she was close to the starboard side, furthest from the wharves, she shifted to only kicking below the surface, making no sound as she passed into the ship’s shadow.