Her initial search didn’t turn up much of interest. Logs, books, neatly rolled charts, compass and sextant stowed in boxes alongside. Drawers of carefully folded clothes, a desk with inkwell, copper-nibbed pen, and blotting paper lined up ready for use.

Bloody Navy lot—they’d line up pebbles on a beach if they could.

When she rifled through papers in the little shelves at the back of the writing desk, a cylindrical leather case slid out. At first, she thought it a spyglass case, but it was far too small for that. The tan leather was cracked, and when she lifted it, it weighed little.

A scroll case? It had to be. And scrolls were old. Her heartbeat sped. She turned it over in her hands—this leather looked—

A drake, embossed on the surface. She angled it to catch the scant light, but yes—wings, two legs, curling tail. Definitely a drake. A little crude in execution but it had probably been made centuries ago and would have been knocked about over the years.

Letting out a huff that was almost a laugh, she clutched the case to her chest. This was it—a clue to Drake’s treasure. She bit her lip to hold back any more noise and bounced on the balls of her feet before tucking the case into her shirt—as long as she didn’t go upside down, it would be secure there.

Heart racing, she shoved the other papers back where she’d found them. Everything was in its place, and Blackwood would never know she’d been here.

Grinning at the door leading out to the deck, she saluted. He’d never even imagine she’d been this close.

Vice climbed back out the window and eased it shut behind her. Her muscles’ earlier complaints were forgotten, erased by the excitement thrumming through her veins as she climbed around to starboard.

Blackwood’s ship disabled, and a clue to Drake’s treasure—even Perry would have to admit this was a great coup. And Fitz would surely grant her request to capture the Venatrix the next time they encountered them out on open water. She’d proven her ability to take charge, devise and execute a successful plan, and deal with a problem decisively. What more could they possibly want from a captain?

She bit the inside of her cheek—it was that or laughing out loud with excitement, and this really wasn’t the place, dangling off the side of a Royal Navy pirate hunting vessel. With a couple of deep breaths, she calmed herself and climbed down the hull.

No sound of alarm. A job well done.

Vice paused above the glinting water and clenched the scroll case in her teeth before easing in and swimming away.

The next time she saw the Venatrix, she’d take it as her own.

Setting Sail

“Port, Captain,” the watch shouted. “The Morrigan.”