The obvious answer was that she was in some kind of trouble.

‘Hello there, Siren!’

Goodenough squinted across the water and made out the figure of a stocky blond man, with a neatly trimmed beard.

‘Ahoy,’ he called back. ‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘Engine trouble, I’m afraid,’ the man called back.

Goodenough tried to place the accent. It sounded Eastern European, but he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly.

‘Can I be of any assistance?’ he shouted. Any seaman was duty bound to come to the aid of a fellow mariner in trouble at sea. But, even as he shouted the words, he saw that the other ship had already lowered a rowing boat into the water. Without another word, the blond-haired man sprang over the side and landed neatly in the cutter, in a move that was unconventional but highly dramatic.

Six strong sailors pulled at the oars and the boat sped towards the Siren.

Goodenough frowned. There was something not quite right about all this. He looked at the crew and saw two Chinese men, two who looked African, a skinny, pale-skinned man with a broken nose, and a nearly naked, hairless and tattooed giant from the South Seas, wearing a woman’s straw hat and smoking a fat cigar.

The blond captain stood in the stern of the boat and grinned, his teeth flashing. His arms, which were as thick as his legs and knotted with muscle, were crossed on his broad chest. He wore knee-length boots and a loose, open tunic fastened with a wide belt.

Goodenough saw, with some relief, that at least none of them was armed.

The cutter pulled alongside and the captain sprang up the ladder as effortlessly as if he were skipping up a flight of steps.

He jumped on to the deck and gave a little bow. Up close his eyes were startling. The irises were so pale as to be almost colourless and were ringed with a grey that seemed to shine like silver.

‘Please allow me to introduce myself,’ he said. ‘I am Zoltan the Magyar.’

‘A Hungarian?’ said Goodenough, intrigued. ‘From a country without a coastline?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Zoltan.

‘You Hungarians are not known as sailors,’ said Goodenough. ‘It is unusual to find one captaining a ship.’

‘We are an unusual ship with a crew of many nations. You see that we fly no colours? It is because we are a ship of the world.’ Zoltan spread out his arms and slowly turned to all points of the compass. ‘I love the sea,’ he said. ‘It reminds me of Az Alföld, the Great Plain of Hungary. A big sky, and miles of nothing in every direction.’

The crew of the cutter were all on deck now, and crowding round Goodenough. He looked into their sullen, dull faces and they looked back at him with an utter lack of interest. He took a step towards the Magyar and offered his hand.

‘Welcome aboard,’ he said. ‘I am the captain of the Siren, Sir –’