The ship survived the storm, thanks largely, Avatak suspected, to the clear-thinking command of al-Quds, although if you listened to Bayan’s bragging it was all down to him. A handful of crew had been lost, one passenger, and one hold had been broken open and flooded, drowning a few pedigree goats.

On the first calm day, Avatak went down to the ship’s galley and returned with a small tray. A very small tray. It bore two biscuits, flour and fat baked and compressed until they were hard as fired clay, and one sack of weak beer. Thus their ration for the day.

Pyxeas, as was his wont, had spread his work over the cabin’s two bunks, the small table, the open trunk, even the floor, and Avatak had to be careful where he stepped. He found an empty spot on one of the bunks and set down the tray. Then he sat on the floor, his back against the closed door, and got to work at mouthing one of the biscuits, hoping to soften it a little before a first attempt at biting into it.

The ship rolled, and Pyxeas looked around uneasily, as if remembering where he was. ‘You’re back! I didn’t see you return.’

Avatak was used to that. ‘Scholar, when you work, you see nothing else but the work.’

The wind shifted, and a slaughterhouse stink drifted up from the holds.

Pyxeas pressed a cloth to his nose. ‘The ability to concentrate is a rare gift, boy,’ he said. ‘One you would do well to acquire. I myself would never have dreamed I would be able to achieve substantial work in conditions like this, in this, this cage.’

‘Yes, scholar.’

Pyxeas noticed the tray with the single remaining biscuit, and the sack of beer. ‘What’s this, breakfast?’

Avatak sighed. ‘Dinner, scholar. It’s later than you think. But actually that’s breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper, rolled into one. Not even bribing Bayan helped this time.’

‘I thought the captain promised to reprovision. Fresh fruit, he said! Fresh water!’

‘He’s not been able to put into the ports, scholar.’

‘Why not?’

‘Plague,’ Avatak said simply.