Clove didn’t look at me as I went to the helm, his shoulders hunching as I came closer. I looked up into his face, studying the wrinkles that framed his deep-set eyes, and he glanced over my head nervously for a fraction of a moment, to the deck. He was making sure no one was watching us, and that was the only answer I needed.

He reached for the peg on the mast beside us, leaning over me. “Not here.” His voice ground, making me swallow hard.

If Clove was looking out for me, then he hadn’t turned on Saint. He hadn’t turned on me. And that could only mean one thing. Zola wasn’t the only one who was up to something.

My father was, too.

“Dredger!” The bosun shouted over the wind, his hands cupped over his mouth. “Helmsman wants to see you! Now!”

I tried to meet Clove’s eyes, but he snapped the book shut, crossing the deck. He walked through the open door to the helmsman’s quarters and I stopped before it, watching Zola. He stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

Clove took a seat at the end of the table, setting one foot up on his knee and leaning back into the chair beside a basin filled with suds.

Zola looked over his shoulder to me when I didn’t move. “Well. Come in.”

I glanced between them, searching for any hint of what was coming. But Clove looked unconcerned. He’d done a good job of convincing Zola, but there had to have been a price for that trust. Clove had never been an innocent man, but I wondered what he’d done to get on this ship.

“The haul?” Zola lifted the tails of his coat to sit on the stool beside the window.

“Sorted and itemized with the letter of authenticity from the merchant in Sagsay Holm,” Clove reported, rote. “He put total worth around six thousand coppers.”

I flinched at the number. Six thousand coppers in one trade. That was the kind of sum that launched entire trade routes.

“And you checked them?” Zola looked up to me.

“Twice,” Clove answered.

But Zola was still looking at me. “I want to hear it from you. Did you check the stones?”

“Twice,” I repeated, irritated.

“The person these stones are going to will catch it if you missed anything. And I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if she does.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I said flatly.

“Guess we will,” Zola said. “I want you cleaned up and ready before we make port.” He motioned to the basin.

I stood up off the wall, dropping my arms. “Ready for what?”

“You’ve got business in Bastian.”

“No, I don’t. I got your haul. I checked your stones. I’ve earned my coin three times over.”

“Almost,” Zola said.