“ ’Tis as I feared, then. How long until she recovers?”

“With traumatic muteness, there’s no telling. Might be a day, might be never. Only God and time will tell.”

“Sweet heaven….Never?”

Izra glanced up from where he knelt like he wondered if I’d ever again utter a sound. As he left, I slid the bolt behind him. Checked it and checked it again. Then I stared at my new surroundings.

Along the far wall there was a small door about as high as I was tall, with an empty sea chest in front as if to hide it. I knew from wrecking that sometimes ship’s quarters had closets used to hide valuables from thieving crews. This looked like the door to such a cuddy. Pushing the sea chest aside, I checked that bolt, too, and that was as much as I’d trouble with it for now. The cold had settled so deep in me, I wasn’t even shaking anymore.

I managed to untie the gown and petticoats and let them drop in a soggy heap. The shift was damp, but I had no other garments to wear. On the desk I found a letter opener and slipped it into my sleeve. A knife would’ve been better, but wrecking had taught me that even blunt things could cut and I had to be ready for anything.

Pulling the sheepskin blanket off the bed, I climbed atop the long bench that ran beneath the stern windows and curled up close to the glass.

Warm sunlight poured over me, so bright it hid the world in white. Shading my eyes, I squinted at the beach and searched for Sewel’s telltale limp. For his new hat with the red feather.

Wherever he was, he would be after me.

I had no idea how long this ship would stay moored here—a day? A week?

Every second gave him more time to find me.

A sudden banging near tore my heart in half. I whirled, looking from the main door to the little cuddy door, but the banging was coming from somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship. Singing drifted in through the window—first a shantyman’s lone voice, then dozens calling back. Hope swelled inside me as I finally understood what I heard. The crew was turning the capstan and weighing anchor, readying to set sail.

Saints…we were leaving.

Soon I felt the ship starting to glide across the sea.

As West End shrank in the distance, a figure appeared at the head of the beach trail. He stood with his thick shoulders curled, his weight born slightly to one side. A spot of red by his hat caught the sunlight.

My eyes blurred.

I’d done it. I’d gotten away from him.

I was safe. For now.

At sea

I woke up gasping at the weight on my chest, fighting desperately to push Sewel away—only to realize it was a nightmare. Shaken, I sat up on the bench and blinked at the fine captain’s cabin, telling myself again and again that I was safe. Alone.