A little while ago, I’d overheard the hands chattering about him. For speaking against His Majesty King George and inciting Hackett to violence, Lane had been punished with a day of confinement and lost his food ration.

That had given me an idea.

I snatched a knife off the table, shot the bolt back, and swung the door wide.

Lane jumped to his feet and bumped his head on the low ceiling. Then he stood, crouching in the darkness and blinking. His gaze fell to the knife in my hand. “You don’t need that. I’m no danger to you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t.” He shifted his weight. “But it is the truth.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. I didn’t fear him. But I felt breathless and jittery, like when I dove a new wreck.

Though Lane’s hair fell loose to his shoulders and the cuddy was dark, I didn’t miss the scratches on his neck nor the bloodstains on his collar from his fight with Hackett. His right sleeve had been torn, and I could see the curve of his shoulder. The cuddy itself was cramped and spare, with a porthole against the far side, and a pitcher and folded blanket in a corner. A ladder rose to a hatch, which had to be how he came and went when not being punished for brawling.

Before I lost my nerve, I drew a breath and pushed out the words I’d been practicing. “I heard the hands talking this afternoon about you losing your food ration, for fighting Hackett, and I can help with that. There’s dinner enough for us both on that table. I’ll share it with you. All you gotta do’s answer my questions, as many questions as I have to ask, and don’t ask any back. Not one.”

His dark eyebrows pulled together like it was the strangest thing he’d ever heard.

Maybe it was.

Maybe my vulgar speech offended his genteel ears.

“Very well. I accept your terms.”

I blinked. “Well, come on, then.” I stepped aside. That had gone easier than I’d expected. “There’s a basin over there if you want to wash. And don’t worry. No one’ll know you’re in here. The door’s bolted. The main door, meaning.”

He entered and swept a slow gaze round the cabin, then crossed to the washbasin. “I’ll dirty this,” he said over his shoulder.

“It’s no trouble. Izra brings fresh water and a clean towel every morning.”

As he washed his hands and face, then pulled his dark hair into a knot, I caught myself watching him like he was doing something interesting. I shook my head and set the knife on the table. Then I lit a candle off the ship’s lantern, as night had fallen, and sat.

Somewhere above, the Ambrosia’s crew danced to a jaunty fiddle, their steps thumping like the beat of a wooden heart. My foot jiggled nervously under the table, making everything shake even more, but I stopped myself as Lane came over.