‘Way I see it,’ she whispered to me, a week into the crossing. ‘He’s got money. Or had money, least ways. Enough to buy this ship and the idea of a bit of adventure.’

‘Isn’t that more or less what Captain Rackamore did?’

‘Difference with Rack,’ Prozor said sternly, like she was telling me off, ‘was that Rack never tried to be anythin’ he wasn’t. Didn’t cover up his airs and graces and pretend he wasn’t interested in books and learnin’. Didn’t try and have us all believin’ he’d had an illustrious career from the bone room up. But I’ve sniffed around Trusko often enough to know he’s paper-thin. Queer thing is, I think he’s been telling those lies long enough he actually believes ’em. But it don’t change what he is.’

‘Why haven’t the others seen through him?’

‘Maybe they have, and maybe they don’t want to admit it to themselves. Look at it through their lamps, Fura. It’s still a ship, and it’s still employment. Maybe they didn’t have much choice. But it works for us, like I said. Trusko’s timid. He’d keep ten million leagues between him and Bosa Sennen, if he had an inkling of where she was. And he wouldn’t take this crew anywhere near actual risk, like a bauble that might actually hold some loot.’

Prozor’s line of reasoning was making my eyes water. ‘And that suits us?’

‘Oh yes. Proper it does. Because if you want to set yourself up as bait for Bosa, there’s no way you can chance lookin’ like you might actually be ready for the fight. Bosa’ll sniff you out, and she’s no fool either. The Nightjammer’s fierce, but it ain’t magic. But if you’re a weak crew, under a weak captain, on a ship that’s seen better centuries, never mind better days, you might be able to fool her that you’ve just stumbled your way into trouble. And then you’d have the better of her. For a while.’

‘Tell me about the others. I want to know who we can depend on.’

‘None of ’em, I had to put quoins on it.’ She squashed her angles into a frown. ‘Drozna’s honest enough. But he’s the sail man, and he won’t have been in the thick of it too often. Surt’s the Integrator, like you figured. Don’t know how well she’d have fared on the Monetta, but she can’t be too shabby to hold this old box of splinters together. Whether I’d trust her . . .’

‘And the rest?’

‘Well, there’s Gathing, the Assessor. Mister Snidey. Thinks highly of himself, reckons he’s a cut above the rest of us. Which he might be, but if he’s so ’andsome at Assessing, what’s he doing with a no-hoper like Trusko?’