Far smaller and not much more comfortable than the crew’s quarters, the midshipmen’s mess was a tiny room aft on the berth deck that creaked loudly as the ship’s hull lurched in the waves. Normally, Basil delivered the food he cooked for the officers, but this morning he was kept particularly busy working on the lieutenants’ and captain’s meal and had asked Poe and Hadrian for help in delivering the food to the midshipmen’s mess.

“What are you doing in here?” the biggest midshipman asked abruptly as Hadrian and Poe entered. Hadrian almost answered when he realized the question was not addressed to him. Behind them, coming in late, was the young officer who had put Hadrian on report earlier. “You’re supposed to be on watch, Wesley.”

“Lieutenant Green relieved me a bit early so I could get some food while it was hot.”

“So you’ve come to force yourself in on your betters, is that it?” the big man asked, and got a round of laughter from those with him. This had to be Beryl, Hadrian guessed. He was by far the oldest of the midshipmen—by ten years or more. “You’re going to be nothing but a nuisance to the rest of us on this voyage, aren’t you, boy? Here we thought we could have a quiet meal without you disturbing us. What did you do, whine to Green about how your stomach was hurting because we didn’t let you have anything to eat last night?”

“No, I—” Wesley began.

“Shut it! I don’t want to hear your sniveling voice. You there, cook!” Beryl snapped. “Don’t serve Midshipman Wesley any food, not a biscuit crumb, do you understand?”

Hadrian nodded, guessing that Beryl somehow outranked Wesley despite both of them wearing midshipmen uniforms.

Wesley looked angry but said nothing. The boy turned away from the table toward his sea chest.

“Oh yes,” Beryl said, rising from the table and walking across the room to Wesley. As he did, Hadrian noticed an old scar down the side of Beryl’s face that looked to have nearly taken out his eye. “I’ve been meaning to go through your stuff to see if you had anything I might like.”

Wesley turned, closing his chest abruptly.

“Open it, boy, and let me have a look.”

“No, you have no right!”

Beryl’s toadies at the table jeered the boy and laughed.