“I brought you some coffee and bread. I put raisins in the bread. You like raisins.”

Royce peered out from under his thin blanket with a vicious glare. He eyed the meal and promptly looked away with a grimace.

“Sorry, I just knew you hadn’t eaten since yesterday.” Hadrian put the tray down away from him. “They gave you extra duty, didn’t they? You seemed to be up there longer than anyone else.”

“Bristol kept me on station as punishment for being slow yesterday. How long was I up there?”

“Twelve hours at least. Listen, I thought we’d have a look around the forward hold. Wyatt tells me the seret are hiding a special cargo up there. If you can get your stomach under control, maybe you can open a few locks for me?”

Royce shook his head. “Not until this ship stops rolling. I stand up and the world spins. I’ve got to sleep. How come you’re not sick?”

“I am, but not like you. I guess elven blood and water don’t mix.”

“It might,” Royce said, disappearing back under his blanket. “If I don’t start feeling better soon, I’ll slit my wrists.”

Hadrian took his blanket, laid it over the shivering form of Royce, and was about to head back up topside when he paused and asked, “Any idea what happened to Edgar Drew?”

“The guy that fell?”

“Yeah, some of the crew think he might have been murdered.”

“I didn’t see anything. Spent most of my time hugging the mast. I was pretty sick—still am. Get out of here and let me sleep.”

It was late and the port watch was on duty, but most of them slept on deck or in the rigging. Only a handful had to remain alert during the middle watch: three lookouts aloft at the masthead, the quartermaster’s mate who manned the wheel in Wyatt’s absence, and the officer of the watch. Hadrian nearly ran into this last man as he came on deck.

“Mr. Wesley, sir,” Hadrian said, shifting the tray so he could properly perform the salute.

Wesley’s face was blotchy, his nose and eyes black and blue. Hadrian knew he was standing an additional watch. On his way to Royce, Hadrian had overheard Lieutenant Bishop questioning the midshipman about a brawl, but because Wesley had refused to divulge the name of his adversary, the young man took the punishment alone.

“Mr. Wesley, I thought you might like something to eat. I’m guessing you haven’t had much today.”

The officer glared at him a moment, then looked at the tray. As he saw the steam rising from the coffee cup, his mouth opened and abruptly shut. “Who sent you here? Was it Beryl? Is this supposed to be funny?”