Having finished with the messkids, Hadrian followed. He found the helmsman on the forecastle. His hands gripped the rail as he stared at the shimmer of the new moon rolling on the back of the black sea.

“What’s that all about?”

“We’re in trouble and—” He paused, angrily motioning at the quarterdeck. Catching himself, he clenched his teeth, as if by doing so he could trap the words inside his mouth.

“What kind of trouble?” Hadrian glanced at the quarterdeck.

“The captain doesn’t want me to say anything. He’s a damn fool who won’t listen to reason. I should disobey him and alter the ship’s course right now. I could relieve Bliden on the wheel early and take us off course. No one would know until the reckoning is taken tomorrow at noon.”

“Wesley would know.” Hadrian pointed to the young man climbing to the quarterdeck on his nightly round as officer of the first watch. “He’d have you hauled to Mr. Bishop before you could blink.”

“I could deal with Wesley if I had to. The deck is slippery, you know?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Royce. What’s going on?”

“I suppose if I’m contemplating killing a midshipman, it hardly matters if I break captain’s orders to keep quiet.” Wyatt looked once again at the sea. “They’re coming back.”

“Who?”

“The Dacca. They didn’t run. They’re regrouping.” He looked at Hadrian. “They dye their sails with the blood of their enemies. Did you know that? Hundreds of small ruddy boats line the coves and ports of their island. They know we’re hugging the coast and sailing against the wind. Like wolves, they’ll chase us down. Ten, twenty lateen-rigged tartanes will catch the wind that we can’t. The Storm won’t stand a chance.”

“What makes you so sure? You could be wrong. The captain must have a good reason to stay on course.”

“I’m not wrong.”

CHAPTER 11

THE HOODED MAN

The hooded man walked away again. Arista cowered deeper into the shadows under the tavern steps. She wanted to disappear, to become invisible. Her robe had turned a dingy brown, blending with the dirty wood. Drawing up the hood, she waited. It was him—the same man Lynnette had described. He was looking for her. She heard the sound of his boots on the cobblestone. They slowed, hesitated, and then grew louder.

He’s coming back again!

The tall, dark figure appeared at the end of the alley for the third time. He paused. She held her breath. The streetlamps revealed a frightening figure dressed in a black hooded cloak and a thick scarf hiding his face. He wore an unseen sword— she could hear the telltale clap.