“The best I can do is to forget we had this conversation. Of course, should some unusual or circumstantial accusation be leveled against Seaman Melborn, I might find it necessary to report this incident to the captain. I suspect he will take a dim view of your efforts to advance insubordination on his vessel. It could be viewed as the seeds of mutiny, and we both know the penalty for that.”

“You don’t know who you’re playing with, boy. As much as you’d like to think it, you’re no Breckton. If I can’t use you, I’ll lose you.”

“Is that all, Mr. Beryl? I must tack the ship now.”

Beryl spat at the younger man’s feet and stalked away. Wesley remained standing rigidly, watching him go. Once Beryl had disappeared below, Wesley gripped the rail and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He took a deep breath, replaced his hat, straightened his jacket, and then shouted in a clear voice, “Hands to the braces!”

Royce had dealt with many people in his life, from serfs to kings, and few surprised him. He knew he could always depend on their greed and weakness, and he was rarely disappointed. Wesley was the first person in years to astonish him. While the young midshipman could not see it, Royce offered him the only sincere salute he had bestowed since he had stepped aboard.

Royce ascended to the topsail to loose the yard brace in anticipation of Wesley’s next order when his eye caught an irregularity on the horizon. At night, with only the suggestion of a moon, it was hard for anyone to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. Royce, however, could discern the difference. At that moment, he noticed a break in the line. Out to sea, ahead of the Storm, a black silhouette broke the dusty star field.

“Sail ho!” he shouted.

“What was that?” Wesley asked.

“Sail off the starboard bow,” he shouted, pointing to the southeast.

“Is there a light?”

“No, sir, a triangle-shaped sail.”

Wesley moved to the starboard rail. “I don’t see anything. How far out?”

“On the horizon, sir.”

“The horizon?” Wesley picked up the eyeglass and panned the sea. The rest of the ship was silent except for the creaking of the oak timbers as they waited. Wesley muttered something as he slapped the glass closed and ran to the quarterdeck to pound on the captain’s cabin. He paused and then pounded again.

The door opened to reveal the captain, barefoot in his nightshirt. “Mr. Wesley, have we run aground? Is there a mutiny?” The captain’s steward rushed to him with his robe.

“No, sir. There’s a sail on the horizon, sir.”

“A what?”

“A triangular sail, sir. Over there.” Wesley pointed while handing him the glass.