“Wheel hard over!” Wyatt shouted, running for the tiller. “Derning, Royce, get aloft! Hadrian, Banner—the mainsail braces. Grady to the headsail braces! Who else do we have here? Bernie, join Derning and Royce. Staul, help with the mainsail. Mr. Wesley, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, perhaps you could assist Grady on the forward braces. Bring her round east-nor’east!”

“That will put us into the wind again!” Grady said even as Wyatt brought the ship round.

“Aye, starboard tack. With fewer crew, and the same ship, we’ll be lighter and faster.”

They got the ship around and caught what wind they could.

“Here, Banner, take the tiller,” Wyatt said as he scanned the deck. “We can dump some gear and lighten the load further. Who’s that next to you?”

Wyatt stopped abruptly when he saw Thranic look up.

“What’s he doing on board?” Wyatt asked.

“Is there a problem, helmsman?” Thranic addressed him.

“You fired the ship!” Wyatt accused. “Royce told me he saw you throw a torch in the hold. How many oil kegs did you break to get it to go up like that?”

“Five, I think. Maybe six.”

“There were elves—they were locked in the hold—trapped down there.”

“Precisely,” Thranic replied.

“You bastard!” Wyatt rushed the sentinel, drawing his cutlass. Thranic moved with surprising speed and dodged Wyatt’s attack, throwing his cloak around Wyatt’s head and shoving the helmsman to the deck as he drew a long dagger.

Hadrian pulled his swords and Staul immediately moved to intercept him. Poe drew his cutlass, as did Grady, followed quickly by Defoe and Derning.

From the rigging above, Royce dropped abruptly into the midst of the conflict, landing squarely between Thranic and Wyatt. The sentinel’s eyes locked on him and smoldered.

“Mr. Wesley!” Royce shouted, keeping his eyes fixed on Thranic. “What are your orders, sir?”

At this everyone stopped. The ship continued to sail with the wind, but the crew paused. Several glanced at Wesley. The midshipman stood frozen on the deck, watching the events unfold around him.

“His orders?” Thranic mocked.

“Captain Seward, Lieutenants Bishop and Green, and the other midshipmen are dead,” Royce explained. “Mr. Wesley is senior officer. He is, by rights, in command of this vessel.”

Thranic laughed.

Wesley began to nod. “He is right.”

“Shut up, boy!” Staul snapped. “It’s time we took care of this business here.”

Staul’s words brought Wesley around. “I am no boy!” Turning to Thranic, he added, “What I am, sir, is the acting captain of this ship, and as such, you, and everyone else”—he glanced at Staul—“will obey my orders!”

Staul laughed.

“I assure you this is no joke, seaman. I also assure you that I will not hesitate to see you cut down where you stand, and anyone else who fails to obey me.”