Connolly worked the windlass, eyes down and movements sleepy. When the anchor slotted home, trailing a garland of kelp, he waved a hand back to the helm. Argyle, dressed this morning in a simple blue cotton dress and shawl, was able to engage the mainsail with a flick of his hand that released a line from a cleat above him. There was just enough life in the air to nudge us forward. Tarenorerer broke from staring at the island and turned now to scan the horizon all around. When she came to look over the stern she tensed and skipped to the forecastle to gain a higher view. I followed her gaze but could see nothing yet, for the western sky was darker.

‘Sail,’ she said to Argyle. ‘Back there.’

He turned as well, grimacing as the darkness told him nothing. ‘What kind?’

She shrugged. ‘Small, brig maybe.’ There was no sign of the gun. I found myself wondering how authority worked here.

‘What do you want to do?’ asked the master, to my surprise. ‘Do you wish to fall in with them?’

‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘We go.’

Argyle put a hand on the helm, calm as always. ‘Very well, but where?’

‘They be thinking we go south, round the bottom of Penguin,’ she replied. ‘That’s the deep water, tawin always go that way.’

Argyle nodded carefully.

‘So you go east,’ she continued. ‘Between Passage Island and the point.’

Argyle went through the fussy business of lighting the lantern that hung over the helm, then produced the chart from a shelf. He puzzled over it a moment.

‘How deep?’

‘Deep enough for this,’ she said. ‘Just the tide. Goes hard through there, whole channel empties out that way. We go now, we be runnin out with it. They’s maybe too far back.’

For the first time, Argyle looked indecisive. ‘It’s very narrow,’ he said.

‘You got me and him on the sails,’ she countered, and I heard the respect in the exchange. ‘And her…’ She looked at me, and there was no respect. ‘Maybe just me and him. Get that doctor bloke up here. Get you through straight line, no tack, no gybe.’

The Moonbird was easing north while this exchange went on, the massive weight of the tide carrying us into the teeth of the gap. It was less than a quarter-mile wide and we were gaining speed towards it: the time for any change of mind was rapidly disappearing.

‘Very well,’ said Argyle. ‘Miss, would you rouse the doctor, please?’

I went below and down the passageway, this time without the need to be furtive. My father was awake, struggling into clothes. I bade him good morning—the smell was all but gone—and knocked on the doctor’s door. The handsome voice commanded me to enter.

He stood there dressed, hair oiled, smiling. His fingers fiddled with a cuff.