The sun was mounting in the east; the sea glittered but it did so with malice. The other boat had swung and was using her full sails to brake against the flowing water. I turned back to my father. ‘Why do you lie to me?’ I asked, the bitterness taking unexpected hold of me.

His fingers traced the rails around him, orienting himself even as we slid on into the gap and he considered my question. Experience and the compass of his body would have told him of our lateral drift.

‘I do not lie to you, dear girl. If I keep small matters to myself, it is only in pursuit of some independence. Do you know how it belittles a man to be guided about?’

Now he was a wise man, now he was a fool. I was tied by pity and by obedience.

The Moonbird slewed further in, the rocks close enough for drying birds on the boulders to stare in disapproval. An unnatural eddy was forming left of the bow where she dragged against her will. I felt the tears rise once again and would not give in to them. He sensed it, damn him, and he patted my arm.

‘This is deeper than last night’s drinking, isn’t it?’ he said.

I looked away. ‘Always has been.’

Argyle’s instructions were rising in urgency. Connolly and the doctor were darting about the deck; even Tarenorerer joined them and was up in the foredeck freeing a fouled line. The other ship was closer but had more sail out. Its master was still trying to release it from the grip of the tide: to which we were willingly submitting.

My father sighed. The small, sad sound registered against the cacophony around us: sails and voices and water and wind. ‘There are things I must tell you. About this voyage. Be patient with me. We will talk.’

I stood mute, grasping for the words to respond. There were none.

Argyle yelled a final order, one I did not comprehend. The Moonbird swung once more onto its other side, and we were through. The boulders waited either side of us, sunlit and gleaming with the wash of receding waves. Now there was open ocean before us, and the mountains of Cape Barren off our port side. Our pursuers had swung hard enough to avoid the flush, and were idling on the far side of the island. We had assisted the woman in her escape. Did that render us complicit, and if so—in what? Intuition said we had chosen the right side.