“No. Isabelle believed the capitaine hid away her chartstones, but she had her fit before she could find out where.”

“I’ll find out,” Bitterlich said. His gaze lingered on Isabelle. She seemed so much smaller now without the boundless force of her personality. Marie was right about his cowardice. He owed Isabelle an explanation and an apology … and penance for his sins. He prayed he would get the chance to offer them.

At last he said, “Builder keep you and Isabelle safe from harm.”

“Until the Savior comes to take you home,” Marie said.

Bitterlich slipped away. He wanted to talk to the Skaladin capitaine, but not just yet. He was tired from fight and flight, weary with dread and shame, and hungry enough to eat a spineback, barbs and all. Plus it was always a bad idea to try to question someone without at least a few solid facts to use as leverage.

He took the time to eat, with fork and knife and manners, never ever wolfing his food. It would not do to look like an animal. The ritual of the meal also gave him time to think.

What was Hasdrubal’s plan? He had the Conquest shard, Dok, and the key, but he couldn’t expect to pierce the Bittergale with the motley fleet he’d used at Fishers Point. Likely he’d be running for a friendly port to deliver the shard to the tyrant, or to rendezvous with a stronger fleet somewhere between here and the Craton Auroborea.

Bitterlich finished his meal and found his lieutenant, a Sanguinaire named Malgiers, reading a book in the curtained-off alcove that counted as officers’ quarters for the marines. He was the fourth son of lesser gentry, a man with no prospects of social elevation and no outlet for whatever useful talents he might have developed, nobles being discouraged from meaningful work. His parents had purchased his commission in the hopes that he would make something of himself, or at least be cleansed of his poetic inclinations in the fires of battle. So far there had been little cleansing, though there had been more than a few sonnets, a handful of short stories, and at least one new sky chanty.

Malgiers was off duty and as out of uniform as one ever got on a warship, his white overcoat, waistcoat, and hat hung up on a hook.

He came to attention at Bitterlich’s approach. “Sir.”

Bitterlich returned the salute. “I understand we have taken some captives.”

Malgiers said, “Yes, sir. The Skaladin capitaine is being held belowdecks. I’ve posted two men to keep watch. We ended up with forty-three captives on the brig, including the wounded, and I have a squad there, keeping watch.”

“Has anyone questioned them yet?” Bitterlich asked.

“Vrain interrogated the capitaine. I don’t know that anyone has questioned the crew.”

“Do you know if Vrain learned anything about the Skaladin mission?”

“If he did, he didn’t tell me.”