“He didn’t happen to say which comte?” Bitterlich asked as casually as he could. He should have known that somehow this whole plot would work its way back to Célestial intrigue. Somehow they always did.

“He never said,” Sinclair said.

Bitterlich repeated his questions in a different order, but Sinclair’s answers remained consistent. On the whole, Bitterlich believed his story. He didn’t know enough about what Bitterlich really wanted to lie about it.

Bitterlich told the marine standing guard, “Hold him separately from the others. They’ll probably kill him if you put him back in with them.”

Sinclair went pale, and the marine hauled him away.

Bitterlich descended to the hold and found it exceptionally well stocked for a pirate ship. He found sacks of beans and crates of lemons and barrels of brandy with a Célestial maker’s mark and the stamp of the Imperial Treasury that indicated its tax had been paid.

He hurried through the stacks of provender until he found the crates of hardtack and flipped the top from one that had already been opened. Inside were stacks and more stacks of ship’s biscuit, the most despised foodstuff in the history of digestion. Into each brown, tooth-cracking, weapons-grade wafer was stamped the imperial seal.

Bitterlich took one biscuit for evidence and closed the lid. The making of hardtack was a regulated enterprise. They were created in imperial bakeries, stored in imperial warehouses, and shipped exclusively with the Imperial Army and Navy. This whole ship had been supplied with embezzled military rations.

Bitterlich tapped the biscuit against his palm. When Lael had fallen, Hasdrubal disappeared into the capital. No one had been able to find him. Perhaps he’d managed to find aid and succor in one of the high houses, someone especially displeased with Sireen’s ascension to the throne. It was not a stretch to imagine that he’d made an alliance with his benefactor and persuaded them to supply his mission.

These stolen supplies might help Impervia track down which noble had turned traitor. Perhaps she could unravel the plot from that end. Yet that would take time. The Thunderclap couldn’t wait for answers to come from elsewhere before making pursuit. They must find Dok and the shard. The Skaladin capitaine must know where they were going.

Bitterlich returned to the Thunderclap. The marines assigned to guard the prisoner saluted at Bitterlich’s approach.

“I need to speak to the captive,” Bitterlich said.

The marines exchanged a look that suggested each was willing the other to be the bearer of bad news. The senior man, Paul, said, “Yes sir, but it may not do you any good. Vrain was … hard on her.”

Bitterlich scowled, but cursed only on the inside. Paul opened the door and lifted a lantern so Bitterlich could see properly.