A wispier, more hollow voice replied, “Not necessarily. I have received word that Capitaine Isabelle hijacked the Saint Asne and escaped.”

Jean-Claude could hardly believe his ears. Gentle, thoughtful Isabelle had hijacked a ship? And whom was she escaping from?

“You said she was dying,” Travers said.

Wispy Voice said, “I said I’d heard she was deathly ill. It seems the rumors were exaggerated.”

Jean-Claude could well guess what that was about. Isabelle’s head troubles had finally boiled over.

“How do we know you’re not wrong about her escape as well?” Travers asked.

“That message has been relayed to the Célestial Fleet. They’ve declared her a fugitive.”

“Then let the fleet take care of her.”

“That might not be a good idea,” Wispy said. “She has worked out that Hasdrubal isn’t working for the tyrant. If the fleet catches her first she may convince them not to engage the Skaladin and—”

Jean-Claude squinted at the wispy figure through the floor of the gallery. It was barely there: a bloodhollow.

“You give her far too much credit,” Travers said.

“No,” Hasdrubal said, the same goatlike bray that had taunted Jean-Claude aboard the launch. “Your cousin is correct. Capitaine Isabelle should be destroyed. Right now, neither the Célestial Fleet nor the Skaladin know we have the relic. If the Célestial Fleet catches Isabelle, she will surely tell them.”

“I’ll tell Ivar to send her to the Gloom, shall I?” Wispy said. The bloodhollow went back inside, ensconced itself in a locker, and went very still.

“That one is not as clever as she thinks she is.” Hasdrubal’s voice pierced the wind.

“Women never are,” Travers said.

Behind Jean-Claude, the drunkard grunted and began muttering unintelligibly. Fear kicked Jean-Claude’s pulse to a gallop. He wriggled out of the crevice, shut the window, and hurried toward the door.

The officer snorted and woke up.

“Hey, mongrel. What you doing here?”

Jean-Claude did not break stride, but opened the door and slipped out into the passage before the officer could react. He’d been seen, but what had the officer made out? Just the back of a man in a sailor’s uniform.

He hurried down the companionway, expecting shouts of outrage and a call to arms. None came. Even so, he did not take a full breath until he’d reached his hiding spot and found it undisturbed.

Had Isabelle gotten his message? Even if she hadn’t, she’d be heading north, hunting Hasdrubal. She’d run right into Ivar.

Might Jean-Claude turn him aside? Ivar hadn’t responded to his missive, but had he really needed to? After all, he could see everything Jean-Claude could see whether Jean-Claude wanted it or not.

But what Jean-Claude had seen wasn’t as important as what he had heard.