“No, Madame,” Bitterlich said, averting his gaze. “I heard voices and came to see what was the matter. I was given to understand that you would not be joining us until we reached our destination.”

Sireen said, “Plans change. I would have word with the capitaine. Fetch her.”

“What shall I tell her you want to discuss?” Bitterlich asked.

“Just tell her to come and not to dawdle. Now, hurry on.”

Bitterlich bowed himself out. Sireen was not usually so brusque, but perhaps this was a true emergency.

He took the companionway up to the main deck four steps at a time, and emerged into a squall. Rain lashed him through his oilskin, and he put on some otter fur to keep dry.

Isabelle stood at the rail on the quarterdeck, her spark-hand holding on to an iron ring embedded in the wood. The ship crested a pressure ridge and plummeted into the void beyond. For a moment Bitterlich floated above the deck, weightless, and then the trough bottomed out. Every man aboard slammed into the planking as if they’d dropped from the yards. Isabelle remained affixed to the deck as if nailed to it, her spark-arm holding her fast without regards to mass or momentum.

Bitterlich mounted the quarterdeck in three sodden splashing steps and gave her a salute, which she returned. She liked wild weather and might have delighted in a storm like this, dangerous as it was, but her expression was as closed as a castle gate, her skin as gray and weary as weathered stone. Even the pink and purple embers of her spark swarm seemed like the last remnants of a dying fire.

“What is it, Major?” she asked.

“It’s la reine,” he said. “She’s awake and requires your attendance. She did not say why.”

Isabelle grimaced. “Of course she does. Thank you, Major.”

He followed Isabelle down into the hold. She hadn’t invited him, but she didn’t dismiss him either. Perhaps he could be of some use.

They found Sireen’s bloodhollow in a narrow passage with crates stacked to the beams on either side. Rebecca stood stiffly to one side, doing her level best to turn invisible.

Isabelle doffed her hat and bowed. “My reine.”

“Good evening, Capitaine,” Sireen said, her voice still rough. “I pray the adventure is going well.”

“As well as may be. How may I serve you?” Isabelle said. “I was not expecting to see you so soon.”

“I know, but I can be forgiven under the circumstances.” She turned her skeletal gaze to Bitterlich. “Leave us, and take the girl.”

Bitterlich gestured for Rebecca and she hastily scampered to his side.

“Builder keep, Madame,” he said, and she waved him on.

He led Rebecca down the passage to the stairs. They nearly trod on one of the ship’s cats. It hissed at them and slunk behind the stairs in the companionway.