Mabena had lain awake for hours already, her mind twisting and turning like waves in a gale. She tried to calm her thoughts through reason, through willpower, even through prayer. But nothing helped.

And how could it? They had only three days left before Libby was expected to meet that blighter in the caves, and they still hadn’t a clue what silver he wanted them to deliver—or how they were supposed to find it. They couldn’t even be entirely certain that “the large cave” meant Piper’s Hole on Tresco, though it was their best guess, as it was the largest one to be found in the Scillies. They didn’t know what he might do if she didn’t show up in the right place with the correct silver. They didn’t know if Beth actually had the correct silver. They’d spent the last two weeks scouring the islands and the books she’d left here, but both searches had been frustratingly futile.

People had been looking for Mucknell’s treasure for generations. How could she and Oliver and Libby just snap their fingers and find it? And if Beth had, if she knew where it was, she obviously still had information they lacked.

That was what kept Mabena tossing from side to side, sleep as elusive as a rainbow. With a growl, she gave up and swung out of bed, snatching Beth’s shawl from the chair and wrapping it around her shoulders.

She probably should have sent it home with Oliver, as she had everything else. But she hadn’t. And though he’d seen her wearing it last Thursday when he’d come by to see if there’d been a new Wednesday delivery, he hadn’t said anything.

Leaning into the window frame, she rested her head against the painted wood and let her eyes slide shut. She’d left the window open so she could hear the shushing of the waves, as familiar as a mother’s heartbeat. The wind whispered in, kissed her brow. The moon sang a lullaby.

But her heart wept and her mind wouldn’t still. They had a collection of clues stored safely on Tresco with Oliver. The letters, the manifests that had continued to show up each Wednesday, the hundred pounds with the mysterious note about it being for an artifact.

What artifact could possibly have been worth so much?

She wrapped one of the corners of the shawl around her hand. Mabena had followed the last few deliverymen too. All different blokes. All simply went straight to the ferry. She’d approached one and tried to talk to him, acting like a concerned friend of the girl in the cottage, but he hadn’t said anything useful. Just that he’d been asked to deliver something, so he did. When she asked who’d hired him—because she had no doubt money was involved—he’d just shrugged and said, “Some bloke.”