“I find that hard to believe. Is she telling the truth, boy?” Tolbar took a menacing step towards Cloud. He darted a glance at Storm, then shrugged.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Storm challenged the guard.

Tolbar turned away from Cloud and stood with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed.

She’s afraid of me, Storm thought. And also afraid of offending me. Storm almost felt sorry for the woman – who had certainly not had a good day.

“Other witnesses report that the Fire-witch attacked the crowd where you and this boy were standing.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

Tolbar shrugged. “A few minor injuries. Fortunate that the mini-quake happened. It scared the witch off, it seems. We’re looking for her.”

“I don’t know anything about it, and Cloud certainly doesn’t, so you can let him go back to his ship. My uncle will be wondering where he is.” Still the guard made no move to untie her shipmate. Storm took a gamble: “Let him go or fetch Talon! Does your master know you’ve detained my friend? Shall I ask him?”

Tolbar scowled. Storm could see what giving in cost her. “Untie the boy,” she barked at her companion.

Once untied, Cloud rubbed his wrists, eyes wary. His face was carefully impassive as he turned to Tolbar. “Am I free to go?”

“Go on. Get out! And stay out of trouble in future.”

Cloud’s only reply was a polite bow. Then, with a wink at Storm, he strode from the room. Storm heaved a sigh of relief as he disappeared. Cloud had said nothing about the Fire-witch. Maybe he hadn’t noticed whom she was trying to kill.

Storm put her precious grave gift and wire monkey on the table before collapsing on to her bed. Dinner was brought to her room on a tray. Tolbar had had plenty of time to make her report, which would not have been friendly.

There was no food for Scoundrel so Storm shared bits of her supper. She showed him the soil bucket and hoped he was as intelligent as his master had claimed. Then, too tired even to attempt to draw the events of the day in her journal, Storm drifted off into uneasy dreams of hidden gardens and women dancing in columns of fire. She tossed and turned for a long time, unable to get comfortable on the too-soft mattress. Finally, she fell into a sound sleep.

Shrick-gna-umm-shrick-ggrawm. The sound of gnawing and nibbling pulled Storm from fitful dreams. A rat must have crawled up from the hold of the Wayfarer and was eating her chalk and chewing the oiled leather of her journal! Light pressed against her eyelids, swaying with the motion of the ship.