Storm pushed through the bamboo. The plants rattled and sighed, sounding as though a dozen hunters were stalking her through the grove. Her heart pounded, and she felt glad of Scoundrel’s company.

At last she struggled through a particularly stubborn clump and found herself in a winding alley. Storm took careful note of where the tunnel began, breaking a stem and bending it down as a marker. Then, after a quick glance at the moon, which was already descending back towards its bed beneath the sea, she broke into a run. Time to find Uncle Lake and escape Bellum and the Pact.

The winding alley led to a street Storm recognised. Thank the Ancestors! This street led to the main road down to the harbour. Mer’s route had bypassed the main square and its dangers.

Storm soon turned on to the harbour road, walking as quickly as she could. Even at this time of the night – approaching the dark time when the moon was swallowed by the sea – Bellum Town was not asleep. She had imagined that the streets would be empty, but lanterns still glowed outside taverns. Dark figures strolled through the night, intent on unknown business. Storm had dressed in her old ship-board clothes and tied her hair up in a topknot, and no one paid her any attention. She trotted down the harbour road and out on to the quay, looking for the Wayfarer among the tens of dozens of ships at anchor in the vast harbour.

Her eyes scoured the pennants, searching for the familiar flag of Yanlin, with its design of a seabird and quarter moon. It took many anxious breaths, many heartbeats squinting through the moonlight at the bobbing ships, listening to the familiar slosh of waves on wood, until Storm at last believed the evidence of her eyes. Yanlin’s fleet was gone. The Wayfarer had sailed and left her behind!

She had not been so close to weeping since her mother’s funeral. You can’t stay here! warned her mind-voice. The town was patrolled night and day by the Pact’s guards, and they would doubtless pay particular attention to the harbour warehouses. There was only one person who might be able to help.

“Let’s go see your master, Scoundrel. Perhaps he will know of a way to contact Uncle Lake. I can’t go back to Talon’s house!”

“Huh!” The monkey grunted softly in her ear and, to her surprise, laid his cheek briefly against hers. Then he leapt to the ground and scampered further along the pier towards the headland. The creature stopped and looked back.

“No!” Storm hissed. “Not that way! Take me to your master’s house. To the garden behind the wall!”

Scoundrel stayed where he was, waiting for her to follow, huge eyes shining in the fading moonlight. Storm remembered the old man’s words: He’s cleverer than he seems.

“Ancestors!” Storm muttered. But obeyed.