“And then you can stay on Wayfarer and behave yourself!” growled her uncle. “The Inner Sea may be free of Drowned Ones, but it’s home to countless privateers, and all of them would love to get their hands on our cargo. The Inner Sea is no place for a green youngster on their own, not even a Weather-witch!”

Storm rubbed her nose in frustration, then went back to drawing in her journal, which she had brought on deck. She was trying to record the attack by the Drowned Ones so she could make it into a story one day, but her fingers were clumsy and stiff and the pictures made no sense. Finally she gave up and simply watched the pimple that was Boabar’s mountain grow taller. At last, a cheer rose from the deckhands.

“Foam, take the tiller!” shouted her uncle, and the second master bounded forward and took Lake’s place at the tiller. Foam, a short, round, nimble-footed man, gave Storm a knowing grin.

“Follow me, Niece,” ordered Lake. “Time to make an offering to the Dolphin!”

Heart thudding, Storm wove her away across the deck after her uncle. Cloud had told her there would be an initiation ceremony for those on their first voyage to the Inner Sea, and she only hoped it would not be too painful or embarrassing. Two boys, this season’s apprentices, waited anxiously in the bow of the ship.

“You three, line up in front of me,” the captain shouted. “Whelk! Dip the bucket!” As one of the crewmen ran to dip a wooden bucket tied to a rope over the side of the ship, Lake whipped out his knife. “All right, first-timers, hold out your hands.”

Storm saw Cloud slip to the front of the assembled crew. He gave her a reassuring nod. He must have decided to forgive her. A knot in her heart eased. Storm gave him a quick smile, trying to look unconcerned about the sharp knife her uncle was holding in a businesslike manner. The two other first-timers stuck out their hands, palms up. Storm took a deep breath and did the same.

“Bucket!” roared the captain. And the bucket appeared, sloshing full of seawater, plonked in front of her uncle, who grabbed the nearest boy’s hand and stuck the point of his knife in the fleshy part of the boy’s thumb. Storm saw the apprentice wince. Her uncle held the boy’s thumb over the bucket, letting his blood fall into the water.

Her turn. Lake was rough but deft. A sharp pain, then she was watching her blood fall – drop-by-red-drop – into the seawater and immediately disappear. She clenched her fingers over her stinging thumb as she watched her uncle do the same to the last of the new apprentices.