Despite his dramatic words, Talon did not seem upset. Indeed, the councillor’s moustaches spread in a merry smile. “I think we have no choice but to keep you working for us for a period of three years, as an indentured servant. Oh, do not worry: your duties will not involve policing rebels. I and my colleagues have taken your words to heart. We shall open negotiations with the trait— With those who petition the Pact in an appropriate manner.

“You, however, will work without pay, guarding the fleets that come to trade on Bellum and protecting us all from the Drowned Ones.

“We will give you comfortable lodgings – not, ahem, in my house – and servants, as befits your status. If, after three years working for the Pact, you wish to continue as our partner, well … that would be most acceptable.” Talon smoothed his wayward hair back from his forehead and his eyebrows rose in hoops of happiness.

She could freeze him into an ice statue where he sat. But only if the Albatross wanted her to, which she doubted. Talon’s death would not solve the problem of Bellum Island.

She tried to salvage something: “Cloud is free to leave? And my uncle free to return with the fleet to Bellum? To finish trading? You will not punish Yanlin with even more taxes because of my … misfortune?”

“But of course!” Talon smiled broadly, waggled his crimson-nailed hands to show his disinterest. Having acquired his Weather-witch, he could afford small gestures of magnanimity.

Two days later, at dawn, the messenger boat sailed into Bellum harbour, followed by the Wayfarer. Storm met with her uncle and his second master in her new quarters, in the official Pact guest house. Which, she noted, was on the opposite side of the square from Talon’s house.

“I think he arranged the attack himself!” Lake raged, pacing round and round her somewhat smaller, plainer room. “I wouldn’t put it past these pampered civil servants! The man wouldn’t know a bowsprit from a yardarm! Never did an honest day’s work in his life!”

“Well, well.” Foam squatted with his back against the wall, watching his captain pace back and forth, as Lake had been doing ever since they had arrived. “What can’t be helped must be endured.” The second master cast an agonised look at Storm, who sat nearby, waiting for her uncle’s anger to wear itself out. She wished he would hurry up about it. Each word was an arrow in her heart. Her people must leave her behind.

The Wayfarer had finished trading. It would now begin the homeward journey. She would be left alone in this strange place full of danger. And there was no help for it: none at all.