The sun rose on a catastrophe.

On the wide stage of the sea before Cordelia, bleeding black smoke into the sky, was a burnt ship. Sails gaped open in the wrong places, like slashed bellies. The portholes were put-out eyes, the hull was cracked, splitting the ship’s painted name – Innocenze – in half. The masts were broken like bones.

Cordelia desperately clanged the alarm bell and everyone stumbled up to the deck, blinking in horror at the floating wreck.

‘She must have been attacked in the night,’ Prospero said. ‘Just as Capitano Boniface described.’

‘AHOY!’ Davey bellowed. ‘ANYBODY THERE?’

The blackened ship was silent as Little Bear sailed closer. There was no sign of life. The drifting ship groaned in the caress of the sea as Prospero swung aboard to search for survivors.

‘I want to come with you!’ Cordelia demanded, trying to follow.

But Melchior and Davey held her back. It made her heart catch painfully to see her father sliding across the charred deck, calling through the smashed doors for survivors.

‘Look!’ Sam pointed.

Large and reckless, the word had been scrawled in red paint across the deck.

‘It was them all right,’ Goose confirmed grimly.

Prospero looked so small standing on the sinking wreck of the ship as the sea began to creep up his shins that Cordelia could not help calling out: ‘Come back!’

Only when her father was standing safely on the deck of Little Bear again did Melchior and Davey let Cordelia go.

‘My guess is the cargo was plundered and the stores robbed,’ Prospero told them. ‘Then they set fire to the ship.’

‘And the crew?’ Sam’s voice was small.

Prospero looked down at her soberly. ‘Perhaps they took them all prisoner.’

‘C-Capitano Boniface s-said the Troublemakers t-take no prisoners,’ Goose pointed out.

Cordelia clapped a hand on Goose’s shoulder.

‘That’s only because nobody’s ever met a prisoner they’ve taken!’ she said bracingly. ‘Besides, he forgot about Prudence Oglethorne. They took her prisoner.’

This reminder of a kidnap victim did not seem to bring Goose much comfort.

‘We make for St Freerest as fast as possible!’ Prospero announced, scanning the horizon.

All the remaining Wind Bags were opened halfway up the rigging, and Little Bear surged onwards, leaving the wreck of the ruined ship sinking slowly into the deep dark blue. Cordelia watched it until it was a blur on the horizon.

‘We’ll stop them,’ she whispered to the disappearing wreck. ‘I promise.’ She was more determined than ever to defeat the Troublemakers.

‘We’ve sailed faster than news can travel, so St Freerest won’t have had word yet of what happened in Parliament,’ Prospero told his gathered crew. ‘But the less notice we attract, the better. We should invent a disguise.’

‘For ourselves?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘And also a disguise for our ship.’

All day, as they sped across the sea, they busily prepared for Little Bear’s entry into port.

‘She’ll be registered as a London ship, so we’ll have to change her name, as well as the figurehead,’ Prospero told them.

The figurehead would have revealed them quickly by roaring into port as a small bear. They found some mops meant for swabbing the decks and fashioned a curly mane out of them. Sam (being the most confident climber) edged out on to the bowsprit to tie the mane in place, turning the bear into a lion.

‘Name next,’ Prospero said. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Lionheart!’ Goose suggested, squaring his shoulders as he gazed at their new lion figurehead.

‘Excellent!’ Prospero cried. ‘But let’s make it French – throw them off the scent even more: Coeur de Lion!’

Cordelia was lowered over the edge of the ship on ropes, clutching a paintbrush made of trimmed Honeybadger whiskers to keep her hands steady. Davey had dipped the brush in Trigment paint to ensure the lines stayed sharp. As the waves rushed beneath her dangling feet, Cordelia changed Little Bear to Coeur de Lion.

At dusk, a promise appeared on the horizon in the form of a faint glimmer away to the south-west. The newly named Coeur de Lion, flying a French Fleur-de-Lis from her topgallant, sped towards it.

As the sun went down in their eyes, Prospero called Cordelia to the wheel.

‘Dilly,’ he said seriously, ‘these Troublemakers are dangerous.’

Cordelia jutted her chin out. ‘I’m not scared, Father!’

The solemn line of Prospero’s mouth twitched.

‘But I am scared, littlest Hatmaker,’ he said. ‘I’m scared of losing you.’

Cordelia noticed that her father gripped the wheel so tightly she could see the fine bones of his hand standing out like the veins of a leaf.

‘I have decided that when we get to St Freerest,’ he went on steadily, ‘I will leave you, Sam and Goose with a woman who runs a tavern there. You’ll be safe –’

‘NO! Don’t leave me behind!’ Cordelia burst out. ‘I can fight! I’m strong!’

Prospero knelt on the deck, gripping Cordelia’s shoulders.

‘I know you’re strong and capable, my brave girl,’ he whispered. ‘I know you’d fight for justice with your lion heart and your roaring spirit. But I want you to stay safe –’

Unhelpfully, Cordelia felt hot tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath.

‘It isn’t fair to ask me to stand aside while you do all the rescuing,’ she said slowly, determined to shut the tearful wobble out of her voice. ‘Besides, I’m the only one who can see the island on the map!’

It was true. Everybody else aboard Little Bear had taken turns to stare directly at the place where Cordelia had found the Island of Lost Souls and nobody had been able to see anything other than blank parchment. But, despite this useful talent of Cordelia’s, her father had made up his mind.

‘Once I’m sure things are safe, I’ll fetch you and we’ll go back home together.’

Cordelia felt thunderclouds gathering behind her eyes as her father turned back to the horizon. He wanted her to be quiet and good and boring while he swashbuckled across the ocean on a great, hair-raising adventure. It was quite breathtakingly unfair. It had been her idea to take on the Troublemakers, her idea to rescue Prudence Oglethorne, and her idea to win a royal pardon. And now her father was going to make her hide while he did it all without her.

Cordelia was about to unleash a furious storm of protest when her father said quietly, never taking his eyes off the horizon, ‘I’ve already lost the great love of my life to treachery at sea, Cordelia. I cannot lose you too.’

All Cordelia’s fury fell still. Her mother had been lost at sea, and her father’s grief was an ocean he would sail on all his life: sometimes rough, sometimes calm, but always deep, and dark at the bottom.

She felt the fingers of the wind on her cheek, soothing her. The stars came out to comfort the empty sky.

‘We’ll slip quietly into St Freerest under cover of darkness,’ Prospero murmured. ‘I suggest you get a few hours’ sleep before we arrive.’

Obediently, Cordelia went down to her bunk to be rocked to sleep by a sea that took so much and kept so many souls for itself.