1. Three Days Aboard the Coralynne

22nd of Nima

With a sigh, Raggan sat down at the tea table outside my cabin, then lowered a grain sack from his shoulder to the floor. He gave me his famous gap-toothed grin as he fished around in his breast pocket for his clay pipe and tobacco pouch. "How goes your first morn at sea, Miss Westerby?" he asked, tamping a pinch of tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. He lit it with a pocket flint, then sat back and took a long, easy draw on it, watching me expectantly.

I couldn't formulate a reply, so I just lifted my mug of hot Praidani. That was all the breakfast I could handle. The piece of toast had made a prompt reappearance; I might as well have thrown it overboard without eating it first.

"Ah," Raggan grunted. "Landlegs gettin' to ya."

I gave him a tight little grin and turned to stare out at the passing scenery again.

Another island, dark rocks, vibrant greenery. They were getting smaller, now. This one was too steep and too 'new' to support large trees, and there were only small signs of wildlife here and there.

Parading through the islands from largest to smallest wasn't the only difference between this trip and the last. This time we were aboard the Coralynne, which was smaller and sleeker than the Stryka. It was also built strictly with creature comfort in mind. Where the Stryka had cannons and grappling hooks, the Coralynne had a full formal ballroom and canteen. Where the Angpixen had a large forward hold and a handful of cabins for the officers, the Coralynne had thirty-five individual cabins, four of which were staterooms, and all of which opened onto a generous promenade deck overlooking the sea. We even had individual lounging nooks and tea tables.

Another change on this ship was that NaVarre wasn't NaVarre. The crew referred to him as Lord Braeton, and they treated all the rest of us like we were guests on a luxury vessel. This was done on purpose. We had to look like what our papers said we were: legitimate civilians sailing about as Lord Braeton's retinue of servants, bodyguards, and hangers-on. There wasn't a single Navy-issue anything on board, and everyone – even Raggan – was wearing civilian clothing.

I felt distinctly like I had stepped through a hole in reality and landed on a holiday trip.

I wasn't alone. Raggan snorted lightly as he looked around, taking in the high-gloss polish on the woodwork, the gleaming brass accents, and the cushions in each lounging nook. There was even insect netting gathered in tiers at the edge of the overhanging roof above our heads.

"Sure makes sailin' work look dull, don't it?" he asked, shaking his head. He pulled a small knife from his pocket, then dug in the bag at his feet and came out with a small chunk of driftwood. The fragrant scent of pipe smoke drifted in the air around us as he loosened his new neckerchief, propped his legs out straight, crossed them at the ankle, unfolded his knife and began whittling.

Grim, I took a sip of tea, wondering if Ydara and the girls were done making breakfast, and what Jinny would think when I didn't show up. I had only been there nine days, hardly long enough to do more than leave several tasks unfinished. A pile of personal records was still sitting on my desk waiting to be translated. I wasn't there to help the Doctor, either, but Jinny could do both. Would anyone even notice I was gone?

"Don't you worry, lass," Raggan said quietly. "You'll find yer way back."

I swallowed, then shot a glance at his blunt profile. How much had Arramy told him? I knew the captain trusted Raggan more than many, which was why he was among the dozen or so men Arramy had hand-picked to come on this mission, but did Raggan know why I was there? Did he know how dangerous this might actually be, or what would happen after?

Questions flew around like moths in my head. My stomach knotted up again and I closed my eyes, only to snap them open a second later when the captain's singular tread sounded on the nearby stairwell, descending from the observation deck.

"Well, there's me cue," Raggan said, folding away his knife. He gave me a little smile as he tapped out his pipe and swept wood shavings off my tea table. Then he bent and tucked his bag of driftwood beneath his chair. "Cap'n got us doin' heavy drills an' such, puttin' the pirates through their paces. Save me spot?"

I nodded carefully, then watched him hurry off after Arramy.

23rd of Nima

There was another strategy meeting this evening. Braeton said that we should arrive at his plantation landing in two days. From there it would be a day's ride to Nimkoruguithu by horseless, whereupon I would have to walk into the Lion's Perch Pub. Alone. Or nearly. There was still some debate as to how many should go in with me. NaVarre said it should be just me so we didn't spook the pub owner. Arramy wanted a complement of at least five.

Weary of listening to their vicious back and forth, I left before they had reached any sort of agreement.

Penweather was on the promenade, leaning on the rail, smoking a cheroot and staring out at the mist lying low and pale between the islands in the light of a dying sunset. He heard me coming down the stairs from the command deck and turned to glance at me.

"Miss Westerby," he murmured, dipping his head.

"Mr. Penweather." I offered him a smile on my way past – polite, but distant, just like every other time since that night on the beach.

"Miss Warring, might I ask..."

Apprehension settled cold in my middle. I paused, giving him a sidelong glance.

He took the cheroot from his mouth, gesturing with it as he said, casually, "Pardon me. It's not really any of my business whose company you keep, but I can't fathom why NaVarre would want to bring you along. It doesn't make any sense."

"I think maybe you need to ask the captain," I said stiffly.

That got his attention. He took another drag on his cigar, making the ember glow bright in the gloom, illuminating eyes narrowed in thought beneath lowered brows.

I firmed my chin and kept walking, heading straight for the door to my cabin.

My fingers were shaking so hard it took three tries to slide the bolt into the lock.

24th of Nima

We left the last of the Rimrocks behind, today, and started up one of the main tributaries that wind like snakes through the Ulba River Basin.

The plan: to arrive at the plantation landing late tonight, then set out at dawn for Nimkoruiguithu, with Braeton, Arramy and I hidden in the back of a draft wagon carrying a shipment of sugar cane.