Merren descended the narrow steps into the hold, balancing a tray laden with bread, cheese, and what looked like yesterday's stew reheated with optimism.

  "Good morning, stowaways!" His grin was entirely too cheerful for someone whose dinghy had sunk less than eight hours ago.

  “Now, ordinarily—and this is important, the ordinarily part—a captain wouldn't be feeding his stowaways. Wouldn't even acknowledge them, really. Plausible deniability and all that. Very important in my line of work. Which is to say, officially—and mark that word, officially—I know absolutely nothing about any of you being here. Nothing whatsoever. In reality, of course, which is an entirely different matter from the official version of events, I know quite a bit. Hence the breakfast. You see the distinction?”

  Seren looked up from where she was sat leaning against a barrel, Ink's head resting on her lap. Her expression could have frozen the harbor.

  "Stowaways," she repeated, voice flat.

  "Well, you did sneak aboard in the dark without paying passage." Merren set the tray down on a crate. "Technically accurate, I'd say."

  “Remind me Merren, why did we have to sneak aboard last night?” Seren hissed. Merren ignored her.

  Cocky stretched his wings, still groggy. "Do we get to eat, or are you just here to insult us?"

  "Both, ideally. I'm multitalented." Merren gestured at the food. "Eat up. We sail as soon as the last of the supplies are loaded. Should be mid-morning. Barring, of course, the very real possibility that my crew drank themselves stupid last night. Which they probably did. But we'll see."

  Dain grabbed bread, tearing into it.

  Seren's voice was cold. "We had to walk through the streets." Her hand was white-knuckled on her lap. "A guard saw me. Saw Ink. Theron is looking for a woman and a dog.”

  Merren opened his mouth.

  “Because apparently you can't be trusted with something as simple as a functional dinghy. It couldn’t even make the short distance to us. What would have happened if it sank with us in it?”

  The theatrical grin died completely. He looked rueful.

  She gestured at the worn timbers around them. "Is this ship even seaworthy? Or is it held together by hope and rotten rope?"

  Merren looked at the floor. “I wouldn’t say the ropes are rotten—”

  Dain shifted uncomfortably, bread forgotten in his hand. This was Thorn the Bard. The actual Merren bloody Thorn. And Seren was treating him like some common sailor.

  "Now they know someone matching my description was heading to the docks." She looked at Cocky, at Kith. At Dain. "What if the dinghy sank with us all in it?"

  Silence settled in the hold. Even Prattle wasn’t prattling.

  Merren's arms dropped. The swagger was gone. "You're right."

  "I know I'm right."

  "But they don't know which ship—"

  "Not yet." Seren's jaw tightened. "And how long will that last? Can you honestly say no one else saw us get on this ship last night? And at this point I don't even know if we can trust you to get us to Eldmere!”

  Silence settled in the hold.

  Merren's face perked up. "She's gotten me through worse."

  "That's not reassuring."

  "It's the truth." He met her eyes. "The Black Ballad's older than she looks, and yes, some things need mending. But I know every plank, every rope, every weakness. We'll get you to Eldmere."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “The dinghy has not inspired a lot of confidence.”

  “Fair point.”

  "Will we get there before Theron figures out which ship we're on?"

  "That," Merren said grimly, "depends on how fast my crew can load barrels."

  Kith looked up. "Then go help and make sure they don't sink us before we even leave port. Wouldn't want to lose two boats in one day."

  "Stowaways," Merren corrected with a ghost of his earlier grin. "Important distinction." He headed for the stairs. "Stay below decks. If anyone asks, I'm hauling salted fish and bad decisions."

  "Two boats," Merren muttered as he disappeared up the steps, boots thudding on wood. "She's got a point. That would be embarrassing."

  From somewhere in the rafters, Prattle's voice drifted down—perfectly mimicking Merren's theatrical tone: "I know every plank, every rope, every weakness!"

  Then, in Seren's flat voice: "That's not reassuring."

  Then Merren again: "Fair point."

  Despite everything, Dain snorted. He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting to Seren.

  Prattle fluttered down to land on a barrel near Dain, head cocked. In his own voice, small and smug: "I'm helpful."

  "You're very naughty, you are," Dain whispered, but he was grinning. "Absolutely mental. That was perfect, yeah?"

  "I don't like this," Seren muttered, pointedly ignoring them both.

  "Standards are low," Kith said around a mouthful of bread. "But right now, he's all we've got."

  "I don't like this," she sighed.

  "Standards are low," Kith said around a mouthful of bread. "But right now, he's all we've got."

  ***

  Eustace leaned against the polished rail—tall, broad-shouldered, red curls like a halo of amber catching the morning light. His dark blue coat was well-cut and practical, free of patches or fade. Everything about him spoke of soigné and affluence.

  What's Thorn up to now? Rushing about like the devil himself was on his heels.

  He tapped his fingers on the gleaming rail, thinking. Early this morning—no, predawn really—hadn't there been movement? A woman. A dog. Others with her. Slipping aboard in the dark like they had something to hide.

  And hadn't Theron been asking questions? Woman and a dog, he'd said. Very interested in finding them.

  Surely more than a coincidence.

  Eustace's smile spread slowly. Information was currency, and he'd just stumbled onto something… valuable. And at Theron’s expense? That would be… auspicious.

  "Boy!"

  A young sailor appeared at his elbow. "Yes, Captain Eustace?"

  "Come to my cabin. I need you to take a message to Inquisitor Theron. Can you do that for me?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  Eustace wrote quickly, sealed the message, and followed the boy back out onto the deck. He watched him scurry toward the docks, then turned his gaze across the water.

  He turned his gaze across the water to The Black Ballad. Peeling paint, patched sails, ropes spliced more times than was safe. Merren's rust bucket. Merren stood on The Black Ballad's deck, supervising the loading. Their eyes met.

  Eustace's smile widened. "Lovely day for smuggling, isn't it, Captain Thorn?"

  Merren's expression didn't change. "I couldn't imagine what you're referring to."

  "Of course not." Eustace tipped an imaginary hat. "Safe travels, Captain. Though I'd recommend checking your manifest carefully. One never knows what—or who—might have slipped aboard."

  ***

  Theron sat in his chambers, fingers steepled beneath his chin, reading the guard's report for the third time since he received it at dawn.

  Woman and dog. Midnight. Headed to docks.

  Was it the same woman and dog he was looking for? Possibly. And what were they doing travelling cloaked in darkness? There had to be an explanation.

  A knock at the door.

  "Come in."

  A ship's boy appeared—brown linen tunic and breeches neat and clean, though salt stains darkened the hems. Barefoot, but he stood straight, the kind of crew member that spoke to a captain who ran a proper vessel. "Message for you, sir. From Captain Eustace."

  Theron took the sealed paper, broke the wax, and read. His eyes moved across the words once. Twice.

  He set both reports side by side on the desk.

  Woman and dog. Midnight. Headed to docks.

  Woman and dog. Boarding a ship. Before dawn.

  He tapped one finger against the wood, a steady rhythm.

  "Boy."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Would your captain be willing to take on passengers?"

  The boy brightened. "Eustace the Monk, sir? He'll sail anywhere for the right price. Fastest ship in the harbor."

  "Good." Theron stood, reaching for his coat. "Tell him I need passage for fifty soldiers. We'll sail as soon as possible. And tell him to watch the ship’s heading so we can follow. The Church will pay well."

  "Yes, sir!" The boy bolted.

  Theron looked out the window toward the harbor. Somewhere out there, a ship was preparing to sail. A ship carrying a woman and a dog he was very much looking to talk to.

  He smiled thinly.