Vercor was a Navy cutter: built to prowl smuggler’s coves, aid the shipwrecked, and run dispatches. Lithe, about half Fletch’s size. She had a single mast with large, triangular sails that looked quite new. They were being unfurled as Bethany and the Lufts approached, walking down a short dock at the end of the inlet.

There was no gangplank between the cutter and the dock. Mr. Luft climbed over the high gunnel then helped his daughter aboard, partly lifting her while Bethany made her own way.

Ten sailors, all of them armed, were busy about the deck. One of them, evidently the bosun, shouted “officer!” and they all turned smartly toward Winstanley and saluted.

“Carry on, lads. I should like to stop and tell you more but there is not time. For now know that a suspicious ship is approaching the island from the south and we are moving to intercept her.”

After a short while the bosun called, “ready, sir!” Winstanley nodded and the bosun went on, “all hands! Make sail!”

The luffed jibs and mainsail were made right with the wind and the cutter quickly left the dock and inlet behind. Winstanley acted as helmsman, there was no room for an idle officer on a warship so small, and he brought Vercor deftly onto a southerly course, running close inshore so as to conceal the ship from the interloper for as long as possible. When the cutter did emerge from the lee of the island Bethany saw that the gray ship was very near and had altered course, seeming to make for Holman Quay.

“This is blessed wind,” Winstanley observed to Mr. Luft, who had taken to standing behind him at the helm, “she’s a steamer and could outrun us on most days, but not now.”

Vercor was quite fast on the gusting breeze, her slender hull, fine sapele stained black as a piano, parted the water as if it was not there. She sailed beyond the steamer and jibed to follow from astern, hoping to keep away from her forward guns. As Vercor approached the steamer did not change course or make any other reactions. Bethany moved up the deck, leaving Clotilde sitting against the gunnel cradling her injured head. Reaching the bowsprit she regarded the stern of the steamer, “Perezvon” was lettered there in block capitals and below it “Northwark.”

“She’s not Bexarian!” Bethany called aft.

“We saw that as well but it proves nothing, anybody can paint a home port on a stern,” Winstanley replied. They were soon very near Perezvon, such that the cutter bucked in her wake. Bethany saw gouts of water rushing from her bilges, fighting the flooding that was causing a considerable list to port. Gashes and shell holes were now visible in her hull, some as low as the waterline. The upper ones were open to the air while the rest were patched haphazardly, a few stuffed with mattresses.

Bethany started when Winstanley appeared beside her. His bosun was now at the helm and he bore a speaking trumpet.

“She doesn’t look like much of a threat. She seems to have been to the wars,” Bethany noted.

“Even so, if you did indeed see guns on her fore she could easily raze Holman Quay,” Winstanley replied and lifted his speaking trumpet.

“Steamer calling itself Perezvon, you are in the territorial waters of the Holman Islands, a possession of the Assembly. Under my lawful authority as commandant of the Naval Depot of the Holman Islands and master of the Assembly’s cutter Vercor, I order you to stop, or you will be fired upon!”

There was a small commotion on the steamer’s deck and a sailor leaned over her fantail, shouting down to Winstanley, “oh to hell with you, can’t you see we’re in distress!”

He was clearly not Bexarian, in fact, by his accent Bethany was almost certain he was from Bray.

Winstanley spoke again, “will you tell your captain to stop.”

“Our cap’n’s dead, sir, but we’re telling our acting master to stop,” the sailor barked.

“Very well. Pass the word that you are going to be boarded, your ship is still under suspicion for you are flying no flag and have come from contested waters.”

Vercor came right alongside Perezvon and a rope ladder was dropped from the latter’s forecastle. A party of armed sailors from Vercor went aboard first and soon gave the all clear. Winstanley and Luft then climbed up. Bethany looked about the largely deserted deck of the cutter and then to horrible gashes in the side of the gray ship. Curiosity overcame her and she climbed onto the gunnel, grasping the ladder. The sailor who had been left in command of Vercor protested until Clotilde rose and said something to him, causing him to shake his head and go back to the helm.

Bethany did not go onto Perezvon’s deck but rather hung at the top of the ladder, peering over the gunnel. She saw a slaughterhouse floor. There were no dead men readily in view but it was clear that they had been there, the stains left by pools of blood dotted the deck, some treated with sand. Bits of clothing, torn away by shot or cut by a surgeon, and spent syrettes of papaver rolled about. Great metal spikes, shaped rather like spear points and as tall as a man, were stuck into the deck. Upon closer inspection Bethany saw at least one had gone right through some luckless sailor, it was hard to make out in the shadow cast by the weapon, but she could see that his torso had been pierced, pinning his corpse to the deck. A few of the spears were also in the superstructure, stuck in the steel at a variety of angles. Bethany supposed that the same weapon was responsible for the hull damage - in that case they had glanced off instead of sticking in.

Winstanley was speaking to some officer and the spears had caught his eye as well. Bethany watched him stride over to the one that had dispatched the sailor and regard the corpse, then knock on the weapon, as if to divine the material it was made of and whether it was hollow. To Bethany’s ear it was not, the knocking produced a dull sound.

“Stop there! Who are you!” rang in Bethany’s ears as a sailor of Perezvon came up to her at the gunnel, focused on the scene before her she had look right past him as he approached. He was taking his rifle down from its sling when Winstanley, Luft, and the ship’s acting captain swiveled in his direction.

“What is it, Schmoyda?” the captain inquired.

Schmoyda grabbed at Bethany, “I’m about to find out, sir.”

Bethany ducked, avoiding his reach, then came over the gunnel of her own accord.

Luft moved briskly toward the sailor, half-shouting, “That’s Miss Esterhouse, my daughter’s friend. I have no idea why she thought she could come up here, but don’t lay a hand on her.”

“You hear that, Schmoyda, she’s just a lady, though I commend your watchfulness,” Perezvon’s acting captain added. On this the sailor relaxed and turned to go aft. Luft ceased advancing and returned to the two officers. Bethany did not know if they approved of her presence or simply expected her go back down to Vercor without further encouragement. Regardless, she stayed, standing near the gunnel where she could clearly hear the three men but did not appear to be intruding on them.

The acting captain had been in the midst of a tale when Schmoyda interrupted and he now went on: “...we were lying about 1000 versts south of here, far enough that it snowed the day before, I can show you the charts shortly, and it was night when the attack began, again the exact timing is in the log. We were meant to be escorting the icebreaker Pan and she was running a verst ahead in case there were any bergs, though they a rare in those waters, one has to head even farther down to face serious ice. Anyhow, I was taking a very late supper, alone in the officer’s mess when I heard the shot and I ran to a porthole in time to see a geyser of fire come up from Pan, I thought first her magazines had gone, but she had none, she was unarmed, that is why we were there in the first place. I heard the engines go at once to full ahead and we beat to quarters. I went to my cabin to lay hands on my sword and pistol and was then to go to the bridge as drilled. I was coming out of my cabin when the first one landed, the first of those godawful pointed things, spikes if you like. It hit the superstructure aft of the funnel, we are lucky it did not cut the stays for the funnel or we’d have been dowsed with smoke, and went in three decks, stopping in the mess larder. I made for the bridge like a shot and just before I got there two of the damnable things cut right into it, the captain’s was drilled from his head down to his waist, quite dead and the pilot-house was split like a piece of tin. I looked down and saw the deck was littered with the spikes and they’d taken maybe 20 men. Then the speaking tube from the engine room started hollering, we had water coming in everywhere, they said, wanted the captain to give the go ahead to abandon ship. At the same time the lookouts on the foremast said they saw an unidentified vessel and there was firing coming from it. I told the engineer to make all of the watertight doors fast, told him we were not going to give up the ship so easily, and took the helm, spying the enemy ship myself I turned on it. They were not expecting us to move and their shots began to miss wide, they began to bracket us and found as again, we lost more men, and were listing greatly now, but I kept going, hoping to get close enough that their mortar, and it must have been a mortar for the shot was falling from above, could not decline enough to aim at us. We came very near it, I had a thought of ramming it, and certain we were going down decided that might be a fine end. I drew very close, intent on hitting amidships. It was small though, and able to turn fast, and it did so, we only struck its bow and it was a glancing hit. That said, our number two gun did shoot away its pilot house and left it unable to maneuver as far as we could tell. We ran north then, not slowing down even though we were flooding. We did not stop to properly sound and shore the ship until daybreak.”

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The men had drawn away from Bethany as the acting captain had gone on, walking slowly toward the superstructure, likely intent on reviewing the ship’s logs. As they stepped through a hatch hanging askew Bethany faintly heard Mr. Luft inquire: “Sir, what sort of ship was it that made the attack?”

The acting captain stopped, “that’s just the thing, and it is frankly a humiliating fact, but I would not call it a ship at all, not a proper one anyway, but a tawdry little trawler, oceangoing but not weatherly.”

The parlor car brought up the rear of the narrow little train. It was done in homage to those on the mainland, but was far too small and cramped to pass for its inspiration. For that reason and the general lack of passengers, it rolled almost deserted through the gathering dusk. Bethany sat upright on a sagging sofa with a dozing Clotilde’s head on her shoulder. Though the carriage had a mismatched abundance of gilt lamps, the conductor had deigned to light only two, and by their paltry light Bethany regarded her companion. She had made an effort to clean the blood from her face and had a fresh bandage, but there were still dried spots of red about her eyes. Asleep she wore a small frown but she had been nearly happy when the train had set off, talking meanderingly but blithely. This despite the fact that they were going back to Holman Quay to rejoin their ships at once, an abrupt end to the time on land that the lubberly girl was glad to receive. Bethany supposed that the chance to rest aboard the train after the exertion of climbing down the volcano and being tossed about on Vercor was enough to please her regardless. Certainly Bethany had welcomed it. She gently rose, careful to lower Clotilde onto the sofa without waking her.

One of the two lamps was on a table rather than in a sconce and Bethany lifted it, holding it near her paintbox. Opening the box she searched until she found the small sack in which she had hidden a handful of papaver syrettes. Two were already spent. She drew out two more and carried them and the lamp with her to the washroom at the fore of the carriage.

The flickering lamplight danced in the mirror over the basin, giving glimpses of her reflection as she studied her arms for a likely spot. She paused, looking at her face. There was more joy in her than usual, she could tell, her eyes were more lively and she wore the beginnings of a contented smile. The latter went away when she concentrated again on her arm. It was nights like these when she hated herself for doing it, for she was bereft of good reasons. She had no ill mood to justify it and none of her memories, even the recent horrors, troubled her just now. She felt she could go and sit again next to Clotilde, close her eyes, and drift off to sleep without help were it not for the her growing headache, unease, and the trembling slithering from the tips of her fingers into her palms and wrists.

Bethany took her injections and wrapped in their warmth, tottered back to the sofa.

She was woken by the jolt of the train’s breaks and looked out to see the central street of Holman Quay, glowing with the lights of taverns.

“Clotilde,” she whispered, jostling her, “we’re arrived.”

Clotilde rose on the sofa and rubbed her wounded brow, murmuring, “alright.”

Bethany closed her paintbox and gathered it up, then left the train with Clotilde leaning on her. She saw Mr. Luft, who had ridden the whole way in the railway post van in the company of his new deck guns coming down the platform.

“Is she doing alright?” he asked Bethany when he reached them.

“I’m fine, father, I think I only need a night in a proper bed and a change of clothes,”Clotilde answered, standing straight.

“You will get one, I have thought on it and we cannot sail tonight, every man here is in his cups, even the officers. I am going to find Mr. Granger and finalize things, though, expect us to leave with the dawn.”

“That’s merciful,” Clotilde muttered.

Luft addressed Bethany again, “Do you have a room in the town or will you need to go back to your ship?”

“The ship, I suppose,” Bethany replied.

“That’s what I feared, there will be no launches tonight, not this late, I would take you but I haven’t the time. Most of the men will be sleeping in the street but that is no good for a lady. You can come up to our rooms. What do you say to that?”

“What about Misses Luft?” Bethany protested.

“With luck she will be asleep.”

The night porter had to unlock the doors to the hotel - they were shut lest drunks sleep in the lobby - and lead them up the stairs with a lamp. The lights in the Lufts’ room however, were burning.

Letitia started from an armchair, dropping the book she had been reading, “heavens! What did you let happen to her! And you,” she swiveled to Bethany,“I cannot say I’m surprised.” Then to her husband, “it’s a good thing Clotilde is adult in the eyes of the law, Florian, or you could well be done in for endangering your child.”

“I have urgent business but allow me to say nothing that happened to my daughter was the fault of her friend who is practically stranded on this island for lack of launches. If she does not stay here tonight she will be sleeping in the street.”

“I will not have her in here with our daughter asleep in the next room.”

Bethany began to back out of the room but Florian stopped her, addressing his wife, he went on he seethed “I have paid for this room and I will decide who uses it.”

Letitia reversed a few steps, “if that is the case then I will sit up in Carolina’s room and lock the door from the inside.”

“You are welcome to do so,” Florian huffed.

Clotilde began to move into the room, taking Bethany’s hand to pull her along, “they’ll cease bickering in a few minutes and you’ll only egg Letitia on by standing there.”

Icy wind rustled the curtains and woke Bethany. She looked up to find the balcony doors swung open and Clotilde standing in the early morning light, wrapped in a down blanket. Joining her, she saw a blank blue sky spread over the bay where Fletch and Tess bobbed at anchor. She began to speak but Clotilde shushed her and pointed at the street below. Sailors and marines from both ships were standing in ranks that wavered as they rocked or rubbed their pounding heads. Bethany hoped for everyone’s sake they had at least been filled with coffee before being thrown right back into military discipline.

Florian Luft emerged from a tavern, shaved and in his best clothes. He was dragging a gilt chair under one arm and it scraped across the duckboards and through the mud untilhe reached the head of the formation. Planting its legs firmly he bounded up, landing on it with a creak.

“Gentlemen!” he began, “you are probably angry with me for cutting short your leave but you shall not be for long. Perhaps you saw or heard tell of a steamer, a fellow armed merchantman, putting into this island last night in a sorry state. She is called Perezvon and she fought like a lion, but you shall read of that in the dispatches. What I must say to all of you, and what I relish saying to my lads especially, is this: she fought and disabled the trawler which set upon Tess and destroyed our formation without warning. We know where the little beast is within ten or so versts, and if by some miracle she refit at sea and is underway, we know where is making for - after such a beating she could only be heading to the nearest Bexarian port. In either case I propose to do the following: hunt her down and sink her as soon as we sight her. End her like a mad dog, for that is what she is. Those of you in my crew who are voluntary men may leave now, may step out of the ranks if they are bitter for the shortening of their leisure, if they do not wish to play out this red thread.”

Every man in the formation stood straighter and not one stepped out. After another moment, Luft turned in the chair and bellowed: “Mayor Fennig!”

Fennig, in his rumpled morning suit, led the Holman Quay band up the road to the loping beat of drum. When they very near the flank of the sailors they stopped and a roll was played.

“The train has been readied. Go to it now, we are putting to sea at once,” Luft ordered. Fletch’s complement looked about for Granger and found him on the duckboards, leaning on his stick. He nodded to them and they fell into the newly forming column bound for the train station.

The officers, Bethany included, were to take the second train. As the launches spread their sails in the harbor, laden with sailors, the upper ranks took their seats to go down to the pier. The Luft’s had formed a unit unto themselves, boarding the last carriage with their luggage and without Bethany. She spotted Threlfall and trailed after him until he stepped aboard, then sat beside him.

“You look a fright,” she observed, “did you sleep?”

“A little. I was operating under the assumption that I wasn’t going to be called to do anything today but play cards and that not until at least noon.”

The train whistled and moved off.

“You play cards?”

“Not well.”

“Really, even with your ‘sight’?”

“Cards are neither nature nor fate, Bethany.”

“True enough, but I’m surprised they let you. The fellows you play against, I mean. Every good hand has to whip up speculation.”

“I try to play against men that don’t know I’m a seer. That’s not too hard except aboard ship, where everyone gossips like schoolgirls, it isn’t as if I go about wearing a sign.”

“So the townsfolk and Tess’ men would be your marks then?”

“That was my intention, yes.”

When Bethany looked to him again his eyelids were drooping. She elected to let him sleep, though he would not get much on the short descent.

Tess sailed first to cheers from her own deck. Bethany had heard bits of another blood and glory speech from Luft. She did not know where he had learned rhetoric, certainly not at the same place where one learned to broker colliers, but he had a talent for it. Perhaps he needed no training, for he had the genuine article to draw from, a hot hate of the trawler his men shared. Bethany watched Tess go from the fantail and when she had turned about a verst of water the order was given for Fletch to set off. They let her weathercock, turning the helm with it, until she was in line to follow Tess, then trimmed her sails and went slow ahead on the engine. Bethany did not suppose they would need any more power, the wind never seemed to cease blowing this far south. She regarded the filled mainsail behind the funnel, there was a streak of coal soot across it that they had meant to wash away during the time in port. Bethany did not envy Tess the vulnerability of sailing on the wind alone, but there was something to be said the for the cleanliness it granted. The soot and ash, especially now that they seemed to burning a lower grade of coal, got into everything. It rested on the deck until it was washed away but stuck into the joints between the planking, clung to the skin, and could be tasted in the food and water. None of her white clothing, even after washing, stayed white for long. It did not turn as dark as the stoker’s of course, but rather was flecked with the soot which spread when wetted, slowly turning the entire garment gray.