The Sultan’s yacht was taking a beating; the eight-foot waves were taking their toll.

“We need to find a port,” the captain said.

Seymour couldn’t see anything out of the port window. “How far until the next suitable port?” he asked.

“Four to six hours at least.”

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“I don’t want to be late delivering the Sultan’s prize.”

“If his prize is dead, then it doesn’t make any difference, anyway.”

Seymour agreed to the change in course. “Where is the nearest suitable port?”

The captain took out a small waterproof notebook and referred to his notes for several seconds.

“I was planning for St. John’s, Newfoundland, because I have friends there, but because of the bad weather, we are looking at something much closer, like Shag Harbour or The Hawk,” the captain said.

“Are they safe enough for our cargo?”

“They are small ports. The harbormaster and I go way back at The Hawk, so that is our best bet.”

Seymour nodded.