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‘Then let them. It is my experience that when a man in command of other men starts to go rotten, it is best to expel him as soon as possible. Althea, think. The ship is not subtle. Paragon says what is in his mind. The sailors are wiser than that. But if Lavoy is influencing the ship to his way of thinking, can you imagine he is doing less with the crew, especially the Tattooed? Lavoy has gained far too much influence over them. They are, in some ways, like Paragon. They have been brutalized by life and the experience has left them capable of cold cruelty. Lavoy builds on that in men. Look how he encourages the crew to deride and torment Lop.’ She looked away from Althea, out over the water.

‘Lavoy is a danger. We should be rid of him.’

‘But Lavoy –’ Althea began. She was interrupted by Amber springing to her feet.

‘Ship!’ she shouted, pointing. On the deck below, the secondary watchman took up the cry and pointed in the same direction for the benefit of the man on the wheel.

Althea saw it now, a mast moving behind a thin line of trees on a long point of land, close to where Amber had been watching earlier.

The ship had probably held back and waited there, allowing the Paragon to come closer before they made their attempt.

‘Pirates!’ Althea confirmed. And ‘PIRATES!’ she yelled down to alert the crew below.

As if aware that they had been seen, colours suddenly unfurled from the other ship’s flagstaff, a red flag with a black emblem on it.

Althea counted six small boats being prepared for launch from the other ship.

That would be their tactic then; the little boats would harry Paragon and board him if they could while the larger ship tried to force him into the shallows ahead.

If the small boats’ crews were successful at overrunning Paragon’s deck, they could deliberately run him aground and pluck him at their leisure.

Althea’s heart hammered. They had spoken of this, prepared for this, but somehow it still shocked her.

For an instant, fear gripped her so strongly she could not breathe.

The men in those boats would do all in their power to kill her.

She choked a breath past her terror, shut her eyes and then opened them wide.

There was no time to fear for her own life. The ship depended on her.

Brashen had appeared on deck at her first shout.

‘Put on sail!’ Althea shouted down to him.

‘They’re trying to wolf-pack us, but we can outrun them.

Six small boats, and a mother ship. Be wary!

There are shallows ahead.’ She turned to Amber.

‘Go down to Paragon. Tell him he must aid us to keep him in the best channel. If the pirates start to get close to us, arm him. He could do a lot to drive back a small boat. I’m going to keep the watch here. The captain will run the deck.’

Amber did not wait to hear more. She was gone, spidering down the lines as if she had done it all her life.

As Paragon drew abreast of the point of land, the small boats raced to intercept him.

Six men in each craft manned the oars while others clutched weapons or grapples and awaited their opportunity.

Below her, Paragon’s deck swarmed with activity.

Some crew hastened to add canvas while others passed out weapons or took up watch positions all along the railings.

The frenzied activity was not the coordinated preparation she had hoped to see.

Althea felt a sudden rush of anticipation.

The excitement was giddying, submerging her fear.

After all the waiting, her chance had finally, finally come.

She would fight and she would kill. All of them would see what she could do; they would have to respect her after this.

‘Oh, Paragon,’ she whispered to herself as she realized abruptly the source of her feelings.

‘Oh, ship, you have nothing to prove to anyone. Don’t let this become you. ’

If he was aware of her thoughts, he gave no sign of it.

Almost, she was glad to cloak her fear in his bravado.

As she called down to Brashen the locations of the oncoming boats that he might steer to avoid them, Paragon was shouting for their blood.

Amber had not armed him yet. He roared his threats and thrashed mightily, blindly flailing his arms as he sought for prey within his reach.

As Althea watched from her rocking perch, two of the small boats slackened their efforts at the sight and sound of the infuriated figurehead.

The other four came on unchecked. She could see them clearly now.

The men wore red kerchiefs with a black sigil on their brows.

Most of them had tattooed faces. Their mouths were wide as they yelled their own threats back at the ship and brandished swords.

What was happening on Paragon’s deck was not so clear to Althea.

Rigging and canvas blocked her view of Paragon’s deck, but she could hear Brashen bellowing orders and curses.

Althea continued to cry the positions of the small boats.

She took heart that two of the little boats were already falling back.

Perhaps they might just slip by all of them.

Brashen gave orders intending to evade them, but the wild leaning of the figurehead was thwarting the steersman’s efforts.

From her perch, Althea heard Amber’s voice raised clearly once.

‘I decide!’ she declared emphatically to someone.

Brashen’s heart sank within him. None of the crew’s training seemed to be bearing fruit.

He glanced about for Lavoy. He was supposed to be commanding the archers.

The mate should also be bringing the deck under control, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

There wasn’t time to find him: Brashen needed the crew to function now.

They raced about like unruly children playing a wild game.

At this first challenge, most of them had reverted to being the waterfront scum he had recruited in Bingtown.

He recalled with chagrin his orderly plan: one set of men to defend the ship, a second ready to attack whilst a third saw to the sailing of the ship.

The railing should have been lined with a row of archers by now.

It wasn’t. He estimated that perhaps half his crew recalled what they were supposed to be doing.

Some gawked, or leaned over the railing shouting and making bets as if they were watching a horse race.

Others shouted insults at the pirates, and shook weapons at them.

He saw two men squabbling like schoolboys over a sword.

The ship was the worst of all, wallowing about instead of answering the helm.

With every instant, the pirates drew closer.

He abandoned the distance a captain kept from his crew.

Haff on the wheel seemed to be the only man focused on his task.

Brashen moved swiftly about the deck. A well-aimed kick broke up one group of gawkers.

‘To your posts,’ he snapped at them. ‘Paragon!’ he bellowed.

‘Straighten yourself!’ Five steps carried him to where the men were pawing through the arms. The two squabblers he seized by their collars, knocked their heads together, and then armed them both with less desirable blades.

The sword they had fought over he kept for himself.

He glanced about. ‘Jek! You’re in charge of passing out weapons.

One to a man, and if anyone doesn’t take what he’s offered, he does without.

The rest of you, get in line!’ He ordered aloft three men who were hanging back, bidding them watch and cry down to him all they saw.

They sprang to with a will, gladly giving up their weapons to those more anxious to fight.

Brashen berated himself for not foreseeing this chaos.

As their cries and Althea’s shouts told him the positions of the advancing boats, he shouted his orders to the man on the wheel and the crew working the rigging.

He judged that they would be able to evade the smaller boats, but not by much.

As for the larger vessel behind him, well, the same wind filled her sails as his.

He had a lead, and should be able to keep it.

Paragon was a liveship, damn it. He should be able to outrun anything he had a lead on.

Yet for all that, the ship’s responses lagged, as if Paragon resisted the crew’s efforts to speed him along.

Dread uncoiled inside Brashen. If Paragon did not pick up speed, the smaller boats would close with him.

In a matter of minutes, Brashen had the ship’s deck crew working smoothly. As the chaos subsided, he glanced about for Lavoy. Where was the man whose job he’d been doing?

He spotted Lavoy headed for the foredeck.

Even more unnerving than the previous disorder was the small, orderly group of men around Lavoy.

Composed mostly of the former slaves they had smuggled out of Bingtown, this group flanked the first mate as if they were his personal escort.

They carried both bows and swords. They ranged themselves on the foredeck.

Purpose was in Lavoy’s stride as he paced it.

Brashen felt an irrational flash of anger.

The way the men moved around Lavoy told all.

This was Lavoy’s élite crew. They answered to him, not Brashen.