Lizzy sat wedged in the corner of the false barrel hide-hole, listening intently. The sounds of battle had ceased shortly after her father had left her, presumably as a result of his surrendering to the attacking forces, and since then only the occasional stamp of boots and shouted order had reached her down in the hold. She supposed that the Guillemot had been boarded and was now in the hands of the unknown enemy. Were there any of her father's crew still onboard? Rationally she thought there must be, as they would be needed to work the vessel, but at the same time she couldn't help but fear that they had all been taken off, and that she was now alone - the last of the Guillemot's faithful crew left aboard. The thought was not a cheerful one.

She had cried for a long time after her father left her, partly from fear and partly from frustration, but mostly from shame. All the jests of Lizzy leading boarding parties and daydreamed thoughts of her valiantly defending the Guillemot, sword in hand, had been for nothing when the ambush happened. For all her imagined bravado, the sight and sound and sheer speed of the attack had been too much for her, and the overwhelming emotions had been fear and frustration. How had they managed to be taken so easily? Despite all the experience of the crew aboard the Guillemot, and her father's suspicion and preparation for possible action, they had not even managed to get off a single shot before it was all over. It was almost as if they had known exactly where they would be. And then there was that light...

For some time, the Guillemot had been making way, unhurriedly and dead downwind judging by the quiet, smooth motion, which meant that if the wind was still from the east, they were heading west. Lizzy tried to keep track of time, but in her frightened state it was difficult to be sure of how much time had passed. One hour, or three? It was impossible to tell. She was tired, and repositioned herself in the cramped space to get more comfortable, reasoning that while she couldn't go anywhere, she may as well get as much rest as possible. Sleep wouldn't come however. She began to wonder how long she might be stuck in the hide-hole. What if there were no-one on board who knew she was in here? How long should she leave it before trying to make herself heard? And what might happen to her if she did?

A sudden noise close by made her jump. It sounded like someone was tapping the barrels as they made their way through the hold. She could hear voices too. A commotion close outside told Lizzy enough that the hide-hole in the nearby bulkhead had been found. An angry voice Lizzy didn't recognise was demanding to know if there were other 'smuggler's hides' he hadn't been told about. Lizzy experienced a surge of happiness when she heard Keevan's voice replying in reasonable tones that there was a small hole aft, but that was it, nothing more, and he would be glad to show the Admiral the way. Lizzy held her breath as the footsteps retreated back out the hold. So, at least one of the crew were still aboard. Surely others must be too, perhaps even her father!

Whoever this Admiral was, the fact he called himself by such a title implied organisation beyond that of an opportunistic pirate raider. Lizzy remembered that when they had stopped at Falmouth after crossing the Atlantic, there had been several vessels anchored in the outer roads that her father had referred to with not a little scorn in his voice as 'Trevanion's Navy', and there had been talk of 'commodores' and 'admirals' then. None of those vessels had been any bigger than the Guillemot though. She was sure this Navy must belong to someone else. She had a sudden recollection of a conversation overheard between her father and a Falmouth boat captain in the Guillemot's great cabin, while moored in Carrick Roads a few weeks earlier.

*

"Trevanion's been busy I see," her father had said. "Last time I was here, he had two old cutters and a carrick, for the love of God!"

It had been late afternoon on the second day after their arrival from Boston, and the setting sun was shining in through the cabin windows, lighting up in orange and red the visiting boat captain's face, itself already flushed from wind and wine, which Redgar had been pouring freely for the past hour. Her father had invited the man, who had the oddest name of anyone Lizzy had ever known in Tonkin Merryweather, aboard earlier that afternoon. Her father had hoped to find someone to pilot the Guillemot up the Severn Estuary, but the Silent Man had said no to that idea - Redgar was not to tell anyone their ultimate destination.

"Ah, well that's true enough," laughed Tinkon, "he goes around calling hisself an Admiral now, though the man's got no more idea of how to run a Navy than he does a whorehouse, begging your pardon missy," he said, glancing at where Lizzy sat on the lockers. Lizzy smiled to let him know she wasn't offended. She found the Cornish boat captain's accent and everything about him fascinating.

"So why the sudden need for a fleet?" asked Redgar. Tonkin's smile had faded and he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well, now you see ... fact is, we've been losing boats for a while now. More than can be accounted for by stress of weather. We thought it may have been bad luck at first. Then perhaps a raider from France, but that's not likely, as you know. Anyway, took us until six months ago to find out what's been going on." Tonkin paused for a few moments to collect his thoughts. Lizzy got the impression he was considering how much to tell them about their problems lest it give some kind of advantage to her father and the other boats of the Company. Lizzy knew enough of the fledgling trade growing across the Atlantic to understand that competition between trading fleets was sometimes intense, and while boat captains were cordial enough when meeting, friendly even, they were usually tight lipped on divulging information that would give the other an advantage.

Tonkin seemed to come to some internal agreement, nodding his head and looking up again at Redgar, before asking, "How much do you know about the Black King?"

Redgar blinked in surprise, then reached for the bottle of wine and refilled the glasses before answering.

"I've heard much of him, but none of it from what one might call a reliable source. Obviously I've never made the visit to the Haven given the stories and rumours. As I understand it, he's never been interested in maritime matters. It's rumoured he has some kind of fear of the sea."

"True enough," replied Tonkin. "And with the resources he had to hand, there was no need to seek trade from outside his kingdom. And his fear for the sea was real enough. Even went so far as to decree that fishing was not allowed, and anyone caught venturing out by boat was to be drowned, then given to the crows, or so it's said. Anyways, we don't go there. The waters foul and oily, and the welcome even more so."

"You speak of him in the past tense," observed Redgar.

"Indeed. Been dead for nigh on two year, we reckon. 'Course, we didn't know that until recently. His son rules now." Tonkin gave Redgar a meaningful look which wasn't lost on her father.

"So, the Black King is dead. I take it this new king's no better then?" asked Redgar.

Tonkin chuckled and gulped a mouthful of wine. "The liking for dramatic killing was inherited by the son, by all accounts. As was the liking for dramatic names. Not wanting to be overshadowed by the father, this one calls himself the Carrion King, after the bodies of those that displease him he leaves out for the crows. Now, what matters to us, and perhaps to you too if you intend on coming back this way, is that this new king has no fear of the sea like the one before. We think he has the beginnings of a fleet - perhaps a few small ships and maybe something larger too. Either way, we've been losing boats, and occasionally a crew comes back talking of strange cutters and odd lights at night away to the north."

Tonkin became reflective again, and seemed unable or unwilling to continue. Eventually, Redgar broke the silence and asked Tonkin about the 'Admiral' Trevanion's intentions with his fleet. Tonkin took a deep breath before answering.

"Ah, well, as to that - not really sure. I don't expect him to take it to the Haven and call out this Carrion King. 'Protect the trade' is his remit. I guess that means he'll stooge around the south coast, maybe go as far round as Appledore, no further."

Tonkin paused again and Lizzy was moved to see tears running down the weather-beaten face of the sailor. Something terrible had happened to him, she could tell.

"He has my son," he croaked at last.

"Who? Trevanion?" asked Redgar in confusion, who hadn't quite been as observant as Lizzy towards Tonkin's growing distress.

"No." Tonkin lowered his head and turned away to hide his grief. "That bastard, the Carrion King."

*

Crouched in the dark, Lizzy recalled how she had comforted the old sailor, who's fear for what might have happened to his son was overwhelming for him. It transpired that his son had been a boat captain himself, skipper of a fishing smack that sailed with three others to fish north of Lundy island a few months before. All three had been attacked the same night by fast cutters with large crews and, according to the only boat that made it back, by a large ship, triple-masted, half seen in the distant darkness, which had some kind of powerful light that had lit up the younger Merryweather's boat when it had been caught. The boat which had escaped only did so by luck, losing the chasing cutter in the dark only when the cutters forestay parted , forcing it to stop and make repairs.

A triple-masted ship. Lights in the night. Could this be the Carrion King's Navy that they had run into in the dark? As if in answer, the Guillemot changed course, turning so that the wind was on its starboard beam. Assuming no change in the wind direction still, that meant they were heading north - and north probably meant the Haven. Lizzy shivered and moved again to find a more comfortable position.

Wondering if she would be able to move the false barrel out of the way from inside incase she had to leave in a hurry, she began to feel around in the dark, looking for a catch or lever that would open the hide-hole. Running her hand around the entrance, Lizzy discovered a narrow shelf, built in the way of all shelves onboard the ship, with a raised lip to prevent anything from sliding off when heeled over. She ran her hand along the shelf looking for a latch or key and her fingers closed on a small object. It felt rectangular, and under a canvas covering it seemed like something solid. Picking at the cover, Lizzy managed to free a strand and began to unwrap the object, wondering what it could be and whether it could help her get out. Suddenly, as the covering fell away, the inside of the hide-hole was bathed in a ghostly blue light. Lizzy found she was holding a glowing rectangle of - what? It was the most amazing thing to find. Her first thought was that it must be some kind of sea creature. Lizzy had often seen plankton glowing in the wake of the ship at night. Keevan had once shown her a squid one night that had launched itself from the sea to land on deck. It had glowed brightly, it's body outlined in hundreds of small blue dots for a few minutes before dying and turning a dull grey. No this was not some sea creature creature, she realised. This object was too regular a shape to be some kind of animal. It was something like the rigging and masts of the Guillemot - old-but-unknown technology. What made it glow, she couldn't begin to guess. Certainly the light was helpful. She made use of it to see if there was any means of releasing the barrel that she had missed in her earlier search. To the right of the entrance she saw a square panel flush with the wall of the hide hole. Pressing it gently, Lizzy felt it give, and then she heard a catch release. Tentatively, she pushed at the barrel and eventually, using all her strength, she felt it move slightly. The angle of the Guillemot's heel meant she was pushing upwards and the weight of the barrel prevented her from moving it all the way out. Carefully, she let the barrel slide back into place and heard the catch click again. She would have to wait until the Guillemot tacked or came on an even keel to get out. Lizzy tucked the object into a pocket inside her jacket - it would bear closer investigation later - and gave herself over to the darkness again.

In time she felt the Guillemot come round hard on the wind, the strength of which seemed to be lessening quickly. Eventually, the ship tacked, placing the wind onto the port side, so allowing gravity to help move the barrel out of the way. Lizzy listened for sounds outside the hide-hole, and hearing nothing, released the catch once more. The barrel slid out and banged into the opposite side of the hold. Lizzy grabbed the swords and the box her father had given her and stuck her head out, but couldn't see anything in the darkness. Her heart pounding in her chest, she quickly slid out of the hide-hole and made her way by feel to the aft end of the hold, where she stood at the ladder and listened again. There were voices somewhere not far away, but she couldn't make out the sense of the words or tell who was talking. It sounded like a muted argument. Realising it must be night-time still by the lack of light coming down the access ways, Lizzy thought that now might be her best chance of escaping. But how? Going up on deck would surely be a bad idea.

While she pondered where to go and how to get off without being seen, Lizzy strapped the swords to her waist and then stepped onto the bottom rung. As soon as she did, the low voices became shouts, and the door to the great cabin opened with a bang. A group of men came out. The door to the great cabin was several steps aft of the top of the ladder where Lizzy stood, and she heard the men come closer, then the noise of their boots and talk recede as they made their way onto the deck. They were arguing about the division of spoils. Through the hole at the top of Lizzy's ladder, she caught a glimpse of each man as they passed. A grossly fat man with an indignant tone was saying in a rough phlemgy voice that made Lizzy want to clear her throat how he expected the wine to be his, repeating loudly that 'it was promised me by Lord Varne himself! Lord Varne, you hear me!' The fat man stopped his protestations as he heaved himself up a ladder to the deck, wheezing heavily. Another man already on deck took advantage of the pause to look down on him and yelled 'to Hell with Lord Varne. Just because he calls himself Admiral doesn't give him the right to say who gets what. I'm in charge of this vessel now and I say the wine is mine!'

Once the way was clear, Lizzy went up the ladder out of the hold, looking around carefully to ensure no-one saw her emerge. Trusting that the great cabin was now empty, Lizzy stepped aft and into the cabin, the door of which had been left open. She closed it quietly behind her and blinked in the light. A lantern had been hung from a hook in the centre of the cabin, illuminating the table which was littered with objects - items taken from out of the great cabin's lockers it seemed, plus several empty bottles of wine from the hold. She moved cautiously to the stern windows and looked out, hoping that she would see land, and was rewarded with the sight of a rocky coastline not far away to port and a small secluded bay opening up in the moonlight. Now would be a good time to go, she thought.

A noise behind her, and before she could turn to look a hand grabbed her shoulder and she was spun roughly around. Lizzy gasped as she half fell onto the lockers under the stern window. A man she didn't recognise - one of their captors - stood over her, swaying unsteadily. His breath stank of wine, and in his right hand was an ugly, cruel looking knife, which he held a few inches from Lizzy's face.

"What have we here then?" breathed the man, staring at Lizzy. "A girl, is it? Oh, we have struck gold, haven't we? Looks like I've found my prize right enough! Old Gob can keep his wine, he can. I'll have me a much sweeter time with you I think."

Lizzy shrank back from the sour breath and pungent smell of stale sweat that poured off her captor. His hair was long and lank, hanging in black curtains either side of his long, thin head.

"And what's this then? What's in the box? Open it," demanded the man.

Lizzy fumbled with the catch, all the time watching the man's face for an opportunity to escape. She needed to distract him. The samurai swords had been trapped behind her back when she fell, but she could still get them out of their scabbards - especially the shorter one, the one Carver called a wakizashi. The man didn't seem to have noticed them in the low light of the lantern. With the catch undone, Lizzy opened the box. The man eyed the contents, and Lizzy saw comprehension dawn on his face. She lifted the box up higher, so that the man could see better the two clockwork chronometers that lay within. Her father had told her, not long after they had left Boston, that the chronometers were the most precious thing the Guillemot carried. Ancient and irreplaceable, they were used to find their position when sailing across the expanse of oceans, and without them, such crossings were a dangerous undertaking.

The man's attention was on the box and the priceless chronometers within. Evidently he was sailor enough to recognise them for what they were. Lizzy moved the box closer to the man, inviting him to take it. The ploy worked - distracted by the treasure within, the man clasped the box with both hands - awkwardly with his right because of the knife, and Lizzy's own hands were now free. Before the man realised his mistake, Lizzy yanked the shorter sword out from behind her back and in one swift movement, thrust it into her assailant with all her strength. The man gave a startled grunt and looked down in surprise, before falling heavily on top of Lizzy. His breath rattled in his throat, loud in her ear, and in a strangled voice that washed a warm fetid breath across her face, cried out "Oh God!" Lizzy gagged and pushed him off. As he fell, the chronometers and their box dropped to the cabin floor with a rattle. Blood seeped out and quickly began to pool around the man on the floor. His hands were lightly touching the sword's handle, and he stared with wide eyes at the hilt sticking out of his belly.

Lizzy felt panicked and nausea rose in her gullet, forming a coppery taste in her mouth. Footsteps above her warned that someone had heard the noises and the man's shout. She had to leave, right now. She gathered up the chronometers and shoved them back into their box, then opened one of the stern windows. The sound of water playing round the rudder came loud into the cabin, just as a voice called down from the deck, asking for Owen. Footsteps on the ladder outside the door quickened Lizzy's fumbling with the box's latch and she stepped up onto the lockers. Remembering her sword, she jumped back down beside Owen, whose eyes were staring accusingly at her. Grabbing the hilt of the sword, Lizzy pulled, but it was surprisingly hard to remove and the man, Owen, shouted in pain. She had to put her foot on his chest to get enough purchase, Owen expiring at last with a cry that sounded almost like relief as she pulled the sword free. The door to the cabin opened, and into the cabin came fat man who'd been yelling that the boat and wine was his. He took in the scene with a look of frank surprise and increasing fury on his face. She had time to notice two large scars on his right cheek which turned white where grey stubble met them, before spinning around and diving recklessly through the open window, headfirst into the sea.

The cold shock was like a thousand daggers stabbing at her exposed skin and her breath exploded out of her as she struggled to reach the surface grasping the chronometer box and sword. When she came up, she saw scarface leaning out of the window and shouting commands to the men on deck. Two more faces appeared over the taff rail, and stared in her direction. Something hit Lizzy on the head. At first she thought one of the men had thrown something at her, but then she felt a rope running over her shoulder, pushing her down, and realised the tender must be towing astern. It was the painter that she could feel. Looking behind her, she saw the tender almost upon her, and if she didn't move it would surely run her down. With a flash of inspiration, Lizzy slashed the painter with the sword, threw the box with the chronometers into the tender and heaved herself over the side. Extracting the oars and fitting them into the rowlocks seemed to take an age, and she kept glancing back at the Guillemot to see what was happening. Perhaps the prize crew were few in number, as there seemed to be some difficulty in turning the Guillemot around and it was still moving away. There was another, larger jolly boat on board, but Lizzy doubted they could launch it before she reached shore. There was lots of shouting going on. Pulling with all her might, Lizzy aimed for the cove and concentrated on rowing - heave, lift, push, dip, heave again. She had been shivering from cold when she started, but within minutes she was warm, yet shaking from exertion and gasping for breath.

Now, the Guillemot began to turn - away from Lizzy, she was pleased to see - the rocky shoreline being too close for it to tack towards her. They would have to gybe her to bring her back and chase her down, and that would take then away from her so they could gybe and close the wind again. A glance behind and she saw the beach at the top of the cove was a little closer. Lizzy was already passing between the headlands. The Guillemot completed its long turn, and came right around, running in straight for the Lizzy. Perhaps they didn't mean to pick her up - maybe they were planning on just running her down! She redoubled her efforts to reach the cove, but the Guillemot was picking up pace and coming quickly towards her now. She could see a group of men in the bows and hear their shouts and curses. Her strength was starting to fail, and she began to feel a desperation that her efforts were going to be in vain.

The Guillemot was no more than a stone's throw away when it ran aground, bringing it to a sudden stop and throwing the men on the bows off their feet. One fell overboard and there was a sharp cracking like gunshot and groaning of over-stressed wood and metal as several shrouds and rigging lines parted. Lizzy saw the masts sway forward and back slackly and the sails shook out their wind, adding to the general cacophony of noise. At the same time, Lizzy felt the tender grind to a halt, and looking round, found she had made the beach at last. She grabbed the box and leapt out, running blindly up the shingle towards a small wooded valley that ran back from the cove. Her arms were screaming in agony and had no strength left at all, but her legs were alright, so she kept on as fast as she could.

A path ran parallel to the coast, and for a second she considered whether to follow it, but couldn't make up her mind which way to go, so instead she pushed into the woods and made her way as quickly as possible up the small valley, hoping to lose herself in the trees. Shouts came from behind her and in a gap through the trees Lizzy saw in the moonlight that several men had jumped off the stranded Guillemot and had waded up to the cove. She turned away, and pushed on through the dark beneath the trees, branches slapping her face, hoping that she could find a place to hide.

Behind her, the men set off in pursuit.