The bridge was empty and dark with only two candles burning. The tiller was locked into place, which still bothered me. It never seemed safe despite Firus’ assurances. The room was clean, much cleaner than I’d expected after such a rough couple of days.

All six bookshelves were shuttered closed but behind them lay all sorts of books. History, geography, engineering, all kept company with novels of adventure—the kind of stories a boy might read. Everything from the walls to the fixed chairs that were arrayed around a wide squat table, as well as the table itself, was carved from hard dark woods, lending the room an expensive look.

Dismounting one of the candles from its sconce on the wall, I used it to light a score more around the room. One of the many keys on my key ring opened the thin drawer of the Captain’s desk. I stifled a yawn with the back of hand and dug out the leather bound logbook and a quill. Uncapping the inkwell, I carefully wet the tip of the pen, flipped to today’s date and began to write.