Now, three weeks later, he approached by sea and studied the beach where the robed figures waited. The wagons were loaded down with supplies, but there was no sign of a camp. No welcoming fire, no tents, and no sound but the gentle lapping of the water and the whisper of oars.

"Ahoy," Rafe called out as they ran the longboat into the shallows. He stood and hopped over the side with a splash. The acrid scent of ozone and salt struck him. "You are a long ways from anywhere," he said.

The robed figures shuffled by their wagons, and an odd sound reached his ears. A wheezing-like a bellows-and the slightest metallic clacking. It was oddly familiar, though he could not place it at first.

"You are Captain Rafe Merrique of the Kinshark," a flat, inhuman voice said. One of the robed figures separated from the others.

Rafe's men were out of the longboats now, hands reaching for knives and cutlasses. He frowned. "Yes," he said. "I am-"

But when he saw the eyes, he could not finish his sentence. A sense of wrongness flooded him, and his mouth suddenly tasted like iron. He felt the hairs rise on his arms and the back of his neck. The eyes were amber jewels, dimly glowing in the recesses of the hood. Steam whistled out from the back of the robe, and as the figure approached, Rafe saw the metal hands and the metal feet. "The light," the metal man said, "requires service of your ship."

He stepped back slowly and whistled for his men to do the same. "What is this about?"

The metal man cocked its head. "You are not authorized to know. Archived data indicates that your vessel has been hired on seventy-three occasions to assist in various matters of transport and recovery for the Androfrancine Order."