"And she was the one to whom you wrote all those letters?"

"Yes, and I would be obliged if you would see them back to Norisle when you sail again." Tar nodded. "It would be a pleasure. I owe you at least that given your intervention with Mr. Wattling."

"I appreciate how you handled the aftermath, sir."

For the sake of secrecy, since the Tharyngians had spies everywhere, Owen had boarded at night. He had remained largely below decks until they were well away from the Auropean coast. Not even the ship's small contingent of Marines, with whom he had bunked, knew who he was nor his rank until he'd pulled his uniform from his trunk that morning.

Captain Tar had known only that the man's passage was of vital import to the Crown, and that no attention should be called to him. Owen had prevented a passenger from beating his servant to death-a violation of Owen's orders to remain unremarkable. Tar had calmed things with Mr. Wattling, giving Owen time to absent himself.

"What fraud is this I see before me?" Wattling, a rotund man with a bright red face, mounted the deck and strode straight for the officers. "Dressing this man as a soldier will not preserve him. I ordered you to flog him, Captain Tar, and you will do so."

Gideon raised his chin. "Mr.Wattling, may I introduce to you Captain Owen Strake, of the Queen's Own Wurms."

"I am not an idiot, Captain. Red coat with blue facings, the braid: I know the unit very well. A fraud, I tell you, and you shan't get away with it. No, sir." The large man hammered his walking stick against the deck. "You redemptioneers all do hang together. I should have known."

"Do you suggest, sir, that I wear this uniform to deceive you?"

"Of course, damn you, I cannot say it more plainly." Wattling's piggish eyes tightened. "A Mystrian in Her Majesty's service, perhaps, but a captain, never! Officers are gentlemen, and you are no gentleman. No Mystrian could be!"