“Accordingly we must enter after the eagre has gone in and come out, anchor and spring the bomb vessel at the top of the tide, fire on the slack and then we will have some eight or nine hours at most to loot and be gone before the eagre returns, and without the Sea Gate to block it, floods the fortress completely and drowns all within.”

Fury looked from the puppet to Hereward, her face impassive. She did not speak for at least a minute. Hereward and Fitz waited silently, listening to the sounds of the crew in deck and rigging above them, the creak of the vessel’s timbers and above all that, the thump of someone chopping something up in the captain’s galley that lay somewhat above them and nearer the waist.

“It is a madcap venture, and my crew would mutiny if they knew what lies ahead,” said Fury finally. “Nor do I trust either of you to have told me the half of it. But . . . I grow tired of the easy pickings on this coast. Perhaps it is time to test my luck again. We will join with the bomb vessel, which is called Strongarm, by nightfall and sail on in convoy. You will both stay aboard the Sea-Cat. How long to gain the outer archipelago, master navigator puppet?”

“Three days with a fair wind,” said Fitz. “If the night then is clear, we shall have two of three moons sufficiently advanced to light our way, but not so much they will mar my star sights. Then it depends upon the wind. If it is even passing fair, we should reach the entrance to the Cror Holt gorge two hours after midnight, as the tide nears its flood.”

“Madness,” said Fury again, but she laughed and slapped Fitz’s sketch, a spray of wine peppering Hereward’s face. “You may leave me now. Jabez will find you quarters.”