"You ain't finished your plate yet," Curiosity called after her, but Elizabeth was already closing the door firmly behind her.

"Don' nobody eat enough these days," she said, eyeing the bird that sat placidly in her arms. "Maybe this Sally'll come in handy, roasted crisp."

Hannah frowned. "That would hurt Mr. Brown's feelings, I think."

Nathaniel picked a feather out of Hannah's hair. "Who is this Mr. Brown? You haven't told us about him yet."

A wide smile broke across the girl's face. "He grew up in Carryck. His father ran the farm for the earl, and now his older brother is the head gardener."

"Ah," said Nathaniel. "Now, that is good news." Any source of information about Carryck was welcome.

Curiosity seemed less impressed. "At least he ain't another one of them "mac" kind of folk. Don't these Scots got no imagination? MacIver, MacIntosh, MacLeish, MacKenzie, MacLachlan. Tell me, do he talk your ear off like that Mungo, or is he like old Jake MacGregor back home. The kind that cain't spare a word unless his hair on fire and you the only one with a bucket."

Nathaniel laughed, but Hannah seemed to consider carefully. "Once he found out I speak Scots, he got curious and he wanted to know all about Granny Cora. I think he'll be talkative."

Curiosity thrust the puffin toward Hannah. "Go tie it up out on the gallery, child. We don't need the stink. Appetites poor enough as it is."

The few hours after sunset were the best of the day, as far as Nathaniel was concerned. It was the time they all sat together before Hannah and Curiosity went off to bed and he and Elizabeth began their night watch.

Every day they were at sea they faced real dangers --storms, pirates, privateers, a hungry French Navy--but what worried him enough to keep him awake was Carryck. He had fought in more than one kind of war, but he had never walked into a battle blind, with women and children at his back. It wasn't so much the lack of weapons that sat wrong --the ship was full of them, and he could put his hands on what he wanted without a lot of trouble.

What he needed most, and what was hardest to come by, was information.

Nathaniel stood at the transom windows. Somewhere behind them was the Jackdaw, and he scanned the darkened waters for a glimpse of her.

Curiosity came up beside him. Nathaniel was surprised, as he always was, at how slight she seemed when she was nearby, as if the sea were drawing the marrow from her bones.

"I saw them three times today," she said. "A few miles off. No sign of trouble."

The truth was, the Jackdaw had stayed close so far, but she might disappear without warning or explanation and never show herself again. And what Moncrieff would do then--if they would turn back to find her, or push on--that was a question Nathaniel didn't want answered. But Curiosity knew this and so he kept his worries to himself.

"Three times?" Elizabeth opened the little journal she had sewn out of paper provided by the Hakim. It was divided into sections with colored threads, and she found the page headed "Jackdaw." There were paragraphs about the ship, her crew and weapons, and Nathaniel's drawings, as well as a column for sightings. She noted the date and Curiosity's report and then she turned to another chart. Nathaniel leaned over her shoulder and read the last three entries.

Fraser, Peter. 45-50 years of age. Of Dumfries.

Navigator.

His whole life in this service. Multiple times to the East and West Indies. A wife and two grown children at home. Fond of pippins. Called the best navigator in the company by his mates.

Hamilton, Alex. Of Dumfries. Captain's cabin boy. In service on this ship since age 10. His father a textile merchant.

Jones, Ron. Of Cardiff. Ordinary seaman. Flogged for repeated drunkenness and an assault on another seaman. His wounds treated by Hakim Ibrahim.

"Now about Mr. Brown," Elizabeth said.

Hannah's brow creased in concentration. "I don't know his first name. He is Curiosity's age, I think."

Curiosity said, "You cain't tell with these sailors. Could be a hundred from the face on him."

Elizabeth entered Carryck as his place of birth. The quill hesitated. "His work?"

"He keeps the chickens and such. They call him the duck-fucker."

Nathaniel would have laughed out loud if it weren't for Curiosity's strangled cough and the color that flooded Elizabeth's face.

Hannah looked directly at Nathaniel, raising a shoulder in confusion. "That's what the men call him," she insisted.

Elizabeth hiccuped. "I have never heard the term. I expect that you were not meant to hear it, either."

"Oh," said Hannah with an easy shrug. "The sailors talk freely around me."

"So it seems," said Curiosity. She gave Nathaniel a pointed look.

He said, "Call him the fowlkeeper, then. What else do you know of him?"

She knew quite a lot. Elizabeth's quill scratched as Hannah told them what she had noticed of his work, his character, his likes and dislikes, and most important, the little she had learned about the brother who was Carryck's head gardener.

"Let's hope Brown likes to talk about home," Nathaniel said when Elizabeth had put down her quill.

Hannah yawned. "I'll go by and see him tomorrow. He'll be butchering some capons and he said I could help."

Elizabeth caught Nathaniel's eye but she spoke to Hannah. "I haven't seen capons on deck."