In a group, the governor, the harbormaster, the first mate, and the three guards climbed over the splintered wreckage of the ship’s railing and rigging and onto the deck of the merchantman. The Whydah’s captain stayed behind.

Linsha gazed around at the empty deck, her eyes wide. Already the heat of the day had increased the stench rising from the dead in the holds to a nearly unbearable level. She clamped a hand over her nose and tried to breathe only through her mouth. To still the stirrings of nausea in her stomach, she walked to the broken foremast and leaned against the fallen timber.

“I’ve sent for a healer to examine these bodies,” she heard the harbormaster say as he climbed up to the upper deck. “This sickness that has afflicted them is unlike any I have seen.” She turned and saw him lift the shroud from Captain Southack’s body to show the men the ravages of the disease.

Lord Bight’s expression was unreadable, yet his voice became oddly gentle. “They died hard. It is a fate I do not wish on any man.”

The half-elf nodded, his slim hands reverent as he replaced the shroud. “I recommend we burn this ship as soon as our investigations are complete.”

Lord Bight agreed. “Do it. The bodies, too. Haul it out beyond the harbor and douse it with oil so it burns well. I want nothing left to wash ashore. We’ll deal with the owners later.”

From her position on the lower deck, Linsha was the first to hear the strange sound. It came, soft and pitiable, from somewhere near her feet. She stiffened and listened closely. It came again, like the terrified whimper of an anguished child.

“Sir,” she called. “I think there’s someone still alive down there.”

“But they’re all dead,” the first mate exclaimed in surprise.

Without reply, Linsha clambered over the tangle of ropes and splintered wood to a hatch she could see near the bow of the merchantman. She wasn’t an expert on ship design, but she knew most vessels had sail lockers near their bows, and it seemed possible the sad, miserable moaning that reached her ears emanated from there.

She heard someone behind her, pushing aside debris and coming to join her. Just as she cleared the hatch and bent to pull it open, Lord Bight reached to help her. In a combined effort, they pulled open the hatch and let the full light of day fall on the dismal gloom.

As Linsha guessed, the hatch revealed a short ladder that led down to two large compartments used for storing sails. At the foot of the ladder crouched a young man in tattered pants and shirt. He threw his arms over his head when the bright light touched him and screamed as if in mortal pain. With the speed of desperation, he yanked a cutlass out from a dim corner and swarmed up the ladder like a frantic beast.

Linsha had barely a few seconds to draw her own weapon and throw herself in front of Lord Bight to fend off the sailor’s wild swing. Their blades met with a ringing clash. She realized immediately the young man was too sick to put up a fight. Skillfully she caught his blade with hers, twisted it, and sent the cutlass flying into the water. His eyes bulging in terror, the sailor scrabbled past her and leaped to the port rail.

Linsha blanched at the sight of his face. Once he had been a comely man, but the disease had withered his form and brought the livid red and purple blotches to his skin. Blood oozed from his eyes and mouth, and vomit stained his clothes. She sheathed her sword and reached out to him, but he fled from her to the standing rigging of the mainmast that still rose upright above the deck of the ship. Swift as a squirrel, he climbed up to the crow’s nest near the top of the tall mast. The nest was little more than a round platform and a safety rope, and it looked too precarious for a man sick with fever.

Linsha didn’t hesitate. She followed as quickly as she could up the rope rigging toward the crow’s nest in the hope that she could comfort the sick sailor and talk him down from his dangerous perch.

Rolfe, the Whydah’s first mate, hurried to help her. He climbed up the rigging on the starboard side, intending to cut off that avenue of escape.

The sailor was beyond reason. Infected by the disease, his mind crazed with fever and hallucinations, all he saw were enemies trying to reach him.

“No!” he screamed down at them. “Leave me alone!”

His terror tore at Linsha’s heart. “It’s all right,” she called softly. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” he cried, almost hysterical. “How can you possibly hurt me any more?” He clung to the mast and glared wildly at the two people approaching him.

Linsha slowed her ascent and gripped the ropes so she could lean back and let him see her better. “Please come down. We’re here to help you.”

“No help left. No water. No medicine. All gone. All dead.” He was babbling, spitting drops of spittle and blood from his mouth as he flung his head back and forth.

Rolfe was close now, almost within touching distance of the crow’s nest. He looked across at Linsha as if to ask, “What now?”

She swiped her sleeve over her forehead to wipe away the sweat on her face and slowly took another step up until her head was level with the planking of the crow’s nest. “Easy,” she said quietly. “We only want to help you. Do you want some water?”

His bloody eyes blinked rapidly at her. His breath came in short, panting gasps. “Help me,” he repeated in a voice hoarse with dread. “Water.”

Linsha saw Rolfe step up the ropes and slowly reach his arm over the platform to grab the sailor’s ankle. She did not think that was a very good idea until he caught her eye and pointed downward. On the deck below, she saw Lord Bight, the two guard officers, and the harbormaster. They had found a length of sail and stretched it out like a net to catch anyone who fell. Perhaps that was for the best, she thought. If she and the first mate couldn’t talk the sailor out of the rigging, they might have to knock him down. Meanwhile, the guards, the sailors, and the spectators out on the pier watched the unfolding action in noisy excitement. A few prayers were said and a few bets were made, and one enterprising youngster came out to sell cupfuls of water to the spectators.

Up in the crow’s nest, Rolfe’s hand suddenly clamped around the young man’s ankle. With a shriek, the sailor wrenched away from him, leaped over Linsha’s head, and crawled out onto the yardarm.

“Wait!” Linsha cried. “Please…” She pulled herself up and onto the wooden yard and crawled slowly toward him. The yard, heavy with drooping sails and the weight of one man, swayed beneath her. She clung to it with all her strength, her eyes on the sailor.

He crept away from her until he could go no farther, and there he perched, where the end of the yard leaned out over the water. His arms and legs trembled and his body swayed.

Linsha carefully eased her hand out toward him. “Come on. Come off there. We’ll find medicine and water for you. We’ll find a place where you can rest.”

A deep, racking sob shook his entire body. For just a moment, Linsha hoped she had convinced him. His hand lifted toward hers, and his face relaxed into a semblance of peace. The hope lasted only a heartbeat.

Abruptly the sailor’s bloody eyes rolled up in their sockets, his muscles failed, and his body slipped off the narrow yard and plunged toward the water below.

Linsha threw herself toward him, but his hand slid beyond her grasp. Then, in an instant, she had herself to worry about. Her balance, already unsteady on the swaying yard, rocked forward with her sudden movement and tipped sideways. Her upper body slid off the beam, and she found herself hanging upside down from the yard by her toes.

Rolfe gasped and scrambled toward her.

Shouts rose from the crowd on the dock as the sailor’s body hit the water and disappeared in a splash of white foam, then all eyes turned back to the woman dangling over the deck of the runaway.