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into the Channel from the north? For a moment she was alarmed: had she fallen among white slavers, or ruffians of some other ilk? But Lieutenant Cardin would not have handed her over so calmly had he anticipated danger, and Captain Pilway had been perfectly polite.
    There must be all sorts of navigational hazards to be avoided, she realised with relief. The island they were passing on their right, for instance, was probably surrounded by rocky reefs. The Eddystone Lighthouse was somewhere near Plymouth, she thought, and the coast of Cornwall was noted for shipwrecks.
    As they rounded the island, she saw a larger ship rocking on the water a few hundred feet off, its single mast bare. The barge approached it, slowing as the sails were furled. A dinghy put off from the stern of the sloop.
    “Ahoy there, River Queen!” came a low hail.
    “Ahoy, Seamew!” Captain Pilway called back, his deep voice hushed.
    The dinghy drew alongside, the rowers shipping their oars; a giant of a man stood up in it and gripped the rail of the barge. Captain Pilway went to him and they held a whispered consultation. Octavia thought he turned his face in her direction for a moment, but in the moonlight she could be sure of nothing.
    The giant said something to his men, passed up several small packages to the captain, and then heaved himself aboard. He dwarfed Captain Pilway, himself by no means a small man. The two retired to the stern to talk, while the rowers lifted several barrels over the side into the barge. Joey and Tom rolled them aft, and Joey started lashing them together with rope.
    “Right, boys!” called the big man. The dinghy cast off and headed back towards the sloop.
    Sails raised, the River Queen turned north.
    The new passenger made his way forward and stopped beside Octavia. Squatting down so that his face was nearer her level, he saluted her.
    “How do you do, ma’am,” he said in an educated voice, removing his cap and running his fingers through his thick hair. “Captain Day’s the name, Red Jack Day. You’re bound for Cotehele, I hear.”
    “Yes,” stammered Octavia. “I—I am going to stay there with friends.”
    “I’m heading that way myself. You’re no Edgcumbe, though, are you?”
    “No. My friends are related to the Edgcumbes. Are—are you a smuggler, sir?”
    “Best not ask, little lady,” he said grinning, his teeth white in the moonlight. “Those who don’t know, can’t tell. You’ve seen some interesting goings-on tonight, eh?”
    His tone was friendly, not in the least threatening.
    “Are you not afraid I shall tell someone?” Octavia ventured.
    “There’s nothing the Revenuers can do unless they catch us with the goods and by the time you found someone to tell, those’ll be long gone. Suspicions don’t hurt us; there’s not a captain nor a ship doesn’t run goods now and then. Were you planning on turning us in?”
    “No, I suppose not. My father says the duty and excise tax laws make very little sense.”
    “Then your father is a sensible man. You’re not from these parts?”
    “No, from London.”
    “Ah.” He settled back more comfortably on his haunches, swaying slightly with the roll of the boat. “Then allow me to point out the sights. Sun’ll be up soon."
    The eastern sky paled over Plymouth even as the moon set behind rolling hills in the west. On the slope overlooking the Sound stood a mansion, barely visible in the near darkness. That was Mount Edgcumbe, said Red Jack Day, seat of the second Earl of Mount Edgcumbe and home of the Edgcumbe family since the house was completed in 1553. There was an odd pride in his voice, as if he shared in the reflected dignity of the ancient line.
    On the other side was St Nicholas’s Island, sometimes known as Drake’s Island. As they cleared it and the light grew, Octavia saw a bewildering swarm of shipping, from dinghies to men-o’-war, sailing in various directions or anchored in the maze of inlets which led off the sound. Red