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members of a smuggling gang, a good few might definitely disapprove and their objections would not be confined to verbal protests. But owling, the illegal exporting of wool and woollen goods, was more an east country crime.
    “Oh they does it in the west, sure enough,” she stated firmly. “It's not much of a hop to Guernsey, or even France if you times it right, and such goings on is taking all my supplies as well as messin' with what customers the factories 'as left us.”
    All knew the smuggling trade was rampant, but this was a side effect that Lewis had never considered.
    “An' it ain't endin' there,” she continued. “Word is they're taking gold with them now an' all. English gold what they're sellin' to the French for a profit. An' with us expectin' to be invaded at any moment – there's something plainly not right.”
    Yes, he could certainly sympathise there, but with bullion attracting premiums of up to thirty per cent, Lewis supposed there would always be those who would take a profit, even if it was their own country that suffered. But how that might gain more men for Prometheus was another matter entirely.
    “There's a meeting this evening,” she added, guessing his thoughts once more. “I can tell you where and when. You should net the whole mob, every man Jack of them. And Jacks they shall be,” she added with what might have been a smile, “if that's what you're after.”
    * * *
    T he girl, and she was hardly more than that, had not spoken and barely moved since Thompson's visit of the night before. The cramped and stale forepeak had been her home for all of three days although time meant little in such a private world. She had spent much of it sleeping like a cat, making up for the almost constant vigilance of the previous week. Occasionally bells were struck and unknown voices would bellow “All's well,” from various locations in the ship. These bothered her little, even if the sentiment could not have been further from the truth.
    It was probably a mistake to have gone with the seaman in the first place: she could see that now. But after such a time of fending for herself in the streets of Paignton, it had been good to find someone so strong and assured. Someone willing to take care of her, and with a boat bound for Portugal, or so he had said, when asked: that was a major point in his favour.
    Lisbon was the closest thing to a home she knew, and the only place where things could be put right. People knew her there, good people who must at least understand the situation even if they did not approve of it. It was also somewhere she was confident of being fed and sheltered, certainly for as long as it took to catch up with James.
    As soon as the bulk of a massive warship appeared from out of the darkness she had known herself duped. Thompson was no captain, that was obvious from the start, although she could imagine the sailor having a degree of authority in something smaller; perhaps a merchant, or even a privateer. But such a huge vessel as Prometheus was bound to be officered by gentlemen, and by no stretch of the imagination could Thompson be considered so. The fact that he lacked breeding had also worked in his favour in winning her confidence, though; all too recently she had been given more than enough cause to mistrust those of higher status.
    And it had been midnight, on a small boat, in the middle of a crowded bay: there was little she could do but go along with his wishes. Besides, after sleeping in doorways and losing most of her possessions to the street thieves and cut-purses, her new home had not seemed so very terrible a place. It was at least private and offered far more in protection than she had been used to for a while.
    At that moment two men could be heard walking by on the deck above and she automatically froze. One addressed an unheard remark that caused the other to laugh. Then, as their footsteps gradually faded, she found she could breathe once more.
    There was a good