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   "And what of Mechatronic?" asked Susanna, fearing the answer she would receive. "Is she safe with us?"

   "The crew has been concerned with the exact opposite. They are afraid that we are not safe with Lady Mechatronic." He looked at the source of the crew's fear as he spoke, his green eyes gazing steadily into the astonishingly blue eyes of Mechatronic, refusing to waver or look away. "Are you a danger to us?" he asked.

   "Only if threatened," replied Mechatronic after thinking for several seconds.

   "Do I have your word on that?"

   "You do," said the woman. Privately, Mechatronic doubted she was truly a danger to anyone. She was still too badly damaged from the crash. Her repair systems were working beyond capacity to rebuild her internally and only her technologically advanced intelligent skin kept her externally in one piece and allowed free movement.

   She didn't appear damaged, however, so she had to rely on bluff for her immediate protection. Once she had fully regenerated, she could easily kill the entire crew… except that she had just given her word that she would not harm them and she found herself anxious to keep the promise she had given the grave, enigmatic captain in front of her.

"Very well."

   "Do you believe me?" asked Mechatronic, her voice sounding slightly incredulous at how easily Hartwell accepted what she said.

   "I do," replied the captain, his eyes showing the sincerity of his words.

   Mechatronic held his gaze but internally cursed that he seemed able to look into her innermost character and see the truth. She even suspected he knew she was hiding her injuries from them. She could see it in his eyes, despite his guarded nature. Never before had anyone been able to look through her in that way. Not even her masters who could reduce her to… She shut out the thought, and the past, from her conscious mind. She was no longer in the old place. That was behind her. Here, she could be something new. She hoped. If not, why bother with anything at all?

   Hartwell frowned slightly as the distress rippled across the smooth skin of Mechatronic and he felt his heart give another tug. He slammed an ironclad barrier down on his churning instincts and was grateful to see that Mechatronic had done the same. Her control was easily as great as his. That she had a past was clear—so had he—but that was unimportant. They needed to concentrate on the present if they were to survive.

   "We should arrive at Domlusa at nightfall," he said. "We shall go ashore then, as this will give us better cover."

   "Good," replied Mechatronic. "We don't want the locals to be scared by a silver woman in their town."

   "Are you going to go ashore?" asked Susanna incredulously.

   "Of course. I wish to see this town and its people."

   "James, do you think this wise?" asked Susanna.

   "No, but I doubt anyone could stop Lady Mechatronic once she makes up her mind and in any case, it would not be my place to do so."

   "Then I'm coming with you," said Susanna defiantly. "It will be dangerous and I don't want either of you coming to any harm."

   "Do not worry, I will look over your brother," smiled Mechatronic.

   There, at least, I have no doubt, thought Susanna with mischievous certainty.

ater that night, the unnamed galleon limped into the decaying harbour of Domlusa. Hartwell had paced the vessel several times during the journey, downing glass after glass of absinthe and checking for any sign that the hull was about to give way. It was a relief to reach dry land.

   The relief was short lived. The harbour was a small, crumbling stone basin with no evidence of any maintenance work being done on the many cracked, slipping and missing stones. A series of long wooden jetties reached out from the basin and into the sea. All were greasy, filthy and broken, hence the better jetties were already taken up by other ships, forcing the galleon to use a jetty so badly damaged it had several missing sections along its entire length, while one corner facing the sea had collapsed and hung down at a drunken angle.

   Dotted around the harbour were several piles of timber, barrels, old rope, old sails, oars, the rotten hulks of rowing boats, broken swords and cutlasses and even crates of old pirate plunder. All had been left to rot and were covered in filth and neglect. Any conscientious harbour master, on seeing the rotten wood and rusted iron, would have put a match to the place. In short, the harbour seemed to match the condition of the ship perfectly, yet Hartwell found himself glancing back at the galleon as though reluctant to leave.

   The town above the harbour, picked out by the moonlight and the flickering oil lamps in the windows of the many pubs and brothels, seemed to be in an even worse state. There was a sense of dilapidation and desperation everywhere. There was no drunken carousing, no drinking songs, just the sounds of men trying to find oblivion through drink or violence.

   "I think some should remain with the ship in case we need to make a quick escape," observed Hartwell. "Any volunteers?"

   "Aye," rumbled most of Madrigal's crew. Lazlo Nani, who Hartwell suspected of being a straightforward replacement of the loathsome Lieutenant Fleetwood, led them. Just as he got rid of one self-serving agitator, another one crawled out of the woodwork.

   "O'Rourke, you stay here and see if any of the lumber is worth salvaging," said Hartwell. "Tench, Sporrit, you stay with him and have a look through that abandoned plunder in case anything useful has been missed. As no one else wants it, I feel we are justified in taking anything helpful."

   "Aye, sir," said the three men immediately.

   "And please look after the powder monkeys and see no harm comes to them," added Hartwell as the small group began the walk into the town. Behind them, Nani's lips twisted in hatred at Hartwell's assumption of command.

adrigal took the lead as he knew a little of the town, guiding the group through dark, twisting alleys where beggars asked for change and evil eyes lurked in the shadows, gauging the strength of the group, wondering whether to attack. The two women, both wearing oversized hoods that completely hid their faces, were of special interest to the denizens of the dark shadows.

   What prevented an attack were Hartwell's uniform and Madrigal's size and grace. A rear attack was considered, but Fitch, striding along at the back, was a burly figure in the gloom, and again caution drove the rodents away.

   Eventually, the group reached an inn, much larger than the others and better lit. The battered, faded sign swinging over the door announced it to be T
he Devil's Head.

   "Charming," murmured Hartwell, looking at the sign.

   Madrigal shrugged. "This is where the sailors gather that want to find work on a ship. Everyone else sinks down and waits for death. Believe me, Captain Hartwell, this is the best place to find a willing crew."

   "Very well," replied Hartwell. "I think it best if I and Mister Fitch stay with the ladies, while you, Mister Madrigal, as you know the people, can make discreet enquiries and find us a crew. I'll engage a private room where we can talk to each applicant."

   "No
Mister,
just Madrigal," said Madrigal as they walked into the inn. "I'll get started straight away and meet up with you as soon as possible."

   After the dark night air, the flickering candles and oil lamps made the crew squint slightly as they walked into the building. Susanna tried looking around from under her hood and began to regret suggesting she and Mechatronic wear such clumsy headgear. It had seemed a good idea on the ship—the hood would help to hide the silver skin of Mechatronic and both women wearing them would look more natural than just the one.

   As such, Susanna could only manage a few glimpses of the inn. She got the impression of a large room with several iron chandeliers hanging down over the many battered, dirty tables, dribbling hot wax onto the clientele below. The tables around the edges of the room were long and rectangular, while those that stood in the middle were all circular. Each table was covered with tankards of every shape and size, as well as the odd plate of unwholesome-looking food.