Merrit opened the agreement to the line Drake remembered signing.
No flourish. No accusation that she had caught him breaking it. Simply the promised review, beside a route that had become considerably less optional during two weeks of wind.
“The stores support entry and provisioning,” she said. “The pilots know the wreck approach. What does Fathom Quay expect when it sees you?”
Drake looked at the channel.
“Fees. Old ship claims. People who regard a delayed answer as an invitation to invent a larger sum.”
“Which people?”
“Former crew.”
Elsa sat beside her father’s sketch. Lyra had the revised rescue priority open. Felix stood at the far end with the actual reserve figure, modestly useful and wholly inadequate to make the town irrelevant.
