The tide climbed the shale and carried the blood away. Pei Jing took the navigator into a cave thirty paces above the high-water line. Outside, the four war junks backed out of the channel. Their bows turned south to rejoin the fleet.
The sailor pressed himself against the wet wall. His blue coat was torn and soaked. He looked about forty-five. His fingers had the calluses of a man who handled a sextant and a lead line every day.
“I’m only the navigator,” he said. “Chen took me in Cloud-Swallow Port three winters ago. I never killed anyone on your island.”
Pei Jing unscrewed the brass case. Three sheepskin scrolls lay inside, rolled tight under green wax. He spread them on a slab of shale. The red marks showed depths, warm vents, and the patrol routes of seventy-two ships. A heavy circle marked the Abyssal Rift of Sovereign Xiao.
“Your name.”
“Gu Feng.”
Pei Jing tried to unscrew the inner chart tube. Two fingers on his left hand wouldn’t hold it. He put it down on the stone. Gu Feng turned the catch for him and pushed the tube back.
“Give me positions and names,” Pei Jing said. “Why do the Blood Sail patrols match Heavenly Sword’s?”
