LORD OMBRA GLIDED ACROSS the floor planks of the captain’s quarters, where thick wool blankets hung over the stern windows, preventing even a sliver of sunlight from penetrating. A lone lantern suspended from an overhead beam cast a dim yellow light. The lantern rocked and tilted back and forth with the movement of the ship, sending shadows chasing along the floor and walls.
Captain Nerezza, seated at a table beneath the lantern, studied a chart of the South Atlantic, with a hand-drawn speck representing Mollusk Island. He had not heard Ombra enter, but then he never did. He kept his eyes on the chart, hoping his uninvited visitor would go away.
But Ombra came closer, gliding among the moving shadows, though he himself cast none. Standing directly over Nerezza, he spoke, his voice a low moan.
“I wonder, Captain, if it might be possible to send one of your hands aloft to inspect the mizzen sails?”
“Inspect? Inspect for what, sir?” As he spoke the word “sir,” Nerezza’s wooden nose whistled, as happened when he was agitated. Ombra or no, Nerezza did not like to be told, even politely, what to do with his crew.
“A stowaway, perhaps,” said Ombra. “Perhaps nothing.”
“Lord Ombra,” said Nerezza, trying to keep the anger from his voice. “If there were a stowaway, my men would have—”
Ombra silenced him with a raised hand. Nerezza felt a chill creep along his neck.
“Humor me, Captain,” groaned Ombra. “It’s just a feeling I have.”
I didn’t know you had feelings, thought Nerezza.
“Ah, but I do have them,” said Ombra, as if Nerezza had spoken aloud. “And I have learned to trust them.”
Nerezza stammered out a reply. “Of…of course,” he said. “As you wish. I’ll send a boy up to take a look around.”
“Good,” said Ombra. “I will retire to my cabin.”
Ombra spent the day in a tiny room, a windowless, coffinlike space. The crew had strict orders not to look in there—not that any man would.
“Yes, Lord Ombra,” said Nerezza. “If we find anything, I—” he stopped, realizing that Ombra was gone.
Nerezza rose from the table and went to open the door.
He touched the handle, then gasped and drew his hand back. The handle was cold as ice.
Regaining his composure, he opened the door and ascended through a companionway.
On deck, he looked up at the mizzenmast sails and rigging; there was nothing amiss. He sighed, then called to an officer.
“Send a boy up to check the mizzen sails,” he said.
The officer, puzzled, risked a question: “If I may ask, sir, check for what?”
“Just check them!” barked Nerezza. He stormed below, embarrassed to be giving orders that made no sense to him.
A feeling, indeed, he thought.