In the late afternoon, as Zeelandia approached the haven in the shallow cove on the leeward side of Isla Beata, I was relieved to see it unchanged from when we had departed. I counted the days – only four since then. Seems longer; so much had happened in that brief time. Happened elsewhere, but not here. The same hulks, the same canvas hung from the trees and poles, the same cabin, the same beginnings of a larger one. All unchanged.

While we neared, I delighted in watching the hundreds of huge birds – pelicans Charles had called them – as they soared and swooped forty or fifty feet above the shallows. Then of an instant, one would plunge head-first into the water, and in a trice, bob back up to sit on the surface with a fish in its beak. After tossing its head back and flipping the fish about in its huge maw, the bird swallowed it whole, and without hesitation, it again took to the air.

Though, there was not only one doing this. There was a steady repetition as another and another and another would do the same, often several within a few moments. The sky was a whirl of wings and the water's surface, a steady series of splashes.

Between the soaring pelicans and the surface, gannet-like birds flittered about, swirling and screeching as they searched for fish. Their dives were less frequent and not as spectacular as those of the pelicans, but they seemed equally successful.

Near the strand, long-legged birds stood calm and still, patiently waiting for their meal to swim past. A quick thrust of their long neck was their entire effort, other than swallowing their catch, and I wondered whether they mocked the seemingly phrenetic activities above them.

As peaceful as the wading birds were, it was even more peaceful ashore. Just beyond the broad strand stood huge trees, well more the height of our mast, itself nearly a hundred feet tall. Their massive brown trunks spanned more than the breadth of five men, which I had observed last week. Above, supported on spreading branches, a carpet of shiny, green leaves covered the slopes, uninterrupted all the way to the greys and browns of the crags at the hilltops.

I wondered if our forest on Manhattan Island resembles this. Wood to build our mansion, wood for cooking and for heat, wood to... My thoughts were interrupted by a loud, "Let go," and I heard the splash from forward, soon followed by the now-familiar low rumble of the anchor rode being pulled out through the hawse.

While Zeelandia settled to her anchor, the smell of smoke caught my attention. The breeze was wrong for it to have come from the cookery chimney, but regardless, I checked to see no smoke there. Then turning to face the breeze, I saw traces of white rising from the cabin, and I shouted, "Someone in the cabin. Smoke from the chimney."

Charles and Mister Cogswell lifted their telescopes, then Charles shouted, "Man the swivels. Load grape."

"Aye, Sir. Swivels with shot bags." Cogswell turned to see hands rushing to the guns. "No need to pass it, Sir. They all heard you."

The smoke thickened as I watched. "Appears to be freshly lit or restoked. More smoke now and rising faster with the increasing heat."

Charles handed me his glass. "Scan the entire area. Search for motion. Anything unusual."

Cogswell and I stood side-by-side with glasses raised, and after a good minute, I said, "It appears they are unaware of us. Preparing to cook supper."

"Why would you think that, My Lady?"

"A fire is not otherwise needed on a hot day such as this."

"Aha! Wise thinking."

"Who might they be?"

He shrugged. "Perchance their hilltop lookout. They would have seen the action a few days past and decided to remain hidden when we landed."

"With them short-handed, why would he have been left ashore?"

"They were still up on the hill."

I looked at the height and the distance. "How would they have announced sighting us? Much too far for even Master Hawkins' voice to carry, and more so with all the trees to block it. They would need to descend."

"True. But they might have gone back up."

"Why?"

"To watch for more ships."

I looked at the distances and recalled details from the chart. "For the pirates to get their ships underway and to sail out to attack us will have taken nearly all the time it took us to approach. Then if they had been successful, by the time they returned to here, the lookout's information would be useless. I cannot see them leaving a lookout ashore, particularly since they were short-handed."

Cogswell pointed toward the cabin. "Looking at it that way, means they are not a lookout. Who else might they be?"

"Possibly injured or too ill to be of use aboard."

"That makes sense."

I shrugged. "But also, consider that they might be an escaped prisoner or prisoners."

"But we were told they were killed."

"And if some evaded without being caught?"

Charles said from behind us, "Excellent point, Camille. We must treat them as such until we know otherwise."

Then he turned to Cogswell. "Launch the longboats."

"Aye, Sir. Launch longboats."

When Cogswell had left to give instructions, Charles said to me, "I enjoyed listening to your logic."

"Oh! How much did you hear?"

"All of it. I was intrigued by the depth of your thinking as compared to the shallowness of Mister Cogswell's." He smiled, then continued, "I will instruct the boats to land well along the strand from the cabin, out of sight. Stout men armed with pistols and belaying pins will approach and surprise them."

"And then?"

"Find out who they are."

"And if they tell a false story?"

"A fine point. Offer them no trust, no matter their story. Bring them here for you to question."

"Me to question?"

"With your logic, your insight and your discernment, you will fast find the truth."

"But you have all of those."

"Not as keen as do you."

"Would it not be better that we both question them? Each from a different tack."

"Again, your logic. Your clear thinking."

I smiled at him. "And yours for recognising them. For allowing me to use them."