Page 2

“They be back from St. Ives?”

“Yes. And it only be a matter of time ’fore they come ’round to Tristwick.”

Trevik released a heavy sigh. Those seining men were trouble—just like all large companies were. They thought they were God’s gift to earth, with their fleets of boats and larger nets and thicker pocketbooks, appealing to poorer fishermen with fanciful promises of more money.

Well, they may have each of those things far and above what Trevik had, but he had something they would never possess—a loyal crew.

Still, their presence was concerning. His experience with seiners in the past—one seiner in particular—had been anything but pleasant. “Do ye know what they be after? Askin’ for our fish or tryin’ to take our men?”

“I don’t know,” Gryffyn responded. “All I know is that if they catch ye fishin’ closer to shore, they’ll be sure to report ye.”

Trevik ran his tongue over his teeth in frustration, shaking his head. Even though the nearest seining company was miles away in St. Ives, the law still held strong. Seiners could fish closer to shore, and drifters could not.

“Cursed law,” he mumbled. “This’ll be the last we do it, then. Least ’til they return where they belong.”

Trevik was usually a proud, law-abiding Cornishman. But when the laws were set forth due to the influence of seining companies to benefit solely the seining companies, the rules were a greater struggle to swallow.

After the rest of the crew agreed with Trevik’s advisement, Enyon Penna directed the lugger toward the shoreline. Trevik didn’t waste a moment pulling out his spyglass to evaluate the cliffside and surrounding seas for any sign of the leeching seiners.

Satisfied that they were still alone and unseen, Trevik signaled for the skipper to turn the boat before the wind. Nearer to the shore, the sails were lowered to ensure the boat remained as still as possible.

Gryffyn and Jowan moved to the net room, a lowered area on the main deck, and Jowan hefted the cork rope side of the net up while Gryffyn lifted the heavier opposite end. Little by little, the net was shot into the water, the waves taking out the drift net with the current and pulling the mesh deeper and deeper into the water.

Trevik watched the buoys once again bobbing in the sea, willing the seining companies from his mind. Truthfully, he needn’t worry about them. There were more than enough pilchards to go around this autumn, and the price they were fetching was far better than in years past. The approaching winter was sure to be a happy one with so many fish preserved.

Not only that, the waves were calm, the dark clouds allowed them another shooting of the nets, and he had a crew of men who would be at his side until the very end. Nothing could go wrong, nothing could diminish his good mood. Nothing could—

A flash of white and shimmering blue caught his eye in the water. A passing fish, no doubt, feeding off the pilchards they’d caught. But then, there were no fish that size and that white in these waters.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer and peering through the waves. As the white rippled again in the water, his mouth parted. Was that a fish’s tail? No, fabric. It was fabric. A torn sail from a shipwreck, perhaps?

“Lads,” he called out, motioning to the water. “Be that…?”

His stomach tightened. Footsteps pattered close to him as he pulled out his spyglass again and peered into the water nearly forty feet away, the waves flashing past the small funnel of sight. Only when the water settled could Trevik finally see the truth—arms floating lifelessly in the water just below the surface and long hair swaying back and forth in the current.

A numbing sensation rattled his bones and pressed the breath from his lungs. “Haul up the net, now!”

CHAPTER TWO

A moment of confusion settled on the crew. Trevik lowered his spyglass and turned with an urgent look. “There be someone caught in the net!”

Without hesitating another moment, Gryffyn jammed the net roller back into the curved wooden chock and worked with Jowan to heave the net back in.

Jowan’s grandfather, Edern Cardy, ran forward to pull up the buoys. Tufts of thick, white hair flipped out from the sides of his low cap. “Be slow, boys, or ye’ll lose the fish,” he warned.

Trevik immediately shook his head. “Hang the fish, Edern!”

“Ye be gawky, boy?” Edern returned, grunting as he hoisted the buoys forward. “An ’undred an’ eight shillin’s per hogshead. That be the rate now. We keep losin’ pilchards, and it’ll add up quick.”

Trevik groaned. Were they really going to argue over such trivialities with this woman’s life hanging in the balance? “I be well aware, Edern, but there be a woman who needs our ’elp down there.”

“A woman?” He didn’t pause in his work, though his small eyes peered over the edge, his lips set in a hard and fast line.

Trevik had an inkling what Edern was thinking of, but he didn’t have time for such nonsense. The two disagreed often enough about matters ranging from when to set sail to what fish to catch and when. Trevik was not one to take on his authoritative role often, but when it became a matter of life and death, he had no problem assuming his duties.

And fortunately for Trevik, he was the one who owned the boat.

He faced Gryffyn and Jowan. “Pull swiftly, lads.”