II

The mercenaries had been reckless, stupid; all the sailors had silently cursed them and prayed to all of the gods, just in case, to save them. If Fortune was fair, the Napoli would have been heading the other way, full speed away from the raging volcano. But Fortune had never had any judgement, and so Napoli was carrying these reckless, stupid mercenaries who held a knife to the throat of the captain's daughter and told him to keep going. One sailor who had complained aloud was now with the ship's surgeon, a knife-wound between his ribs. Toren supposed either Fortune or the gods were looking out for the man, because by rights he should be dead.

Now there was respite. In terror, Toren had watched with the others as the fire had screamed through the top of the mountain, as rivers of lava - almost white in their heat - had streamed down. But the worst fell on the inland side, and all the ship received was a dusting of ash. They had coughed, then laughed and cheered and congratulated one another, and even Toren had burly arms of well-meaning sailors crushing out his breath.

Now they could get rid of the mercenaries with polite but definite haste, and go back to their fishing. All were happy, except for the captain: out of the crew perhaps only Toren noticed, but the captain's daughter was still nowhere to be seen.