Men's breeches, Trixie decided, were the best invention ever. Why more women didn't wear them was utterly beyond her. As she scrambled into the crow's nest and dropped to a seated position, she stared up at the endless expanse of sky and thanked her lucky stars for the day she'd stowed aboard the Straight Arrow. The pressure she'd felt to develop her domestic skills for the purpose of attracting a suitable husband had disappeared the moment she'd set foot on the vessel. Not that she hadn't had a chance to practice those domestic habits, she thought wryly, looking down at the mostly neatly mended gash in her shirt. Esau had taught her to mend her own clothing, and she'd taken her turn in the galley helping to prepare meals.

But she hadn't been singled out. Everyone took their turn, pulled their own weight.

And that was just the way she liked it.

The difference between the sky and the sea, she reflected, really wasn't always very clear. Both blue, both extending as far as the eye could see, both filled with a sense of incredible freedom… For a brief moment, she wondered what it would be like to sail through the sky as easily as the Straight Arrow navigated the waters of the earth. Though she couldn't imagine any life better than that of one spent at sea, the sky held its own sense of wonder. The sea, after all, ended at land. At what did the sky end? Was there any end to it? She leaned back, head tilted to the heavens, and wondered.

When the first cloud passed over the sun and she felt the lack of warmth, she realized that she'd closed her eyes, maybe even fallen asleep, and cursed silently. Well, mostly silently. There were no end to the epithets used by the sailors, and she'd always been a quick study. Still, she ought not to have fallen asleep, even if Dan hadn't specifically requested a lookout.

Blinking the sleep away from her eyes, she squinted at the cloud-covered sun, attempting to determine how much time had passed. Not much, she decided, though she still hadn't quite acquired the knack of telling the time simply from the position of the sun. It didn't make sense to her; they were always moving, and so was the sun. How could it possibly be an accurate measurement of time? Still, Dan, Esau, and the other sailors seemed to have no problem telling the hour of the day, usually correct to the quarter hour.

What caught her attention, though, was the sickly colour of the clouds rolling in. Yellowish green clouds, she'd learned, rarely yielded anything less than a challenge. A familiar sense of excitement, a rush of adrenalin, pulsed through her, prompting her to abandon her post and scramble back to the deck, her calloused hands manoeuvring the lines with ease. Skimming along the lines was the closest she supposed she'd ever come to actual flying and it sent a thrill through her, even as she scanned the deck below her for evidence that others had also noted the threatening clouds and were preparing for the impending inclement weather.

She needn't have bothered. In all likelihood, Trixie acknowledged ruefully, she'd been the last person aboard the Straight Arrow to notice the weather. The crew made their preparations swiftly and skillfully, with the ease born of repetition. It was this confidence, this ease with the sea, which had most helped Trixie to acclimate to a life at sea. The crew respected the sea, always keeping a wary eye on their surroundings, but they were still a part of the sea, even when they battled the elements.

"Below deck," Dan instructed her, barking the order to be heard over the rapidly rising wind. Trixie bristled, as she always did when given an order that impeded her ability to remain in the thick of the action. Before she could decide whether to argue or respect the captain's wishes, a particularly strong gust of wind struck and the sailor at the helm scrambled to keep on course, cursing as he strained against the wheel.

"Esau!" Trixie exclaimed, and ran to help him, skittering across the slick deck and completely forgetting Dan's "request". In times of inclement weather, each sailor had a specific role. Esau required assistance, and Trixie knew full well there were no crew members to spare. Ducking under Esau's arm to stand between him and the helm, Trixie grasped the wheel and added her strength to the first mate's, endeavouring to keep the Straight Arrow on course. Esau grunted his thanks, his thick biceps bulging with effort.

"It's naught but a passing squall," he assured her. "We'll be out of it shortly."

Trixie nodded, her teeth gritted with the effort of combating the wind. The sky was dark as far as the eye could see, but if Esau predicted that the storm would be short-lived, then she could trust that it would.

"That's not to say it won't be a right menace while it lasts," he added, and she nodded grimly. It could take only seconds for disaster to strike. They'd not lost a crew member since she came aboard six months ago, but she knew that it could happen in the blink of an eye. All the more reason to do her job properly, Trixie told herself, strengthening both her grip and her resolve.

"They've got the lines trimmed smart," Esau continued, and she wondered if he was speaking to reassure her or himself. "The Straight Arrow is a tight ship and a fine vessel to boot. We'll be back to calm seas in no time."

And that, Trixie decided, was enough for her. As if to prove Esau wrong, a large wave rolled across the deck, soaking her with spray. The heavens opened and the stray spatter of droplets was replaced with a driving rain that seemed intent on sweeping them away. She widened her stance and worked with Esau to tug the helm back into submission. Being soaking wet, she decided, grinning, had quite the opposite effect on her than what she might have expected. Instead of discouraging her, being just as wet as the sea surrounding her only increased her determination and her sense of being a part of the elements. She laughed aloud, exalting in the feeling of being utterly alive and a part of something bigger than herself. How anyone on land functioned without this incredible rush, she had no idea.

And then, as quickly as the storm had arrived, it rolled away, leaving a soaked ship and a blazing sun in its wake.

"You were right," Trixie panted, out of breath from keeping the Straight Arrow on course.

"I generally am," he retorted. "At least , when it comes to matters of the sea."

She nodded, knowing that he was right. He was First Mate for a reason, after all. As the roar of the wind dwindled to the occasional enthusiastic gust, the shouts and laughter of the crew grew louder. She grinned again, knowing that the ale would flow freely that evening. As the tension slowly drained out of her, Trixie turned to Esau with a sheepish expression.

"If I go below deck now, do you suppose that Dan will think that I spent the entire squall there?"

Esau cleared his throat.

"If you think I don't know where you are during every moment of a storm, then you're sorely mistaken."

Trixie laughed, not abashed in the least, and spun to face the captain of the ship. Esau gave her a gentle push and she found herself in Dan's arms, being kissed within an inch of her life.

"Happy to see me?" she teased, planting an extra, impulsive kiss on his cheek and tucking herself into his arms.

"Always," he said, his mild tone belied by the lingering embrace he rarely indulged in in front of the crew. "I don't suppose you're ever going to stay safe below deck during a storm, are you?" he murmured, his mouth close to her ear.

Trixie shivered, but refused to completely melt in full view of the crew. She had to maintain some sort of control over herself, she reminded herself, or she'd find herself the butt of more jokes than she did when all of her brothers were home at the same time.

"I might one day," she said in answer to what she suspected had been a rhetorical question. "But not when I can help." And it was the truth. Trixie fully respected Dan's right to command everyone aboard the Straight Arrow, but she wasn't capable of sitting idly by when she was needed.

"Fair enough," he acknowledged, and Trixie knew how much it cost him. As much as he encouraged her to be comfortable aboard the Straight Arrow and to contribute in any way she wanted, he struggled to allow her to help in dangerous situations. Well, she decided, it was only fair. She worried about him, especially when they engaged French vessels to gain important information.

"This be just the tip of the iceberg," Esau said, exchanging a weighted look with the captain. Dan didn't respond, other than to press his lips together in a thin line which Trixie interpreted as him agreeing with Esau, but not liking it.

"What?" she questioned when neither man spoke. "What's the tip of the iceberg? And what's the iceberg?" She frowned at the First Mate. "You know I hate it when you use sea-related analogies."

Esau opened his mouth to defend himself, but Dan waved him aside and steered Trixie away. Standing at the railing, he said, "We're sailing into dangerous waters."

Trixie's brow knit together. "Is that another metaphor?" she asked, "because I really prefer it when you just say what you—"

"The Pool," Dan said, cutting her off before she could pick up too much steam. "We're nearing the Pool, and we'll likely be encountering more storms."

"Oh," she said, surprised. "I didn't realize it was so close," she added, waving vaguely at the sea surrounding them.

Dan nodded, his own eyes on the horizon. "It's only a few days' sail from Sanditon. As it's not on a direct route to anywhere in particular, though, most ships avoid it easily."

Trixie frowned. "If it's not on a direct route to anywhere, how did it gain its reputation? A number of ships must have sailed through the region and had trouble in order for sailors to know to avoid it."

He shrugged. "No one really knows. The legend has been floating around for years."

Trixie gnawed at her bottom lip, trying to make sense of the situation. "The Pool is known for an abnormal amount of ships sinking, even though it's not really on a route to anywhere," she mused. "So why would a ship be there in the first place? Maybe the ships were already in trouble, and that's why they were sailing somewhere they weren't planning to. And if something had gone wrong enough for them to be sailing off course, it stands to reason that there would be a higher risk of the ship sinking." She glanced up at Dan. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "It's a good theory. It doesn't take the pirates into account, though."

Trixie huffed out a sigh. "Well, I can't solve everything at once," she griped, though she very much wished that she could.

"And, as interesting as your theory is, I don't know that it will help us rescue the Ten Acres."

Trixie's face fell. "Right." She paused, and this time it was her turn to stare out at the sea. "Do you think we'll get there in time?"

Dan was silent for a long moment, and Trixie almost regretted asking the question. Almost, but not quite. Because, after all, it didn't matter if there were little to no chance of the Straight Arrow arriving in time. She would still exert every effort possible to make things right.

"I think that there's more to this situation than we know," he finally said, repeating the thought he'd expressed while they were in Sanditon. "And I have a feeling that we're being led to the Pool." He met her eyes, and Trixie saw that he was just as determined as she. "If that's the case, it stands to reason that Captain Gingerbeard will be fine until we've arrived."

The unspoken idea that the danger would begin once they arrived at the Pool hung between them, making the storm-soaked air even heavier.

Potatoes, Trixie thought, watching yet another of the slippery vegetables leap out of her hands and roll across the gently rolling floor, were nasty little things. Sure, they stayed fairly fresh in the ship's keep and provided some much needed heartiness to the general cuisine, but they were the very dickens to peel. She tossed the sharp paring knife on the counter and scrambled after the potato, hoping to catch it before it found a hiding place and offered itself up to the rats that somehow seemed to thrive on the Straight Arrow.

If they kept putting her on potato duty, Trixie thought grimly, the rat population would probably double with all the food she managed to spill or otherwise lose track of.

When she finally spied the runaway vegetable, it was lodged between two storage bins. Groaning, Trixie dropped to her hands and knees to navigate between the many cylindrical barrels that had been brought aboard at their last stop. There were twice as many as usual due to the fact that they hoped to have need of them when they rescued the Ten Acres, and it was a tight fit, but she managed to squeeze her way to the rogue potato. As she closed her hand around the wet and slightly slimy vegetable, she heard the door to the galley creak.

"Are ye certain no one will o'er hear us?"

Trixie startled, bumping her head against the very barrel that had been holding the potato hostage.

"Did ye hear that?" the same voice asked anxiously.

"It weren't nothin'," a stronger, more confident voice replied. "Everyone knows there be plenty o' rats in the galley. That were just a bigger one, nosin' through the supplies."

"Right," the first voice said, sounding relieved to have an explanation for the noise.

Trixie bit her lip and forced herself to remain still. The men obviously didn't want to be overheard, and though she couldn't imagine that any of the crew would harm her, she wasn't anxious to put the theory to the test. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what they could possibly have to talk about that they didn't want overheard.

"Are ye sure that ye lost the paper?" the second voice asked, placing a peculiar emphasis on the word "lost".

"Oh, I lost it alright," the first man replied, sounding both smug and amused. "Right into the folds of the lady's bosom, if ye take me meaning."

The sound of low, male laughter made Trixie squirm uncomfortably even as her face flushed.

"Marguerite's a good sort," the second voice said when their chuckles had subsided. "I'm sure she delivered it to the right person."

"Aye. And Wilkins handed it right over to the cap'n, just like a good little sailor," the first voice crowed. "And none of it can be traced back to you or I, seeing as how the blighter was drunk as a skunk when she gave it to him. He weren't exactly in a frame of mind to remember much o' the ev'nin', were he?"

"Not other than knowin' that he had a good time," the other voice agreed.

The voices sounded familiar but, hidden as she was behind two rows of barrels, Trixie didn't have a clear enough view of the men to positively identify them. They were definitely up to something, and the note that Wilkins had given Dan took on new meaning. The list of names had obviously been intended for the captain, but to what purpose? Determined to at least learn the identity of the men who had chosen the galley as their covert rendezvous point, Trixie shifted as noiselessly as she could in order to peek over the three-foot barrels. When she leaned forward, however, the barrel was lighter than she had anticipated and moved with her, scraping against the rough floor. She ducked back down again, her heart racing as she attempted to make herself as tiny as possible. A cursory glance wouldn't reveal her presence, but if the men searched in earnest, she'd be found immediately.

"Did ye hear that?" one of them whispered. "That weren't no rat."

"It weren't nothin',"  the other voice asserted, but he, too, sounded uneasy. "All the men are accounted fer, and…"

Trixie held her breath and closed her eyes, hoping that he wouldn't remember that not every person aboard the Straight Arrow was a man.

"…and the Cap'n's woman was in the crow's nest," he continued. "Whatever it is, it ain't a person."

"Or a rat."

The men silently contemplated the ramifications and then, to Trixie's relief, she heard the scuffle of hurried feet and the creak of the door as it closed behind them. She remained perfectly still, knowing that one of them could have stayed behind. It wasn't likely. The crew was a superstitious lot, and she suspected that both of the men were currently taking themselves as far from the galley as they could, away from whatever evil spirit had been listening to them plot.

Or had they been plotting? Trixie frowned, trying to remember the exact words of the conversation. They were definitely up to something, but they'd said remarkably little about what that "something" actually was. If only she hadn't bumped into the barrel, she thought ruefully, she might have a better idea of what was going on.

Instead, all she knew was that the Straight Arrow was most certainly being pulled into the Pool by the strings of some sort of puppeteer.