Stopping at their cabin only long enough to grab their personal weapons, Silver and the others charged up the main causeway to the forecastle and burst into the bridge room of the lurching cargo ship. In dripping poncho and hat, Captain Villiers was lashed to the wheel, shouting details of their location and situation into a standard black crashbox, his shoes anchored to the deck with stout steel clips. Silver recognized it as the deadman pose. With a shock, she realized he didn’t expect to succeed. Or even survive.