Slowly, he completed his unsteady downstroke and turned the pen to the left, drawing something like a hook, as he had been told. He lifted the pen and moved it a little way to the right, where he scratched a shape that vaguely resembled a horseshoe. Further to the right again, he essayed a small circle with a downstroke coming from its left, then a bold single stroke, then a Christian cross. He stopped, looked at the paper, and frowned. With his face a mask of concentration, he drew a horseshoe on its side, and closed it off at the top. Finally he scratched another hook, the mirror image of his first, upright and pointing off to the right of the paper. He looked at the finished effort, and said with a little pride, 'Jupiter.' Jupiter indeed,' I said. 'You can write your ship's name, Kit Farrell. Be thankful you're not serving on the Constant Reformation.' We were a day beyond the confrontation with Stafford Peverell. The Jupiter was sailing northward through the Irish Sea in fine and clear weather.
