He ate warmed-over chowder greedily from a beaten metal bowl, pausing only to chew the chunks offish. “Do you know who the pirates were that attacked your ship?” Captain Tynnel asked. The boy shook his head, still chewing. “No, sir.” One of the few Breezerunner’s captain had allowed into the room, Jherek stood near the doorway, watching the boy. Wyls was educated and mannered, the son of a merchant who’d hired the cog as transport. He’d had a good life ahead of him, the young sailor reflected. Now all that had been lost, unless there was family he could get home to. Wyls stared into the chowder bowl. “They came out of nowhere and attacked our ship,” he said. “The captain tried to run, but they had a faster ship. My father locked me in the cabin before they got on our ship, but I heard the fighting.” His breath seized up in his throat. “Easy, lad,” Tynnel said, dropping a hand to the boy’s head. “You just take your time. I only need to know a few more things, then you can sup till you’ve a full belly and cover up in those blankets.”
