Richmond looked upward at the the voice above. His eyes met a black-clad figure dangling upside down from the<span style="font-style: italic">Lady's</span>rigging. "We'll get away, right?" said Richmond, ignoring the traditional politeness of exchanging greetings. "The<span style="font-style: italic">Lady's</span>fast; our captain's smart; we WILL get away." His voice was shakey and his white-knuckle grip tightenning on the railing. "I'm sorry," he said, regaining his composure again,"I am well, Mr Pagen. And, er, Hello." He felt slighly ashamed at his display. Above him hung a lad several years his younger who betrayed no signs of panic, yet he, the sole heir of the Du Bois lineage, stood quiverring at a black speck. Summoning the measly amount of courage he posessed, Richmond asked a question that had sat brooding quietly at the back of his mind. "Mr Pagen. The vessal that pursues us flies the colours of Acirema. Although I acknowledge that my initial pretensions of the<span style="font-style: italic">Lady</span>was false, I am at a loss as to why such a vessal would so doggedly pursue us. What know you of Miss Basium's history? What sleeping dog had she angered to bring the attention of a city's Royal Navy?"