The situation was rapidly deteriorating. Further conflict was temporarily averted as the Captain bellowed for all hands to get aloft and reef sail as he turned his ship more westerly to run before the storm. Glares and muttered imprecations were aimed at Zoya as the crew scurried up into the rigging. The wind on deck was now growing so strong that conversation was difficult, and the ship was heeling over and slicing through the waves, like a hobby horse, throwing up huge sprays of foam each time the bow hit the approaching swell. Davian and Zoya retreated below decks, a refuge from the spray if not the increasingly violent motion of the vessel.

"Did you do that?" Davian demanded, grim faced in the semi darkness below decks. No lights could be risked in such weather, not when a ship was made of so many tons of dried wood, pine tar, and other such incindieary materials. Zoya's nostrils flared with anger, the accusation akin to naming her a darkfriend. She mastered herself with obvious effort, reminding herself that the common folk were less familiar with the Oaths than the initiated.

"No." Zoya responded, distinctly and directly so as to give no wiggle room for Aes Sedai trickery. She wondered if one of the items she had taken from the Stone might have been indirectly responsible. She had made only cursory examination of the loot she had acquired. All had the feel of items of the power and one of them, the small figurine of a woman with a sword between her breasts wrought in what looked to be soap stone, was clearly an angreal, but the functions and powers of the others would take study and considerable risk to divine.

"That isn't going to stop me from being lynched by a bunch of woolheaded sailormen though," she cursed. The retreated to the small cabin where Zoya had been staying and she gathered up her little haul of items into a shoulder bag. The Captain had been willing to sell her basic provisions and she poured herself a half glass of sour resinous wine. The roll of the ship nearly sloshed the fluid over the edge of the mug and she gulped quickly to keep from spilling.

The sound of feet pounded on the planks outside and Davian threw himself across the doorway a second before horny fists began to pound on it.

"Come out here witch!"

"Throw her over the side!"

"She murdered Gil!"

Zoya grabbed a chair and thrust it against the door as a flimsy barricade, not that it would hold long against men with the heavy axes the crew used to cut away downed rigging. 

"Do you have a plan?" Davian demanded. Zoya crossed her arms huffily.

"I am open to suggestions," she admitted tartly.