"Is he one of the devil-kin?" the Regala asked.

He quailed before her. "I d-don't know anything about devil-kin. I've never met one. All I can say is that he has a shadow within him. B-b-but right now, he's just a baby."

For a long moment, no one spoke. He held his breath, waiting... for what? He wasn't sure.

The Regala's grip on the cradle had slackened, but there was nothing relaxed about her. She stood, deep in thought for several minutes and neither of them was brave enough to interrupt her thoughts.

When she did straighten and stand back from the cradle, her eyes glittered with an intensity he found unsettling. Regala Mathilda may have been young, but when he looked at her he was afraid.

She said, switching her penetrating gaze from one to the other, "You hold the safety of my son, the security of the heir of the Basalt Throne in your keeping. One careless word from either of you could mean his death. So there is one thing I wish you to know: if my son suffers because you tell the wrong person or people of what you have seen or heard here today, I personally will see to it that you are locked in a cell under the ground with the rats, in the dark, for the rest of your lives. That is my promise to both of you."

The coldness with which she spoke sent shivers down his spine. She meant every word.

She continued, "Agent Gerelda, I will see to it that you have whatever you require to help you. You must be careful. If anyone suspects the kind of research you are doing, they may wonder about things that are better not wondered about. Do you understand me? The librarian answers not to me, but to the Regal and his advisers. So remember what I said. And believe me when I say I will stop at nothing when it comes to the welfare of my son. Nothing." She switched her gaze from Gerelda to Peregrine. "Remember my promise. I can make you regret the day you were born."

Peregrine only just managed to stop himself from shivering.

16.

Breaking the Spell

Captain Lustgrader, seated at his desk in his cabin, sighed and turned his head to stare out of the stern window that ran lengthwise above his bunk. The view included the Regal's galleon, Sentinel, anchored on a sea as flat as bathwater.

That afternoon, the winds had been contrary as the ships beat their way through the scattered outer islands, the so-called Calves of Karradar, only to drop away to nothing once the fleet slipped into the leeward shelter of the largest of these islands. The sudden calm had ensured that none had reached the port anchorage closer to the shore. Four of the ships, including the galleon with its array of cannon, now rode at anchor several miles short of Port Karradar on the main island, Bull Karradar. The fifth ship, the ageing carrack Spice Dragon, was out of sight, doubtless becalmed somewhere among the Calves.

The first time Lustgrader had come to Karradar, he'd thought the islands had been named after cattle. Now he knew better; they referred to the basking bull seals and their offspring strewn like sea-washed boulders along the islands' many beaches.

As he gazed outwards, seabirds skimmed by, hunting scraps. A diverse array of boats clustered around the stern of Sentinel with all the busyness of water beetles on a pond. Lustgrader pursed his lips in distaste. Leprous lot of scum, trying to sell their cloyingly syrupy fruit and their poxy light-skirt women. Va, how he hated foreign ports! He heaved a sigh, knowing that keeping sailors away from such evils was a well-nigh useless endeavour.

In the morning, if there was a wind, he would signal for the pilot to come and guide all of them into a safer port anchorage. Once there, he would organise the revictualling of the fleet and some shore leave for the crews. No captain could keep seamen on board when there were grog houses and brothels and gambling dens within sight. Port Karradar was lawless and Va-less and far too foreign for his liking, full of Pashalin traders, lascar seamen and Ardronese pirates. The lookout had already told him there was at least one Ardronese ship at anchor. Va grant that it didn't belong to that bastard privateer Lord Juster Dornbeck, that botch of nature, with his fancy clothes and flamboyance.

He glanced down at the desk again, where the bambu lay, corked and sealed. It had been four days since he'd opened it, an effort of will that had kept him on his knees in prayer for hours each day. He shuddered just recalling how he'd had to wrestle his addiction to arrive at this small amount of detachment. He bit down on his lip, hard, until blood ran down his chin. He revelled in the pain. It gave him back his independence, his rationality.

It's time. I have to get rid of this poison. I can do it now. I must.

It would be easier once the plume was not on the ship any more, andif he was correct in his logiche'd worked out just how to rid himself of its compulsion altogether.

You wait, Reed Heron. My revenge on you and that whore and her baby is about to begin. You're a dead man. You'll rue the day you came on board my ship.

"Mynster Bachold!" he called.

By the time the young seaman on duty outside his door entered, Lustgrader had composed himself and was reaching for his hat. "Mynster Bachold, tell the bo'sun to ready the pinnace. I wish to visit Sentinel. Ask Mynster Tolbun to run up the signal flags."

"Aye, aye, sir."

With the bambu wrapped in a piece of canvas tucked under one arm and the Regal's letter in his hand, he made his way up on to the main deck. The sun was already low to the horizon, yet it was still sweltering hot. He ran a finger around his wilting starched collar, feeling the discomfort of the humidity. Midden heap of a place; he couldn't wait to leave.

While the seamen prepared the pinnace for launching, he looked to see if Reed Heron was on deck. Just thinking of the man made his heart beat faster and his stomach lurch queasily. Who was he, this factor, that he used such Va-forsaken sorcery? He ought to have had the man keel-raked or have ordered him thrown overboard en route to Karradar; instead he obeyed Heron like an obedient hound fawning before its master.

The man wasn't on deck, thank Va. He breathed a little easier and groped for his kerchief to mop his forehead. Pain in his chest nagged at him, begging him to stay on board the boat. One part of him wanted to think about the Va-forsaken feather, the same part that desperately wanted to look at it again, to stroke its colours...

He forced himself instead to watch the signal flags being hoisted up the mast of Sentinel, acceding to his request to come aboard. When the pinnace was ready, he climbed down the pilot steps so he could be rowed across a glassy sea to the escort galleon, the bambu a lead weight under his arm.

Once on board the Regal's ship, he pried his thoughts from the plume and focused instead on climbing on to the deck, on greeting Captain Russmon, on being escorted to the captain's cabin, on accepting a tot of banana brandy, freshly bought from a bumboat.

With the conversational preliminaries out of the way, Russmon remarked, "I have the cook working on this evening's meal, using some local fresh victuals. Would the Commander honour me by agreeing to grace our wardroom for dinner?"

"It would be my pleasure to try the culinary skills of someone other than my present cook. Most uninspired fellow; everything he cooks tastes the same. However, cadging a meal was not my purpose. I have more serious matters that need some discussion. Did you, by any chance, have a communication from His Grace, the Regal, just before we sailed from Ustgrind? Concerning the procurement of feathers of paradise birds?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I found the subject puzzling, because I wouldn't have thought they were more valuable than spices, yet that is what the letter seems to imply."

"Ours is not to question."

"No, of course not. I would not presume to do so."

Lustgrader held up the bambu, still wrapped in canvas. "That letter put me in a position of some embarrassment, because I already had such a plume in my possession. It was given to me by a factor of the Company. Of course, I did not read His Grace's letter until we had already sailed. I have decided it is best that I give this feather into your keeping, as it now belongs to the Basalt Throne. By relinquishing it to you as the Regal's representative in this fleet, I hope to make it quite clear that I no longer make any claim to the ownership of this plume. Just to avoid any awkwardness, you understand. Would you please accept it in the name of the Regal and thereby witness that it is no longer my property?"

As he spoke, crunching pain spasmed inside his ribcage. He closed his eyes momentarily and swallowed, trying not to scream. Sickening grief engulfed him, as he pushed the bambu into Russmon's hands.

I am doing the right thing. I have to get rid of what has been eating my soul. I reject this foulness. It's not mine any more. I pass it to my sovereign Lord.

"Commander, are you all right?"

Russmon's anxious voice came from a distance, barely audible to his ears.

"Dyspepsia," he muttered in reply. "Gives me problems sometimes. Fusty shipboard food, you know."

Russmon clicked his tongue in sympathy. "Ah, indeed, I do know. Never mind, fresh food tonight. And as for this feather, it would be an honour to ensure its safekeeping." He frowned slightly before adding, "However, Sentinel is a fighting ship, and therefore not the safest place for something so valuable, should we be attacked by privateers or Va-forsaken pirates."

"Nonetheless, it is in your keeping now, as the Regal's property. With Va's grace, no ill shall befall this vessel."

"Would it be possible to see this plume? Forgive me if my request is not proper, but if I am to know what it is we must seek in the islands..."

"They are dangerous items. I think the Regal made that quite clear in his letter, did he not? They are not to be handled." He paused, debating. "However, perhaps it is a good idea for you to look at this one. Let me show you."

He took the gloves he had tucked into his belt and put them on, wishing he'd known the penalty of touching the vile thing before that pizzle of a factor had gifted it to him. Taking the bambu from Russmon, he eased the plume out of its containment until it blossomed free in all its golden glory. Russmon gave a sharp intake of breath. Lustgrader risked a look, dreading what would follow. Sweet oak, but it was beautiful! For a moment he was tempted to touch it to his cheek, then remembered and drew back. He no longer felt the urge to covet it, to own it.

Va be thanked. Factor Reed Heron, I am free of your sorcery. You're a dead man, you and that wanton with her ill-begotten baby.

He took a deep breath, revelling in his freedom.

Russmon stared, mesmerised by the flowing colours. "Sweet Va, I've never seen anything so glorious."

He reached out a finger to touch the feather, but Lustgrader knocked his hand away. "Watch it! It's... poisonous."

The captain, embarrassed, folded his arms. "Well, at least I know what we are looking for on the nutmeg-growing island. A bird as large as a cow, if it has feathers like this! It will be an easy target, I imagine."

"One would think so. I can't say I actually saw the creature myself." Carefully, he threaded the feather back into the bambu, wrapped it in the canvas and handed it over to Russmon.

"I shall lock it away," Russmon promised. "Oh, while I remember to tell you: one of my sailors recognised the flag on that Ardronese ship anchored in the bay. He says it's the coat of arms of Lord Juster Dornbeck, privateer."

"That rutting fellow? Pox on him!"

"She looks fast, that one. Well-armed, too."

"You've come across him before, I believe?" He kept his tone neutral. No point in antagonising the captain of the fleet's galleon, but he knew what Russmon would be remembering. The last ship he'd commanded had to be scrapped after Juster Dornbeck had finished with it.

"Our paths have crossed, yes."

"I wonder if we might consider being... er, pre-emptive this time?"

There was a long silence while Russmon considered the suggestion. Lustgrader knew he had put the captain on a spot and he was interested to see whether he would take the bait or veer away.

"The Karradar Islands are considered neutral, off limits to any acts of aggression."

"They are indeed," he agreed. "But if they can't prove who the aggressor was?"

Russmon looked at him with quick interest and leaned forward like a hound scenting prey. "Just what do you have in mind, Commander?"

Sorrel, with Piper in her arms, crouched on the weather deck shaded by one of Spice Winds' carriage guns, captivated by all she could see. The sun would soon descend behind the steep slopes of Bull Karradar Island, but for now the seaturquoise, aqua, cobaltbasked in its late-afternoon glow and glinted with blinding sparks of light. Beneath the stillness of the surface, fish darted, gaudily striped or spotted, some bewhiskered, others trailing their fins in streamers.

The vessel was so far offshore the details of the port town were lost, but the mountain beyond was imposing. The folds of the land were smothered by the vegetation, the canopy of each tree slotting into its neighbours like a child's puzzle. Every so often, the trunk of an emergent forest giant would break free of this continuous green, thrusting the spread of its branches above to catch the sun.

Anchored ships, no two alike, studded the bay in front of the port, while smaller boats scurried from ship to shore, rowed or paddled in frenetic competition. A flotilla of rafts and skiffs, made colourful by their varied cargoes of fresh food and elaborately dressed women and boys, bumped against the hull of Spice Winds like puppies nuzzling at their mother's teats. Crewed by a motley selection of dark-skinned Pashali seamen and lascars or sweating, sun-burnt Ardronese and Lowmians, the vessels were laden with produce, now for sale in a language brewed from three or four separate tongues into an island argot. Most of the men were bare-chested and barefooted, some wearing nothing more than colourful loincloths.

The sailors on Spice Winds dickered with them, offering coins and trinkets in exchange for produce. No one noticed her. Glamoured into invisibility, she watched, fascinated. The air was warm and humid; sweat trickled between her breasts and soaked the shirt she wore. It was just as well that she could glamour more appropriate clothing when she wanted because, since they had arrived in warmer seas, she'd chosen to wear only a sailor's shirt and knee-length britches. Captain Lustgrader would have been appalled.

It had been a lonely voyage, prevented as she was from mixing with the crew or the factors. Piper, the little darling, had thrived, but Commander Lustgrader had insisted everyone ignore them both; the only crew member she'd had anything to do with officially was the obliging but scruffy ship's boy, Banstel.

Glamoured, blended into the background, she'd been able to snatch moments with both Ardhi and Saker, whispered conversations often ending in argument, as she was adamant that she would leave the ship in Karradar. Saker was beside himself with worry about what would happen to her if she tried to travel alone.

"If you're so worried," she had countered, "you should come with me. It's your fault that I'm here in the first place!"

The idea that he thought it his duty to go to the Va-forsaken Hemisphere because his witchery was bird-linked was both absurd and infuriating. Why would a solution to the problems of the Va-cherished Hemisphere be found on the other side of the world?

But then, if the dagger had really changed the weather so she couldn't leave the ship... perhaps he was right.

Oh, the stupid weak part of her ached to have someone at her side, protecting her when she headed back across the ocean on her way to Vavala. Don't be so cowardly, she'd admonished herself again and again. You must go back. It's your duty. You promised Mathilda.

Before sunset, the floating market of boats disappeared towards the shore, but she stayed where she was, Piper still sound asleep in her arms. She watched, unseen, as Captain Lustgrader came on deck, a parcel under his arm. The pinnace was launched and he was rowed over to the galleon.

It was pleasantly cooler now, and Piper slept on. She stayed where she was, waiting for the sunset because a sun-cast shadow of her crossing the deck without anyone visible to cast it would have betrayed her presence. As the night fell, lights on the shore began to delineate the port buildings. A surprisingly large town, it sprawled along the waterfront, then scrambled haphazardly up the slopes beyond.

She dozed a while, until Saker's voice brought her awake. "Sorrel."

Piper jerked in her arms, and she turned to find Saker behind her.

"I bought you something from one of those boatmen," he said. "Here, try this."

She glanced around to make sure nobody was watching before she took what he offered. "What is it?" she asked, holding it up to see better in the dim light. It was long and yellow.

"It's a kind of fruit. Ardhi calls it pisang. The locals here call it a banana."

He showed her how to peel it and she took a bite. Her teeth sank into creamy flesh, and it squashed on her tongue, the delicate tang of it new and fresh on her palate. She ate it all, suddenly aware how much she'd missed fresh fruit in the two months it had taken to reach the islands from Ustgrind. She gave a sigh of pure pleasure.

"That was perfection. Thank you. Did you know Lustgrader went over to Sentinel? He might return soon and we can't be caught talking."

He shrugged. "I'm not worried. There's nothing Lustgrader can do to me that I can't make him undo."

"That's horrible. Don't remind me."

"Sorry. Look, I have some good news. It seems one of those ships anchored in the bay is Lord Juster's Golden Petrel. He will help us find a berth on a trustworthy ship going to Throssel for you, if that's really what you want."

"He's a privateer! Will he attack Spice Winds?"

"Not here. The Karradar Islands are neutral territory." He paused, then added, "It would be so easy for you to come with us to Chenderawasi. All I have to do is tell Commander Lustgrader that I insist you do."

She shot him a look, hoping it was enough to tell him what she thought of that idea. She wasn't changing her mind.

"All right, all right," he said, "I'll tell Lustgrader you're disembarking tomorrow."

A sailor came past to light the ship's anchorage lanterns. He nodded to Saker, oblivious to her presence. Saker leaned on the bulwarks and waited until the man was out of earshot before speaking again. "I think the sailors are getting used to me talking to myself," he said with a grin. He reached out to Piper and stroked the downy hair on her head. She was awake now, but made no sound. "She's lovely, isn't she?"

"She's wonderful, but it is getting harder to include her in my glamour. She's becoming tootoo much her own person."

"You mustn't become too fond of her. You may have to give her up one day."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Instinctively, her hold tightened. "It's ironical, isn't it? I'm the only mother she's ever known, and I have no rights to her at all. And neither do you, even though you could be her father."

"We'll never know who fathered her."

"I suppose not." She looked down at Piper. "It's too late, you know."

"What is?"

"Do you think I don't care for her already?" Her laugh was half-sob. "It doesn't matter who fathered her, or who her mother was. There's not a moment of any day when I'm not reminded of my own daughter, by the sheer intensity of what I feel."