Instead he said, "I didn't bring Va-forsaken witcheries to our hemisphere. You did, when you allowed your crew to kill what was forbidden to them. Think on that, before you return to Ustgrind with more such feathers. The plumes could spell the end of law and order in our land."

Lustgrader paled.

"Ah, that made you think, didn't it?"

During the night he'd considered explaining that he was in the service of the Pontifect, but it would be difficult to prove. Early in the voyage, he'd feared someone on board might rifle through his papers and discover he was not actually a Lowmian bookkeeper, so he'd destroyed everything that connected him to her.

Aloud, he said, "Do what you will to me, but don't blame the woman for my sins. She had nothing to do with this." He wanted desperately to ask where she was, but resisted giving Lustgrader the satisfaction of hearing him beg. "And the childa child is always an innocent."

There was no softening of Lustgrader's implacable malice. "I doubt that," he said. "Devil-kin is what springs to my mind when I see that hussy and her ill-gotten babe. She has already been dealt with, and her death was more merciful than she deserved. Let no one say that Lustgrader takes pleasure in torturing a woman or child."

Shock pulsed through his blood. He leapt to his feet then, his hands straining at the bonds. Lustgrader seized the pistol from the desk, and cocked it in one fluid movement.

Saker found himself looking down the barrel a bare hand-span from his face. "You lie!" Sweet Va, please tell me he lies! Lustgrader, if you've killed them, I'll see you gutted.

It must be a lie; Ardhi would never have let her die. The dagger would never have let her die. Fobbing hells, if it came to that Sorrel would have fought like a cornered cat; she had her glamour. Va, tell me I am right.

Lustgrader looked him up and down. "So I have finally penetrated your calm. Believe me, the woman is dead and that's no more and no less than she deserves."

"The child?"

"Likewise. The spawn of a lightskirt deserves no pity."

He began to shake. A black hole with no bottom had opened up and he was falling into it, emotions tumbling. The blackness closed in on him, crushing the air from his lungs. Only force of will allowed him to drag in a breath. He gasped and whispered, because a whisper was all he could manage, "Leak on you, you whoreson! You're a dead man, Lustgrader. I swear it."

No, I won't believe it. I have more faith in Ardhi and Sorrel.

"Fear not, factor. You won't live long enough to grieve, let alone kill me. You are to be keel-raked." The smugness of his triumph was sickening. "This morning, as a matter of fact. Have you ever seen that done?"

He couldn't stop shaking. His longing to put his hands around the captain's neck and choke the life out of him was so strong he couldn't understand why the bonds around his wrists weren't torn apart.

Through teeth he couldn't seem to unclench, he said, "No, I can't say I have. Keel-raking is a filthy Lowmian practice and I'm an Ardronese witan in the employ of her reverence the Pontifect." He did know sailors often died in the process.

He struggled against the cords that bound him, but sailors knew their knots.

Lustgrader lowered the pistol, but it was still cocked at the ready. "I don't care who you say you are because I doubt you know how to tell the truth. I will admit I never thought any crime committed on any ship of mine deserved such a cruel punishment, until now. Did you know that sometimes the miscreant has his head ripped off in the process? At the very least, he is skinned by the barnacles on the underside of the ship. Painful, I imagine. You will be glad to know that I don't intend to behead you in such a fashion. That would be too... merciful. After you've been keel-raked, you will be revived. Then we'll hang you from the yardarm, quarter your body and throw the pieces to the fish. May Va have mercy on your filthy soul." His fingers drummed on the surface of his desk as if he could not contain the rage that fuelled him.

Oh, fuck. Saker felt himself sink still deeper into the blackness of the abyss. Oh, fobbing hells. Sorrel, please, you have to have been better at saving your own life than I am at saving mine. For your sake, but most of all for Piper's...

Every thought of Piper bruised his soul, so he thrust them away. He had no notion how he was ever going to live through the day ahead, let alone escape the ship, but he was damned if he'd die quietly.

Survive. Va, show me how to survive. While there's a single breath left in my body, I'll fight.

It was hot up on the deck. The pitch-and-hemp caulking between the planking burned his bare feet, forcing him to stand on one leg at a time. He steadied his breathing and looked around. One of his escort still gripped his upper arm tightly, fearing perhaps that he would try to leap into the ocean.

From the number of men on the deck, he guessed the whole crew had been assembled to witness his punishment. As his glance shifted from one man to another, he saw a whole gamut of expressions: sympathy, anger, anticipation, indifference, dread, nausea. Several of the factors and the officers, men he'd come to know well during the voyage, refused to catch his eye. Cultheer the merchant was openly furious. The bo'sun was more nervous than angry, which was odd. He wondered if there was a rumour spreading about sorcery and his hold over Captain Lustgrader. Now that the captain was himself again, and he and Sorrel were in trouble, that was a distinct possibility.

Sorrel. She can't be dead.

He looked beyond them to the other moored ships in the bay, all of them closer to shore. Lustgrader had not yet changed the anchorage of Spice Winds to a more convenient proximity to the jetty and warehouses. Lord Juster's Golden Petrel was still in the bay, but too far away to be of any help. The bumboats, which had been floating around them the day before and were still flocking around the other ships of the Lowmian fleet, had apparently been warned away from Spice Winds.

Saker scanned the deck. No Sorrel, no Ardhi. He looked for the ship's boy, Banstel, who might have been able to tell him what had happened to Sorrel, but couldn't see him either.

Where in all the wide ocean is that wretched lascar?

He thought of dashing for the rail and plunging into the sea. But how long would he live with his hands tied behind his back? He could swim, and swim well, but he didn't like his chances of escaping when there was a whole shipload of men armed with muskets and cannons, not to mention boats, that could be sent after him.

Instead, he reached out for his witchery and began to call the birds. Surprise surged through him at the sheer number that answered. A rich abundance of avian thoughts whirled in his mind. He steadied himself, focused his mind to single out the seabirds, to call them with gentle persuasion. He was aware of huge wingspans tilting, tails turning like rudders. Water slipped from slick backs as diving birds rose to the surface in answer. Flocks of pipers roosting on the shore lifted their heads in unison in answer to his summons and took off in swirling assemblies. Sea eagles, skimmers, petrels, lumbering pelicans, elegant terns, argumentative sea gulls, those he couldn't name and had never seen: he called them all.

He bade them fly high into the sky overhead the ship. He felt their initial resistance to his call, and coaxed them to acquiescence. Some, curious, came to investigate with only a little prompting; a few came gladly, with a sense of comradeship. For a disconcerting sliver of time he viewed the world through their alien thoughts, feeling the wind through their feathers. No one appeared to have noticed the birds gathering far above, and he did not look up.

Seamen beside him prepared the hempen cordage for keel-raking. He strove in vain for detachment. They were manipulating the rope under the keel of the ship so that it could be let down on one side and hauled up on the otherwith him tied in the middle. At least they were planning to haul him across the ship, not lengthwise.

He took a deep breath. He needed to stay calm and plan because he was certain of one thing: if he was keel-raked, he would die, one way or another. Which meant he had to act first. What he didn't know was how to free his hands so he could swim properly, or how he was going to get from the ship to shore by swimming anyway, not when he could be so easily seen from the deck of Spice Winds.

Confound the clear waters of this bay!

He closed his eyes, focused his thoughts.

When he opened his eyes again, he knew if he lived through this it would be because of trust. He had to trust Va, trust the Chenderawasi magic. Trust the kris.

He looked up, and there, on the yardarm almost directly above his head, was Ardhi.

19.

The Handmaiden and the Privateer

Sorrel held out her arms to take Piper from Banstel. Trembling, his eyes wide, the lad surrendered the baby into her care. There was blood everywhere, spattered over Piper, over Banstel, over herself. Piper quietened as soon as she was in her arms again, but her stare was angry. With a defiance that seemed adult to Sorrel, she stuck a bloodied fist into her mouth and sucked.

Shocked, Sorrel stared at her. The thought that entered her head was unheralded and unwanted.

Devil-kin.

Then common sense reasserted itself. A baby sucked her fist for comfort; she was just a babe in arms with no knowledge of right or wrongor what had just happened in the boat.

This was no time for megrims. "Head towards that beach on the island over there," she said, forcing back her nausea.

He didn't move from where he was.

"Please, Banstel."

"You-you-You were an animal. Or s-s-something."

"No. It was a glamour witchery, that's all. I'm just a woman with a Va-given witchery and a child, a woman who wants to live long enough to see that child grow up."

"Whatwhat are you going to do?"

"I'm not going to hurt you. I want to dump this fellow Voster on the island. It's either that, or I kill him right now by throwing him into the sea while he's still unconscious."

"He's not dead?"

"Not yet. Will you do as I ask or not?"

He stared at her and asked again, "Who are you?"

"Nobody special. I didn't ask to be aboard Spice Winds. I've not harmed anybody."

"You killed Fels!"

"I didn't have much choice in that. And Captain Lustgrader condemned me to death first. Well, I'm not going to die, not now, and not here. I certainly don't want to harm you because I'm sure you're just as innocent as I am. Can you get this boat to the beach?"

"Ifif I help you, the captain'll have me guts hanging from the yardarm for them mewling gulls to eat."

"No one is going to tell him what you did. You can make up any story you like when you get back to the ship. But I can promise you one thing: if you don't help me, I'll kill you. And you know why? Because to me, Piper needs to live. And for her, I'll do anything. Understand?"

He regarded her, wide-eyed.

"You've seen my witchery. I can kill you." And I hope you don't realise I'm bluffing.

He nodded and capitulated. "I 'ave to fix the sheet so's I can look after the sail 'n' the tiller at the same time," he muttered and scrambled forward to untangle the lines.

Later, while he sailed the boat towards the tiny little beach between the two rocky promontories, she kept a close eye on the unconscious Voster. When she lifted his eyelid, he didn't react. His clothing was blood drenched, but the wound on his head was no longer bleeding. Once Banstel had brought the boat up on to the sand, the two of them hauled him out and dragged him further up the beach.

"You can come back and pick him up again if you want to," she said. "If he's still unconscious, he'll never know exactly what happened to me, or Fels. If he mentions a monster, tell him it was all his imagination because he was hit on the head. Tell him I tried to push Fels out of the boat, and we both fell in and drowned."

He looked blank, not understanding.

"What you are really going to do is take me where I want to go. After that, you can do what you want."

The scared look on his face made her feel sick. "Where's that, mistress?" he asked, barely able to get the words out.

"To the Ardronese ship anchored in Karradar Bay. Golden Petrel."

If anything, his fright deepened at her words. "Butthey say that there ship's a pirate vessel. Wicked man he is, their captain. They say he's got the evil eye and when he lays his look on you, there's naught you can do. They say he takes men to his bed, two or three at once. He's a wicked dog."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear, especially when it's other sailors telling you a tale. I've met Lord Juster, and I assure you he's not so very terrible. Now let's get back to the boat and set sail."

His eyes widened. "You met a lord? An Ardronese one? A pirate? But you're just a nobody!"

She raised a sharp eyebrow at him. "Everyone is somebody, Banstel. You, me, Lord Juster, everyone. Now, head for Golden Petrel."

Lord Juster sat at ease in the wardroom, a tankard in one hand, a plate of tropical fruit in front of him. He was chatting to Finch Aspen, his grizzled and arthritic first mate. Juster was an aristocrat, while Finch had been born in a hovel along a shabby lane on the waterfront of Throssel, incidentals of birth that made little difference to either of them. Finch was deferential on board ship to his captain; on shore, if not on the ship's business, he regarded himself as an equal to any man, and Juster was wise enough to agree.

"The crew," Finch was saying, "don't like looking across the bay at that Lowmian fleet without being able to do something about them."

Juster took a sip of his wine. "I know, I know. Tell them to look the other way. Their time will come, once they have filled their holds with nutmeg."

"They mislike the waiting."

"Keep 'em busy, Finch."

"Them bastards are taunting us, cap'n. Some of their swabbies were onshore last night, mocking our men at the Bickles Tavern. Luckily, old Pegrim got our lot calmed down and out of there before they blew up like a busted cannon, but it won't last."

"Kesleer's second Spicerie fleet should be here any time," Juster replied. That fleet had left Ustgrind on its way to the Summer Seas before Golden Petrel had even been completed, and they'd seen no sign of it yet. If he had his calculations right, the Lowmian fleet of three merchant ships would soon be calling in, laden with spices. He grinned. "We'll be busy then."

The Lowmians' normal route on the way back was to sail direct from Kotabanta to Karradar, bypassing Javenka in Pashalin because the rulers there would tax their cargo. After revictualling in Karradar, Kesleer's fleet would probably try to sneak out on the tide one night, bound for Ustgrind, and he would follow as soon as the authorities allowed him to sail in pursuit. Karradar law demanded that merchantmen had twelve hours' start before a privateer was permitted to leave port.

Juster believed any Lowmian captain, once they realised the speed and the firepower of Golden Petrel, would heave to rather than be blown out of the water. Especially as he had a reputation for generosity to ships prepared to do so. Sinking a trader, or leaving them nothing to show for their voyage, was not in anyone's interest.

Before Finch could comment, there was a knock at the door. One of the crew on watch put his head in, saying, "Cap'n, sir, sorry to interrupt, but the watch officer requests your presence on deck."

"That's Grig Cranald," Finch said.

"Interesting," Juster muttered as he rose to his feet. "Not much happens that he can't handle." Grig was the third mate and also his willing companion in his bed, with one particularly estimable virtue: he never let his private life interfere with his duties or his adherence to shipboard discipline.

Up on deck again, Juster was even more puzzled by what he saw. A small sailboat was pulling away from the ship's side. The name on the transom, painted in the stark, unadorned lettering of the Lowmians, was Spice Winds. A woman was standing on the deck of Golden Petrel, dressed in the blood-spattered togs of a sailor, jogging a howling baby up and down in her arms.

Juster arched an incredulous eyebrow in the direction of Cranald, signalling his need of a credible explanation.

"She asked for you by name, sir. Says she knows you," Cranald said. "Lad in the boat dropped her and made off as fast as a frightened minnow."

Juster switched his gaze back to the woman. He didn't recognise her. "Knows me? I think not, lady."

She spoke then, with an authority he hadn't expected. "Introductions can wait. What is more important is that I lack the wherewithal to feed this child." Her accent proclaimed her Ardronese; the modulation of her voice told him she was someone of wealth, or standing, or education.

Juster was intrigued. He turned back to the third mate, who was looking at him expectantly. "Well, Mister Cranald, what are you waiting for? Milk for a baby takes precedence over everything, does it not? Hurry along, man! We have that goat on board; get someone to milk it. And after that, send some men ashore with a handful of coins in search of a wet nurse. There must surely be someone in need of money in Port Karradar who is also in a position to help."

An appalled expression flickered across Cranald's handsome features. "A wet nurse."

"Yes."

"Aye, aye, sir." He eyed the nearest swabbie. "You heard the cap'n! Get that goat milked." He looked back at Juster. "Does it have to be a respectable woman, cap'n?"

"Indeed she does," Sorrel said.

Juster turned back to the woman, amused. "Forgive me, mistress, for my social solecism. I am not accustomed to forgetting a face, especially one as lovely as yours, but alas, I do not recall that we have ever met."