"It's a new human city." Isaye's voice startled them. She had approached from the other side of the mast. As she spoke, she leaned against it and watched their game progress. "I'm surprised you've heard of it, little one. The project's only a few years old, and still only half-built. King Baede moved to Shaemoor after Lion's Arch was lost, and now they're designing a city on the cliffs near Lake Regent. When they finish, it'll be the new capital of Kryta."

Macha's ears twitched warningly, but amazingly, the asura kept a civil tongue. "Baede commissioned an asura gate for his city, which is how I know. He's planning to make it a hub of trade. Makes sense. The sea's crawling with undead, and Lion's Arch is full of water-how else are you going to get trade through? But anyway, if we can get you three to Rata Sum . . . we can get you home." She squinted up at Isaye and gave a little smile. "If that is your home?"

"It's not," the human woman replied tersely. "But until I have a s.h.i.+p of my own, it'll do."

Sykox played a card, exchanging it for another. Cobiah's turn was next, and he carefully placed a card on the pile, setting four more in front of him in a duplication of Macha's play. "I have an ackle, right?"

The asura inspected his sequence. "No, you have a half ackle. It's only worth six. See how two of your cards are red, and all of mine are black? That's the difference between a full ackle and a half. Still, it's not a bad play for a beginner. Six points for you." She tapped Sykox's arm. "Write it down."

The charr scribbled on the deck again, looking pleased with himself. "So, we need to find gold and silver. We don't have the money to dock, much less to send Isaye and her men anywhere. Where are we going to get that kind of coin?"

"Well . . ." Macha paused, twirling her next card in her hand thoughtfully. "King Baede could give it to us."

Isaye laughed out loud. "The king of Kryta? Pay for my pa.s.sage? Either you underestimate the size of the human race, Macha, or you overestimate my political clout. I'm loyal to the Krytan throne, but the king doesn't know me from a stone in his shoe."

"Baede doesn't have to know you, and we don't have to know him. The only thing we have to know is the s.h.i.+pping route he's using."

Cobiah raised an eyebrow. "You're getting at something, Macha. Out with it."

"Remember how I said he commissioned a magical gate for that new city?" Macha looked smug. As she talked, Verahd and Henst approached from the bow of the s.h.i.+p, curious as to the nature of the conversation. "My brother's wife's old college friend's roommate was on the krewe that built the gate in Divinity's Reach, and I saw him while we were in Port Stalwart. He said that the gate won't be ready for a few months yet, but the asura wanted a down payment. King Baede's sending a hunk of gold to the Colleges of Rata Sum via a s.h.i.+p out of Port n.o.ble."

"Out of Port n.o.ble?" Cobiah did some quick figuring in his head. "That means they'll be traveling down the Maguuma sh.o.r.e."

"Right past where we're sailing now." Isaye looked skeptical, but Henst brightened.

"Sack the king's s.h.i.+p?" he said, rolling his shoulders as if in antic.i.p.ation of a fight. "I'm all for that."

"At last," Sykox rumbled grumpily. "Something we agree on."

Isaye fixed her gaze on Henst with a chuckle. "I'd thought you'd refuse, since you're such a stalwart 'son of Ascalon.'"

Henst chuckled smugly. "I'm of the n.o.ble lineage of Ascalon, not Kryta, Cap'n. You folk may consider them the same, but I certainly do not. Kryta refused to send troops to help King Adelbern when the charr beasts attacked my homeland. I've nothing against taking gold from Kryta. Unless he's helping me retake my country, the king of Kryta can kiss Grenth's boots for all I care. To the fore, O sons of As-ca-lon," he sang patriotically.

Isaye looked thoughtful, but Sykox refused to be silent. "'Beasts'?" he growled, all four ears flicking back behind his curled horns. "Watch your words, Ascalonian, or you'll be eating them with a spoon."

With a dark chuckle, Henst crossed his arms and leaned against the mast. "It's not my words you should be watchful of, charr." One hand fell casually to the hilt of the sword at his waist.

Before the argument could escalate, Cobiah broke in. "This s.h.i.+p bearing the king's gold. Do we know anything about it?"

"I bet she does," Macha said, gesturing at Isaye with a handful of cards.

"I can make an educated guess," Isaye said with a frown. "King Baede would use the Salma's Grace. It's his largest and most well-armed s.h.i.+p of the line. Not to disparage your pinnace, but I doubt the Pride could match her in a fight, even if we had the speed to overtake her."

"Won't even be able to do that without the engine." Sykox drew a card from the deck, grumbling under his breath before he played another on the discard pile. Macha squealed happily, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up, and the tawny charr sighed. "We'd have to be in the s.h.i.+p's path before she saw us, and even then we'd only catch her if we could cut off her wind."

"I can bring the wind . . . or take it away." Verahd tilted his head thoughtfully. "But I am no oracle. I cannot predict where the Salma's Grace will be."

"That's how Baede protects his vessels." Isaye looked frustrated. "This is a terrible idea. The king's s.h.i.+ps don't sail along the coastline. They sail to the wreckage of the Ring of Fire Islands and use an astrolabe to make their way north from there. We'd never find them."

Macha played another row of cards. "Ackle again."

"Right, right. Fifteen points." Sykox began to scribble.

"Eighteen point seven five, actually." The charr huffed in surprise as Macha preened. "The second one's worth twenty-five percent more. If I had a denth as well, it would have been an additional five times the inceptor of the highest card on the table."

The charr's claws tightened around the charcoal stick, cracking it between his fingers. Glaring at her, he growled, "I think I'm starting to figure out how your little game works, asura. How many points do I get if I stab you?"

Macha ignored him. "You know, Cobiah . . ." She drew enough cards to fill her hand before pa.s.sing the turn. "The fact that an astrolabe can direct us only north and south of the sun's rising is terribly inefficient."

"Inefficient?" Henst sneered. "I suppose you can just wave away more than six hundred years of sailors' wisdom in an instant and come up with something better?"

Macha stiffened at the challenge, snapping her cards together in her hand and glaring at the dark-haired sailor. "I'm a genius-ranked member of the esteemed College of Dynamics," she retorted. "Of course I can."

Cobiah stopped shuffling, looking up from the brightly painted cards. Even quick-witted Isaye took a second glance at the asura, doubt written across her face. Henst was the first to speak. "Oh?" he asked mockingly. "Next you'll tell us that you're the queen of Rata Sum!"

"Rata Sum is far too enlightened to practice primitive lineage-based feudalism, you rot-witted skelk. The Colleges of Rata Sum are the premier educational facilities in Tyria. An asura works all her young life to create an invention good enough to be accepted to one of the colleges, much less graduate with genius-ranked honors! This is exactly what I'm talking about." She smoothed down her braids and sniffed disparagingly. "The reason humans have lost every significant battle with the charr in the last hundred years isn't because they're tougher than you. It's because they're smarter than you. They have training. Education. Murder drills and combat instruction. They keep learning while you stupid humans sit on your b.u.t.ts and pray." Before Henst could respond, Macha pressed on, her voice as vibrant and sharp as the feathers woven into her multicolored braids. "Consider this: Tyria has one sun and one moon, you monolithic moron. We measure lat.i.tude, or the distance north and south, by measuring the point of the sun's rise on the horizon with an astrolabe. So, you addlepated, mouth-breathing digestive tract on legs, it stands to reason that we should be able to determine our east-west position by the movement of the moon-if we can find the right measuring stick." The asura's smirk contained as much pleasure as anger, and her black eyes flashed in joy.

Sykox frowned. "That doesn't make sense. They move the same dir-"

"Shhh." Cobiah elbowed him into silence. "Don't interrupt her. She's on a roll."

Putting down her cards, the asura rose to face Henst, jamming her hands onto her hips as if she were a colossus straddling the sea. "I have to admit that it was a human who gave me the idea. Though, clearly, a human with more brain cells to rub together than the ones you have inhabiting the cavernous, lonely s.p.a.ce between your obviously vestigial ears. He told me something elementary that changed my perspective." She turned to Verahd. "Isn't that right? Once we take into account the factors that misalign the sigil's plane, we can predict a pattern along that plane."

Verahd nodded absently.

"So, shut your festering blister of a mouth, you earless, witless, clay-brained blowhard!" Hands on her hips, she glared at Henst as if defying him to prove her wrong. Infuriated at the asura's mocking tone, Henst clenched his sword hilts, drawing them free of their scabbards with a ringing tone . . .

. . . As Sykox leveled a flintlock pistol inches from Henst's left cheek. "That's my friend you're threatening, mouse," the charr growled blackly. "Now, I recommend you put your weapons down and let the little lady finish. Or didn't your Ascalonian grandfather teach you how to be polite?" Outmaneuvered, Henst let his weapons slide back into their scabbards and lowered his hands. Sykox nodded for Macha to continue.

"Time." The asura narrowed her eyes like a preening cat. Blue sleeves fluttered as she crossed her arms over her chest, and her hair swayed with the rocking movement of the Pride.

The wind rippled in the sails, and the ocean lapped playfully against the side of the clipper.

Clearly unhappy with Henst's treatment, Isaye nevertheless prodded Macha with, "Time?"

"Time! Time! Time!" Macha leapt into the air, arms raised above her head and braids flying. "That's the secret, don't you get it? That was the clue I needed to revolutionize navigational theory. As simple as that. See, once you've chosen a central meridian-Rata Sum, of course-the rest is just a matter of counting the ticking clock back and forth from that cardinal point.

"Observation of alt.i.tude of celestial bodies is useful only if it is measurable. As we chase the moon across the sky, east to west, we alter our own time scale on Tyria. All I had to do was discover a way to measure time irregardless of the sun."

"That's not a real wo-" Henst began.

The hammer of Sykox's gun clicked back. Isaye bristled.

"Er . . . go on. Do go on," the Ascalonian said through gritted teeth.

Cobiah stepped to Sykox's shoulder, slowly placing his hand on the charr's outstretched weapon. Gently, Cobiah pushed the gun's muzzle toward the floor. "Tell us what you've figured out, Macha." Sykox sighed in resignation and pushed the pistol back into his belt.

"It's probably too complex for your limited minds, but I'll explain anyway." Macha feigned annoyance. "Between my amazing scientific discovery and Isaye's knowledge of the tides, I believe that I can plot the singular course of the Salma's Grace through the shoals of the Ring of Fire Islands."

A smile lit up Cobiah's face. "You're a genius, Macha."

"Council certified," she said, preening.

"Do we know when the Salma's Grace left Port n.o.ble?" Cobiah asked, tossing his handful of cards into the discard pile.

"Six days ago. Or so said my brother's wife's old college friend's roommate," she mused sorrowfully. "Right before the zombies ate him."

"Then we make for the Ring of Fire Islands and lay a trap for the Salma's Grace." Cobiah reached for Macha's shoulders, nearly lifting her from the deck. "You're sure you can do this?"

She grinned in delight. "I can. The question is whether she can." The asura jerked her thumb at Isaye. "Even with my invention, we need to know the tides, or the reefs and wreckage of the Ring of Fire Islands will impale the Pride long before we see the Salma's Grace. That's another reason they sail there."

All eyes turned to Isaye.

The dark-haired pirate woman stood near her crewman, unable to stop the argument between Henst and Sykox, but clearly displeased by its tone. Now that everyone was staring at her, she narrowed her eyes and set her shoulders as if going into battle. Cobiah set Macha down. "What's wrong, Isaye?"

"It's the king's s.h.i.+p."

Cobiah scoffed in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Oh, come on. Baede has enough money to build a city and buy an asura gate. He can afford to lose one s.h.i.+p full of gold. C'mon, Isaye. You said you knew the tides," he coaxed her with a smile. "Here's your chance to prove it." Cobiah's smile faded as Isaye shook her head and looked down.

"I don't think I can do this," she sighed.

"What?" Cobiah frowned. "Don't doubt yourself. Of course you can."

"I don't doubt anything, Cobiah." Isaye fiercely raised her eyes to meet his. "I can't attack the king of Kryta. I'm Krytan. It's my nation! The people have been through enough already, and I can't add to their suffering by stealing from them."

"'The people' won't miss that gold, Miss High-and-Mighty," Macha grumbled. "It's been in the king's vaults for years."

"Macha's right. And, technically, we're stealing it from the asura, not from King Baede."

"It's taxed from the people, and it'll be the people who get taxed again to replace it."

"Look, Isaye." Cobiah stepped closer. He didn't like the pain in her eyes, but she had to see this was the only way. "We can find-"

Before he could take her hand, Henst shoved himself between them. "Don't touch her," he said darkly. Still angry from the asura's upbraiding, he growled, "Isaye said she doesn't want to do it, so back off!"

Cobiah stepped back, anger lighting in his blue eyes. Isaye shoved Henst away with a flash of anger. "I can defend myself, thanks." The black-haired Ascalonian didn't step back, but instead continued to stare daggers at Cobiah.

Half turning, Cobiah shrugged as if the offense was of no importance, but instead of stepping away, he rocked on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet and shot back like a recoiling wave. He lashed out fiercely, cracking the Ascalonian's cheek with a blow that knocked the sailor full to the ground. Henst landed hard, cursing, swords clattering to the deck. A trickle of blood ran from a split along his cheekbone.

"Attaboy, Coby," Sykox chortled.

"Never tell me what to do on my own s.h.i.+p, Henst." Cobiah's voice was as cold as the waters of Orr. "Next time you won't survive it."

Glowering, Isaye bent down and took Henst's arm. He shook her off, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his swords and glaring at Cobiah. She whispered something, low and urgent, and Henst's movements slowed. He nodded, allowing her to help him stand as he shoved his swords back into their scabbards with a sullen thrust. With a sigh, Verahd moved to join them, steepling his fingers and whispering quietly to Isaye.

Angry that she'd sided with Henst, Cobiah crossed his arms and glared at all of them. "You want off this s.h.i.+p? Then you do what I tell you. I don't care two figs about the king of Kryta, his people, or the asura in Rata Sum. I care about this s.h.i.+p and this crew, and while you're aboard, you're going to put them in front of any other loyalties. While you're on the Pride, you take orders, and you do as you're told.

"If you don't like it, you can swim home." He met Henst's murderous stare unflinchingly. Turning to Isaye, Cobiah's tone softened. "We get the money, you get your freedom." She kept her hand on Henst's arm and didn't meet Cobiah's eyes. Hurt, Cobiah lost his patience and snapped, "Fine. You heard me.

"Now get to work."

"s.h.i.+ft the cords!" cried Fa.s.sur, leaning over the banister of the quarterdeck. The sailors below saluted and ran to their posts, altering the rigging of the clipper as it slipped between two ma.s.sive rocks. Fa.s.sur yelled, "One-two-hoist!"

Cobiah watched from his post near the s.h.i.+p's wheel as his sailors climbed the high netting. The creaking took on a different tone as the sails s.h.i.+fted, letting the wind escape. It blew through the crevices of the ruined islands, lifting the s.h.i.+p over low coral reefs. For the first time in three days, Macha wasn't at his side. Instead, she sat on the bowsprit like a strange, multicolored imp. She held an odd little telescope to her eye and a notebook in her lap, scribbling and muttering as the Pride drifted through shattered islets. Here and there, bubbles rose in foamy, sulfurous-smelling wafts where heat from underground volcanoes welled up beneath the ocean. These made the tides even more dangerous as warm waters rose to collide with the cold currents of the open sea.

Isaye held the s.h.i.+p's wheel tightly, keeping her eyes forward and counting beneath her breath. She and Cobiah hadn't spoken in days. Nor had Henst left her side, which was part of the reason. The Ascalonian stuck closer to Isaye than her own shadow.

The weight of the sails s.h.i.+fted as the yardarms settled into a new position. Fa.s.sur called to the men in the sails, "Belay your pull! That's far enough." The dark-furred charr turned back toward the quarterdeck and yelled toward Isaye, "Pilot? What's our heading?"

"Our position's twenty-one minutes from the north lat.i.tude line," Macha piped up. Fa.s.sur stared at her, and she began to explain her odd time-distance-north-south conversion. The moment she slowed her incomprehensible gibberish to take a breath, the first mate cut her off in desperation.

"Hush, you crazy asura. I don't care what the d.a.m.n lat-snood is, I need to know our heading." The charr turned toward Isaye. "Pilot!"

Isaye answered soberly, "North by northeast. Wind's from the west at six knots."

Macha shot Isaye an evil look. She hopped down from the bowsprit and tucked her notebook into a pocket of her robe. "How soon can we get that woman off the s.h.i.+p?" she growled to Cobiah. "Can't we just put her in a cannon and fire her at Divinity's Reach?"

"Macha," Cobiah scolded gently. "We need her."

"Yeah. Like a trephination patient needs a head cold."

Cobiah shot the asura an irritated glare. Macha'd been moody lately, up and down, ranging from happy to snarky-sometimes within minutes. She'd refused to talk about whatever was bothering her. Between the asura and Isaye, Cobiah felt as if he were walking on gla.s.s. "We should be sighting the Salma's Grace soon, Captain," Verahd murmured at Cobiah's elbow. Macha was unpredictable, Isaye was angry, Henst was worse, and Sykox stayed below to keep the engines running-meaning that the creepy elementalist was the only one talking to Cobiah. That didn't make Cobiah feel better. If anything, it made him feel worse.

"Any time now," Cobiah sighed. "It'll be dangerous, fighting in these s.h.i.+fting tides, but at least the Grace will be at a disadvantage. She's larger than the Pride, and these islets are narrow. Hard to navigate."

"Reefs," Verahd mused. "If she strays from her path through the maze, the Krytan s.h.i.+p could tear out the bottom of her hull." He didn't seem either happy or sad about it, simply acknowledging a random truth. As he talked, Verahd toyed with the wrappings that bound his arms, tugging them tight and then loosening them again in bored preparation. Cobiah caught glimpses of strange tattoos hidden beneath the black cloth strips.

"She likes you, you know," Verahd observed. "But he's going to cut your throat."

Blinking in shock, Cobiah blurted, "What?"

Before the elementalist could respond, the sailor in the crow's nest waved a bright red kerchief. That was the signal! All eyes turned toward the bow of the Pride.

"There she is!" Victory flashed in the asura's black eyes as she lowered the telescope. "I did it!"

The Salma's Grace came into view. It was a ma.s.sive galleon in the Krytan style, but fatter through the belly and lower in the water than any s.h.i.+p Cobiah'd seen before. Her hull was shaped of rich old wood, a mahogany brown striped with golden whorls, and on her sails flew the strutting golden griffon of Divinity's Reach: the symbol of the royal family.

Cobiah counted three tall masts with two great sails each. A triangular jib hung so far at the stern that it lapped the rear of the s.h.i.+p and hung out over the waves. To the front, leaning out past the bowsprit was a fourth mast, c.o.c.ked at an angle and rigged to the foremast by a spider's web of rope. The rigging swung down on either side of her hull, making the s.h.i.+p seem for all the world as if she'd been draped in a cat's cradle of string. Ten guns were rolled out below the top deck, the portholes latched open as if they remained so at all times. But for all her beauty and all her more than two hundred crew members-the standard on a galleon, and four times the number of sailors on the Pride-the Salma's Grace moved like a wallowing pig. She was sluggish on her turns through the islet channels, and her sails were half-stowed to prevent strong winds from accidentally running her aground.

"Is it the gold that makes her ride so low in the waves?" suggested Fa.s.sur, greed dripping from his tone.

"Gold"-Cobiah drew the cutla.s.s from his belt-"and guns." He turned to face the rest of the crew and raised his voice above the wind. "There's our prey! Let's take her for our own!" His cry was met with a resounding cheer, and the Pride turned slightly to her port and let her six-pounders roar.

Bursts of flame flashed along the side of the pinnace, and the thunder of cannon fire ricocheted off the chasm walls. The Salma's Grace was taken by surprise, with nowhere to turn and the very rocks that had sheltered her now hemming her in. Holes tore through her hull just above the waterline. One of the Pride's gunmen was so accurate that a ball crashed directly through a porthole and destroyed one of the Salma's Grace's cannons in a single shot. Cobiah whooped with glee.

The Pride was prepared for battle, but the Salma's Grace was a st.u.r.dy s.h.i.+p; a few cannonb.a.l.l.s wouldn't sink her outright. Cobiah ordered the charr warband forward to the bow. "Ready, Verahd?" The elementalist was standing by the gunwale with an absent smile. He nodded, and Cobiah grinned even more widely.

"Now!" Cobiah yelled as the guns on the Krytan galleon sounded a return barrage. Her cannons were larger, broader, and more numerous, and their cannonb.a.l.l.s were ten pounds of iron shot-nearly twice the size of those from the Pride. But the Pride had something the Krytan s.h.i.+p didn't have.