locate a city engulfed Sa alone knows how many years ago, and that I then somehow rescue any cocooned dragons buried deep within it.'
'Are you saying now that you can't do that?' The dragon was outraged.
He gave a snort of laughter. 'One impossible quest at a time. You first.'
'I will keep my word,' she promised sulkily.
He regretted having offended her. That was not the way to win her best effort. 'I know you will keep your word,' he assured her. He took a breath. 'I have touched souls with you, Tintaglia. You are too great-hearted to go back on your promise.'
She did not reply, but he sensed her mollification. Why she found such gratification in praise, he had no idea, but it was a small price to pay. She bore him on, her wide wings beating steadily. He became aware of the working of a mighty heart inside her chest. Where she clasped him against her, he was warm. He felt a surge of confidence in both of them. They would find Malta, and they would bring her safely home. He gripped her claws in his hands, and ignored the ache of his swinging legs.
MALTA'S HANDS SHOOK AS SHE TWITCHED HIS JACKET STRAIGHT. A DEEP-VOICED cry of agony resounded through the deck. She clenched her teeth against it and tried to believe the Chalcedeans were winning. She had suddenly discovered that she preferred the known danger to the unknown. Gently, she tugged the Satrap's collar straight. There. The Satrap of all Jamaillia, Heir to the Pearl Throne, Magnadon Satrap Cosgo was now presentable. The Satrap regarded himself in the small mirror she lifted. Unruffled by the smothered sounds of fighting, he smoothed the thin line of his moustache. Something fell heavily to the deck above them. 'I will go up now,' he announced.
'I don't think that's wise. It's battle up there, can't you hear it?' She had spoken too hastily. He set his jaw stubbornly.
'I am not a coward!' he declared.
No. Only an idiot. 'Lordly one, you must not risk yourself!' she begged him. 'I know you do not fear for yourself, but consider Jamaillia, bereft and lost as a rudderless ship if aught should befall you.'
'You are a fool,' the Satrap told her tolerantly. 'What man would dare to physically assault the Satrap of Jamaillia? Those pirate dogs may dispute my rule, but only from a safe distance. When they look me in the face, they will cower in shame.'
He actually believed it. Malta gawked in stunned silence as he walked to the door. He paused, waiting for her to open it for him. Perhaps that was the solution. Maybe if she didn't open the door for him, he would simply stay in the room. But after a long frozen moment, he scowled at her and announced, 'I suppose I must do everything for myself,' and opened it. She trailed after him in sick fascination.
As she stood at the foot of the ladder that led to the deck, she reflected that the hatch cover might save him. It was always hard to lift and slide; perhaps it would defeat him. But when he was halfway up the ladder, the hatch opened, and a square of sunlight fell down onto them. A bare-chested man glared down at them. The spread-winged raven tattooed on his chest was spattered with fresh blood, seemingly not his own. Slave tattoos sprawled across his face and down one side of his neck. The knife he held dripped red. Then his wide-eyed stare changed to a whoop of delight.
'Hey, Cap! Come see what pretty birds I've found caged below!' To the Satrap and Malta, he barked, 'Come on up here and don't be slow!'
As the Satrap emerged from the hatch, the pirate seized him by the arm and hauled him onto the deck. The Satrap cursed and struck out at the man, who sent him sprawling with a careless shove. As he grabbed Malta, she set her teeth and refused to cry out. She glared at him as he lifted her by one arm and swung her onto the deck. She landed on her feet beside the Satrap. Without taking her eyes from the gloating pirate, she stooped down, seized the Satrap by his upper arm and helped him to his feet.
Around them, the deck was a shambles. A huddle of disarmed Chalcedeans was corralled at one end, guarded by three mocking invaders. Just past the base of the mast, Malta could see a man's sprawled legs. They did not move. Other pirates were dropping down into the hold to see what cargo they had won. Malta heard a splash and turned in time to see some men throw a body overboard. It might have been the mate.
'You will die for this! You will die!' The Satrap was puffing with fury. Two red spots stood out on his pale cheeks and his hair was disheveled. He glowered at all of them. 'Where is the captain? I demand to see the captain!'
'Please be quiet,' Malta begged him in an undertone.
He did not listen. He pushed at her, as if his fall were her fault. 'Silence!' he spat at her. 'Stupid woman. Do not presume to tell me what to do!' His eyes sparked with anger but his voice betrayed him with its shrillness. He set his fists to his hips. 'I demand that the captain be brought to me.'
'What have you found, Rusk?' a short, brawny man asked their captor with a grin. Curly red hair spilled out from under a head kerchief marked with a raven. He gripped a sword in his left hand. With the tip of the blade, he lifted the embroidered edge of the Satrap's jacket. 'This is a finely feathered bird. Rich merchant or noble blood, I'd say.'
Cosgo swelled his chest in affront. 'I am the Magnadon Satrap Cosgo, ruler of all Jamaillia and heir to the Pearl Throne! And I demand to speak to the captain.'
Malta's hopes died within her.
A smile split the man's freckled face. 'You are speaking to the captain. Captain Red.' He swept a low bow and added purringly, 'At your service, great Satrap, I'm sure.'
The man who had first discovered them laughed so hard he choked.
Cosgo's face went scarlet with fury. 'I mean the real captain. Captain Deiari.'
Captain Red's grin went wider. He dared a wink at Malta. 'I'm so sorry, Magnadon Satrap Cosgo. Captain Deiari is presently entertaining the fish.' In a stage whisper, he explained to Malta, 'That's what happens to men who don't know when to put their swords down. Or men who lie to me.' He waited.
Behind him, two sailors seized the fallen man behind the mast and dragged him away. Malta stared in fascinated horror. His lifeless body left a swath of blood behind it. His dead eyes looked at her as they lifted him and his mouth fell open in a joyless smile as he flopped over the railing. She felt she could not breathe.
'I tell you, I am the Magnadon Satrap Cosgo, ruler of all Jamaillia.'
The freckled captain spread wide his arms, sword still in hand, and grinned. 'And here are gathered all your loyal retainers and grand nobles, to attend you on this remarkable voyage from… where? Chalced? The Satrap journeys from Chalced to Jamaillia?'
Cosgo's nostrils were pinched white with outrage. 'Not that it is the affair of a thieving, murdering cutthroat, but I am returning from Bingtown. I went there to resolve a dispute between the Old and New Traders, but then I was kidnapped by the Bingtown Traders and taken up the Rain Wild River. The Rain Wild Traders, a race of folk so horribly deformed that they must constantly wear veils, held me captive in an underground city. I escaped during an earthquake and journeyed down the Rain Wild River until I was rescued by a…'
As the Satrap spoke, the captain looked from one to another of his men, all the while pulling faces that feigned his wonder and astonishment at the Satrap's tale. As his men guffawed in delight, the captain suddenly leaned forward to set the tip of his blade at Cosgo's throat. The Satrap's eyes bulged and his flow of words ceased. All color drained from his face.
'Stop it now, do, stop!' the captain pleaded merrily. 'We have work to do here, my men and I. Stop your jesting and tell the truth. The sooner you tell us your name and family, the sooner you can be ransomed back to them. You do want to go home, don't you? Or do you fancy you'd make a good addition to my crew?'
Cosgo looked wildly about at the circle of captors. When at last his eyes met Malta's, tears suddenly brimmed in them.
'Stop it,' she said in a low voice. 'Leave him alone. He is the Magnadon Satrap Cosgo, and he is far more valuable to you as a hostage if he does not have a cut throat.'
The blade's tip lifted from the Satrap's throat. An instant later, it pressed between her breasts. She looked down on it, paralyzed. Someone else's blood was still on it. Captain Red slid the tip under the lacing that secured her bodice. 'And you, of course, are the lovely and learned Companion of his Heart. Also on your way back to Jamaillia.' His gaze traveled over her slowly.
His mockery broke her fear. She met his gaze furiously and spat a single word at a time. 'Don't. Be.
