strength of character to kill me, and neither of you has the guts to free me. I just wonder how you will go about imprisoning me, and where you think could possibly be secure enough top contain me. Neither of you is very popular on either side of the law.”
Ghassan shook his head and opened his mouth, but Samir spoke first.
“Nothing has been decided yet. I have made certain potential arrangements, but I have yet to decide what to do about them. However, what you said does deserve a response.”
His smile turned cold and feral.
“I like to consider myself a good man, despite everything, but don’t mistake good for weak. If I decide that the world would be a safer place with you at the bottom of the sea, believe me that I will cut your throat and drop you overboard myself. Ghassan is a better person than I, but I doubt that even he would stop me.”
He raised an eyebrow at his brother, but Ghassan said nothing, his expression unreadable.
“Also, do not think for a minute that I do not have the nerve to free you. No matter what you have done to us in the past, Ghassan and myself know who and what you are, and I have no fear of you, Asima. The reason I took you away from your Pelasian dream is far from personal… let’s say it’s my little contribution to the peaceful relations of Pelasia and the Empire. To allow you to return to your games would be akin to setting a wild cat free in the famous royal aviary.”
Asima sneered and sat back, still fingering the knife.
“So you have no real decision to make.”
Ghassan stepped a pace forward, frowning.
“You say Samir prevented you from going home, Asima. You may be half Pelasian by blood but you were born and raised in M’Dahz. You are one of us, whatever you’ve come to believe. Do you truly feel no kinship to your hometown?”
The sneer turned on Ghassan, but its owner said nothing.
“Your father was a good man;” the tall brother continued quietly, “a man of the Empire; and he lies at rest in M’Dahz. I’ve visited his grave. Have you?”
There was no change in Asima’s expression as she raised her head slightly.
“Are you finished boring me?”
Ghassan sighed.
“I believe so. Perhaps Samir was right about you. BelaPraxis has closed one of her eyes.”
A trace of uncertainty passed suddenly across Asima’s face, but disappeared in an instant, to be replaced by yet more disdain and disgust.
“Get out and leave me to eat this filth in peace.”
Samir and Ghassan exchanged a look and then turned to the door.
“Duro! Open up.”
As the key was jangled in the lock, a low and determined voice from behind them said “Bear in mind, both of you, that I have been enslaved, imprisoned, exiled and sentenced to death and I have walked away free and unharmed every time. There is no power in the world that can contain me. It is my destiny to reign. Even the Gods have acknowledged that; and when I do, I will shake the world until it spits the pair of you out at my feet.”
Samir turned as the door opened and sketched a mock bow.
“Then, since I have no wish to anger the Gods, I shall do everything in my power to make sure that you achieve your goals, your magnificence.”
The gravy-spattered knife hit the door and dug deep with a wooden ‘thunk’ just as the lock clicked shut.
In which Asima rails against fate
Harus had joined the crew of the Dark Empress six years ago. Caught stealing food, he’d fled the guard in Calphoris, found himself at the docks and hid aboard the first vessel he could find, since when he’d never looked back. Even those first months after he’d been discovered stowing away, when the crew had been extremely harsh on him and he’d had the worst jobs they could throw his way, he’d been grateful beyond belief. It may have seemed to the rest of them that they were putting him through hell but the plain truth was that the worst they could dream up was heaven compared to life as a homeless beggar in the city. His muscles might ache, but his belly was full.
Six years of slowly clawing his way up from that inauspicious beginning, of forging a career as a sailor, learning the ropes in quite a literal manner, and of gaining the respect of his crewmates. Six long years of struggle, and it had to end like this, staggering against a doorframe, staring down at the blood gushing from his chest.
Harus felt like crying at the unfairness of it all, but the pain and the horror paralysed him. Was he dead? Was that it? He stared down at the tin bowl, its meaty, juicy contents spattered across the wooden floor. He was only delivering food! Could he do anything to prevent what seemed inevitable now? At least he could scream… that would bring help, and perhaps warn the others…
The cry died in his throat as Asima’s dining knife came in for a second attack, slicing neatly across his windpipe and artery. With a wheeze and a sigh, pumping blood like the grand fountains of Calphoris, Harus slid down the doorframe and slumped to the floor.
Asima tutted irritably and brushed at the droplets that spattered the hem of her dress. Reaching down, she wiped the knife on the boy’s tunic, cleaning the viscera from it so that it gleamed silver once again. Edging close to the door, she peered left and right. The corridor was empty and dark, the faint moonlight tempered by scudding clouds and not penetrating this far into the cabin section’s interior.
Clearly Samir’s cabin would be the one at the end. On the assumption this daram was organised the same as Ghassan’s military one had been, the room opposite would be a social room for the more senior crewmen, while the four between here and the captain’s cabin would be those of the first officer and the three other most senior crewmen. The nearest two to her would be less important, which meant that Ursa and Ghassan would be behind the two doors that flanked the captain’s cabin.
Briefly she paused, wondering for the hundredth time since she had settled on this course of action whether it might have been better to steal a lifeboat and try to make for land; but she was no sailor and had no idea how far they were from shore now, so such an act would be reckless.
The old crone had told her not to fight against her fate, but that was assuming that there was such a thing as fate. Asima still struggled with the concept but, logically, if something were fated, then anything she did was already written and therefore she was following the path and not fighting it whatever she tried. That logic, when it had come to her this afternoon, had eased her tensions and helped her justify whatever needed doing.
This was a gamble, of course. The crew had no reason to support her, even though Ursa had been on good terms with her during their last brief stay at Lassos.
But this was the only real path left open now. In the navy it would be dealt with harshly, but among pirates it was said that strength ruled, and strength was something that Asima had in abundance. Realistically it should be Samir first. The way you killed a serpent was to cut off its head. Ursa could be last; he was clearly the least important.
But the more she thought of Ghassan and his self-righteous attitude, the more the thought of him pinned to the bulkhead with his eyes rolled up into his skull appealed to her. Samir could wait. Ghassan might just have to go first… call it a practice run.
Still pausing, Asima held her breath as she listened. The sounds from outside were muted in the night as the ship relied on sails, the oars shipped for the duration. The creak of timber was faint and, if she listened extremely hard, she could hear the distant murmur of low conversation between duty crewmen. There was no sound from the room opposite; presumably any eating, drinking and carousing they had planned, they’d done earlier in the evening.
Taking a quiet gulp of air, she stepped out into the corridor and padded silently deeper into the darkness. The wooden beams creaked gently under her feet, but the sound was lost amid the normal squeaks and groans of the ship’s timbers.
She paused again as she reached the next set of doors. There was heavy snoring from the room on her left, but no sound from the right. Keeping a watchful eye on the silent door, she crept further, passing those rooms and
