“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. Stupid.” She lifted her chin. “I am Malta Vestrit, a Bingtown Trader’s daughter. As wild as his tale sounds, he truly is Magnadon Satrap Cosgo.” She took a breath. “Kill him, and you will henceforth be known as the stupidest captain ever to discard a Satrap’s ransom.”

The captain roared out his delight, and his crew echoed him. Malta felt her cheeks grow red, but she dared not move while the blade pressed her breast. Behind her, the Satrap whispered angrily, “Don’t anger him, wench.”

“Cap’n Red. The ship’s secured.” This from a sailor, little more than a boy, wearing an embroidered vest far too large for him. Malta remembered seeing it on Captain Deiari. A dead man’s clothes were the ship’s boy’s plunder.