MALTA HAD CLOSED HER EYES AGAINST THE BRIGHTNESS OF THE RIVER. WHEN next she opened them, the light was fading from the day. That small mercy was accompanied by the oncoming chill of night. The first mosquito buzzed delightedly by her left ear. Malta tried to lift a hand to swat at it, but found her cramped muscles had stiffened, as if while she slept she had rusted. With a groan of pain, she straightened her head. Kekki was a crumpled heap of rags, half on the seat, half in the bottom of the boat.

She looked dead.

Horror seized Malta’s heart. She could not be stuck in this boat with a dead woman. She could not. Then the silliness of her terrified thought struck her. A terrible smile twisted her face. What would they do if Kekki were dead? Put her over the side, into the devouring water? Malta could not do that, not any more than she could sit here and stare at a dead woman until she herself died. She could barely move her tongue inside her mouth, but she managed to croak out, “Kekki?”

The Companion moved her hand against the damp floorboards. It was just a twitch of her fingers, but at least she was not dead yet. She looked horribly uncomfortable. Malta longed to leave her there, but somehow she could not. To fold her knees and force herself down into the bottom of the boat set every muscle in her body to screaming. Once there, she lacked the strength to lift Kekki to a better position. She could do little more than push at her. She tugged the remnants of Kekki’s green silk gown more closely around her. She patted at her face.

“Help me live.” The Companion’s plea was a pitiful whisper. She hadn’t even opened her eyes.

“I’ll try.” Malta felt she only mouthed the words, but Kekki seemed to sense them.

“Help me live now,” Kekki repeated. Her efforts to talk were cracking her lips. She took a sobbing breath. “Please. Help me live now, and I’ll help you later. I promise.”

It was the pledge of a beaten child, promising obedience if only the pain will stop. Malta patted the woman’s shoulder. Awkwardly, she lifted Kekki’s head and set it where the thwart of the boat did not press so roughly against her cheek. She curled herself around the Companion’s back so that they could share their body warmth. It was as much as she could do for her.

Malta forced her stiffened neck muscles to turn her head to look back at the Satrap. The high ruler of all Jamaillia glared at her malevolently from where he crouched on his plank seat. His brow was swollen over his puffy eyes, distorting his face.

Malta turned away from him. She tried to prepare for the night by pulling her arms inside the sleeves of her robe, tugging the collar of it up as far as it would go and drawing her feet up under the skirts. Huddled against Kekki in the bottom of the boat, she pretended that she was warmer now. She closed her eyes and dozed.

“Whasaat?”

Malta ignored him. She wasn’t going to be baited into another squabble. She had no strength for it.

“Whasaat?” the Satrap repeated urgently.

Malta opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly. Then she sat bolt upright in the boat, making it rock wildly. Something was coming toward them. She peered at it, trying to resolve it into a familiar shape. Only a liveship could come up the Rain Wild River. Anything else would fall victim to its caustic waters. But this shape was lower to the water than a liveship should be, and seemed to have a single rectangular sail. Only its own dim lanterns illuminated it but Malta thought she glimpsed movement to either side. The high, mis-shapen prow bobbed as the ship forced its way upriver. Malta creakingly stood upright in the small boat, bracing her feet as she stared at the oncoming ship, her disbelief slowing her acceptance of it. She crouched down in the boat again. It was dark and their boat was small. It was possible the ship would pass them without seeing them.

“What is it?” the Satrap enunciated painfully.

“Hush. It’s a Chalcedean war galley.” Malta stared at the oncoming ship. Her heart hammered against her ribs. What business had a Chalcedean ship coming up the Rain Wild River? It could only be to spy or raid. Still, it was the only ship they had seen. Here was rescue, or brutal death. While she hesitated, wondering what to do, the Satrap acted.

“Help! Help! Over here! Over here!” He rose to a half-crouch in the stern of the boat, clinging to the side of the boat with one hand and waving wildly with the other.

“They may not be friendly!” Malta rebuked him.

“Of course they are! They are my allies, my hirelings to rid Jamaillia’s waters of pirates. Look! They have Jamaillian colors on their flagstaff. They’re some of my mercenaries, hunting pirates. Hey! Over here! Save us!”