So saying, he rose from his seat on the dais, descended to the floor and set off for the main door. Davad hurried after him like a leaf caught in a ship's wake. Malta exchanged a look with her grandmother and then they both followed. “What are we to do?” Malta whispered worriedly to her.

“We shall be courteous,” her grandmother assured her. “And no more than that,” she added in a dangerously low voice.

Outside, the night was mild and pleasant, save for a distinct odor of smoke on the breeze. The Concourse had no view of Bingtown proper. There was no way to tell what was on fire, or where, but just the smell of it put shivers up Malta's back. Cloaks and wraps were brought hastily and the coach came around. Ignoring his own Companion, the Satrap took Malta's arm and assisted her into the coach first. He followed her and sat down by her on the ample seat. He gave Davad a look. “You will have to ride up top with the driver, Trader Restart. Otherwise, we shall be unforgivably crowded. Ah, yes, Kekki, you shall sit here, on the other side of me.”

That left the opposite seat for her grandmother, mother and Selden. Malta felt wedged in the corner, for the Satrap sat uncomfortably close to her, his thigh nearly brushing hers. She tried not to look alarmed, but folded her hands modestly in her lap and gazed out the window. She was suddenly exhausted. She desired nothing so much as to be alone. The coach rocked as Davad climbed up awkwardly to take a seat next to the coachman. It took a while for him to settle and then the driver spoke to the horses. The coach moved out smoothly, leaving behind the lights and the music. As the darkness closed around them and the sound of the ball dwindled, the driver kept the horses to a sedate pace. No one spoke inside the coach. It seemed to fill with the night. The overloaded coach creaked companionably as its wheels rumbled over the cobbled road. It was not peace but numbness that settled over Malta. All the merriment and life had been left far behind them now. She feared she might doze off.

Companion Kekki broke the silence. “This summer celebration was very interesting to me. I am so pleased that I could witness it.”

Her vapid words hung in the air, then Ronica exclaimed, “By Sa's breath! Look at the harbor!”

There was a break in the trees lining the road. Atop the coach, both Davad and the coachman swore in disbelief. Malta stared. It seemed as if the whole harbor were on fire, for the flames were reflected in the water and doubled there. It was not just a warehouse or two; the entire waterfront seemed to be burning, as well as several of the ships. Malta stared in horror, scarcely hearing the exclamations and speculation of the others. Well she knew that only fire could kill a liveship. Had the Chalcedeans known that as well? Were the ships that battled the flames out near the mouth of the harbor liveships or the ships and galleys the Satrap and his party had come on? But they had only that brief glimpse and the distance was too great to be sure what she had seen.

“Perhaps we should go down there and see for ourselves,” the Satrap suggested boldly. He raised his voice. “Coachman! Take us down to the harbor!”

“Are you mad?” Ronica exclaimed, heedless of whom she addressed. “That is no place for Selden or Malta just now. Take us home first, then do as you will!”

Before the Satrap could reply, the coach gave a lurch as the coachman whipped up his horses. As blackness closed around them once more, Ronica exclaimed, “What can Davad be thinking, to travel at such a pace in the darkness? Davad? Davad, what are we doing?”

There was no direct reply to her query, only muffled shouts exchanged atop the coach. Then Malta thought she heard another voice. She seized the windowsill and leaned out of it. Behind them, in the darkness, she thought she caught a glimpse of something. “I think some horsemen are coming up behind us quickly. Perhaps Davad is just trying to get out of their way.”

“They must be drunk, to gallop their horses at night on this road,” Keffria exclaimed in disgust. Selden was climbing up on the seat, trying to get to the window to look out. “Sit down, child! You're trampling my dress,” she exclaimed in annoyance. Suddenly Selden was thrown to the floor as the coachman cracked his whip and the horses suddenly surged forward against their harness. The coach rocked heavily now, shifting them back and forth against one another as it swayed. If they had not been packed so tightly together, they would have been sliding about inside the coach.

“Don't lean against the doors!” her mother commanded her wildly, while Ronica cried out, “Davad! Make him slow the horses! Davad!”

As Malta clung desperately to the windowsill to keep from being thrown about, she glimpsed sudden movement outside it. A horse and rider had pulled abreast of them. “Yield!” he shouted. “Halt and yield to us, and no one will be hurt!”