“You amaze me. How did you learn to do that?” Althea demanded, grinning.

“I've told you. I have played many roles in my life. This one disguise has proved very useful of late. Slaves are invisible. I can go almost anywhere in this guise and be ignored. Even the men who would not hesitate to force themselves on a slave are put off by a bit of dirt and a few well-placed scabs.”

“Have the streets of Bingtown become that dangerous for a woman alone?”

Amber shot her a look that was almost pitying. “You see what is happening and yet you do not see. Slaves are not women, Althea. Nor men. They are merchandise, goods and property. Things. Why should a slave-owner care if one of his goods is raped? If she bears a child, he has another slave. If she does not, well, what is the harm done? That boy you were staring at ... it costs his master nothing if he weeps himself to sleep every night. The bruises he is given cost his owner nothing. If he becomes sullen and intractable from poor treatment, he will simply be sold off to someone who treats him even worse. The bottom rungs of the ladder become very slippery, once slavery is accepted. If a human's life can be measured in counted coins, then that worth can be diminished, a copper at a time, until no value is left. When an old woman is worth less than the food she eats . . . well.” Amber sighed suddenly.

As abruptly, she straightened herself. “No time for that.” She ducked to peer at herself in a mirror on the table, then snatched up a ragged scarf and tied it about her head and over her ears. The tool tote was concealed inside a market basket. She tucked her earrings up out of sight. “There. Let's go. We'll slip out the back way. On the street, take my arm, lean close and leer at me like a nasty sailor. That way we can talk as we go.”

Althea was amazed at how well the ruse worked. Those folk who took any notice of them at all turned aside in disgust. Althea continued the tale of her journey. Once or twice, Amber made small sounds as if she would interrupt, but when Althea paused she would insist, “No, go on. When you are finished, that is the time for questions.” Never had anyone listened to her so intently, absorbing her words as a sponge soaks in water.

When they approached the tariff docks, Amber pulled Althea aside for a moment. “How will you introduce me to the ship?” she asked.

“I'll have you follow me aboard. I haven't discussed this with Captain Tenira yet.” Althea frowned to herself as she suddenly realized how awkward all this could be. “You'll have to meet Captain Tenira and Grag before I take you forward to meet Ophelia. I honestly don't know how friendly they will be, to you or to the idea of someone not of Bingtown working on their ship.”

“Trust me to handle them. I can be charming when it is required. Now, forward.”

Althea was unchallenged at the ship's ramp. She gave a furtive look around and then made a show of beckoning Amber forward. The two tariff guards on the dock spotted her immediately. One made a grimace of distaste while the other brayed out a knowing laugh. Neither one interfered as the ship's boy smuggled his doxie aboard.

The seaman on watch aboard the Ophelia raised an incredulous eyebrow, but at a sign from Althea, he bit his tongue. He escorted them to the door of Captain Tenira's cabin and stood by while Althea tapped.

“Enter,” Tenira called. Althea jerked her head at Amber and she followed her in. The captain had been busy with a pen and parchment at his table while Grag stood looking out the windows. “What's this?” Captain Tenira demanded incredulously while Grag's mouth twisted in distaste.

“I am not what I look, sir,” Amber replied before Althea could utter a word. Her voice was so genteelly modulated, her accent so pure, that no one could have doubted her. “Please excuse that I come disguised. It seemed prudent. I've been a friend of Althea's for some time. She knows I can be trusted. She has told me of your encounter on your way here. I am here not just to lend my support to your defiance of the tariffs, but to see if I can repair the damage that was done to Ophelia's hands.”

In one breath, she had smoothly stated everything that Althea would have stumbled over expressing. Then she stood quietly, hands clasped demurely in front of her, her spine straight, her eyes meeting theirs unashamedly. The two men exchanged a glance. The first words out of Captain Tenira's mouth shocked Althea.

“Do you really think you can do something for Ophelia's hands? It pains me to see her ashamed of their appearance.”

There was a depth of emotion in the man's voice when he spoke of his ship that touched Althea's soul.

“I don't know,” Amber replied honestly. “I know little of wizardwood. My small experience of it tells me that it is exceedingly fine-grained. The very density of it may have preserved her from taking deep harm. But I will know only when I look at her hands, and perhaps not even then.”