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One-Eye
announced as a boatswain beckoned us to board.
    "Get in," the Captain told him. His voice was gentle.
    That is when he is dangerous.
    "I'm resigning. Going to head south. Been gone long enough, they
should've forgotten me."
    The Captain jabbed a finger at the Lieutenant, Silent, Goblin,
and me, jerked his thumb at the boat. One-Eye bellowed. "I'll turn
the lot of you into ostriches . . . " Silent's
hand sealed his mouth. We ran him to the boat. He wriggled like a
snake in a firepit.
    "You stay with the family," the Captain said softly.
    "On three," Goblin squealed merrily, then quick-counted. The
little black man arced into the boat, twisting in flight. He bobbed
over the gunwale cursing, spraying us with saliva. We laughed to
see him showing some spirit. Goblin led the charge that nailed him
to a thwart.
    Sailors pushed us off. The moment the oars bit water One-Eye
subsided. He had the look of a man headed for the gallows.
    The galley took form, a looming, indeterminate shape slightly
darker than the surrounding darkness. I heard the fog-hollowed
voices of seamen, timbers creaking, tackle working, long before I
was sure of my eyes. Our boat nosed in to the foot of an
accommodation ladder. The howl came again.
    One-Eye tried to dive overboard. We restrained him. The Captain
applied a bootheel to his butt. "You had your chance to talk us out
of this. You wouldn't. Live with it."
    One-Eye slouched as he followed the Lieutenant up the ladder, a
man without hope. A man who had left a brother dead and now was
being forced to approach that brother's killer, upon which he was
powerless to take revenge.
    We found the Company on the maindeck, snuggled amongst mounds of
gear. The sergeants threaded the mess toward us.
    The legate appeared. I stared. This was the first I had seen him
afoot, standing. He was short. For a moment I wondered if he were
male at all. His voices were often otherwise.
    He surveyed us with an intensity that suggested he was reading
our souls. One of his officers asked the Captain to fall the men in
the best he could on the crowded deck. The ship's crew were taking
up the center flats decking over the open well that ran from the
bow almost to the stern, and from deck level down to the lower oar
bank. Below, there was muttering, clanking, rattling, as the
oarsmen wakened.
    The legate reviewed us. He paused before each soldier, pinned a
reproduction of the device on his sail over each heart. It was slow
going. We were under way before he finished.
    The nearer the envoy approached, the more One-Eye shook. He
almost fainted when the legate pinned him. I was baffled. Why so
much emotion?
    I was nervous when my turn came, but not frightened. I glanced
at the badge as delicate gloved fingers attached it to my jerkin.
Skull and circle in silver, on jet, elegantly crafted. A valuable
if grim piece of jewelry. Had he not been so rattled, I would have
thought One-Eye to be considering how best to pawn it.
    The device now seemed vaguely familiar. Outside the context of
the sail, which I had taken as showmanship and ignored. Hadn't I
read or heard about a similar seal somewhere?
    The legate said, "Welcome to the service of the Lady,
physician." His voice was distracting. It did not fit expectations,
ever. This time it was musical, lilting, the voice, of a young
woman putting something over on wiser heads.
    The Lady? Where had I encountered that word used that way,
emphasized as though it was the title of a goddess? A dark legend
out of olden times . . .
    A howl of outrage, pain, and despair filled the ship. Startled,
I broke ranks and went to the lip of the air well.
    The forvalaka was in a big iron cage at the foot of the mast. In
the shadows it seemed to change subtly as it prowled, testing every
bar. One moment it was an athletic woman of about thirty, but
seconds later it had assumed the aspect of a black leopard on its
hind legs, clawing the imprisoning iron. I recalled the legate
saying he might have a use for