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gruel with a grey tongue—it was a sight I wish I had been spared. “Shash’ll tell you she’s looking for the secret city of immortals where everyone lives forever and grows tulips in their navels. Half the men have it she’s looking for the egg of the roc, which is a fine theory, because I’ve seen one of them with my own eyes carry an elephant into the sky.
    “Half the men believe she’s looking for the antidote to the curse a widow put on her that won’t let her sleep, which she don’t, or don’t much. Or could be a witched amulet to make her safe to musket fire, which, if there is such a thing, would be mighty handy and with many useful ’vantages, and worthy of a long search. Been shot once myself. Feel on this rib, you can make out the ball under the skin. Well, it still hurts. Man wasn’t meant to carry shot around in his ribs—I’d rather not get another. Gimbal will tell you she’s looking for a cure for the opium pipe, with that she could become empress of China and raise their army to break the comp’ny spine.”
    “The Pendleton Trading Company.”
    “What else? In my personal experience, though a person look complicated, deep down he is simple and likes gold. It’s almost sure gold, ain’t it? A mountain of it. Enough to make dukes of us all. Enough for her to buy the whole comp’ny a hundred times over. Whatever you do, don’t ask her about it. She broke Gimbal’s finger for his curiosity. Just reached out and took it gentle like she wanted to kiss him, then snapped it easy as a twig and held on to it until he thanked her for it.”
    “Thanked her?”
    “Wouldn’t let go until he did.”
    “Well, she’s a fiend,” I said.
    Conrad looked at me so queerly then, it sent shivers down my spine. I must try to remember where I am and keep my opinions to myself.
    Unable to really explore the galley with him in the way, I returned to my quarters, planning to try again later.
    The man has me thinking about our destination. The sound of the wind boiling in the sails—I can hear it even now. We are, as he says, “on our way.” But to where? I have been so preoccupied with my situation that I haven’t given thought to our ultimate target. I am aware that pirates will sell a man into the slave mines for a penny. Yet more incentive to make Mabbot’s repast memorable, indeed.

    An odd bell brought me out of my brooding and onto the glistening deck. When my eyes had adjusted, I saw Mabbot pushing her way through the crowd gathered around a prone seaman.
    Without preamble she knelt by the man and tugged his lower lip open. His teeth were dark with an oily residue. He was delirious, laughing and staring hazily at the faces around him.
    Bai handed Mabbot a small wad of paper. She opened it. Inside were several shriveled flower petals enclosing half a ball of opium.
    The crowd murmured.
    Mabbot asked the sailor, “Did you eat this? You ate too much—you’ll be ill.”
    “I’ll not,” the man said. “’Pologies, Cap’m. Just a lark.” He grinned and slowly got to his feet.
    Mabbot handed the opium back to Bai, who chucked it overboard.
    “Theater paint,” Mabbot said wearily.
    The crowd hushed as the bosun set quickly to work tying the man’s hands behind him.
    I realized that I had just witnessed a trial and sentencing. Before I could guess what punishment might be named after an actor’s rouge, the bosun, with swift strokes of a knife, flayed the opium-eater’s cheeks in arcs until the meat hung wet at his neck and his teeth grinned ghastly from the holes. The opium was doing its job, for the man looked surprised but showed no signs of suffering.
    Ramsey had kept a small vial of laudanum, which he enjoyed frequently after an evening meal, but I had never seen a true opium swoon. Above all, the poor seaman looked sleepy; his indifference was frightening. Even as they bound his feet and lifted him toward the head of the ship, he looked merely annoyed, as if this were a prank they were