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sail for Ysral immediately.”
    “It’s not my decision,” the Edori said regretfully. “My captain’s on board already, and it’s his boat. His choice. I’d be willing to ask him. One man isn’t much of a burden.”
    “He can pay a little, though not much,” Tamar said. “But he can work to help pay his way.”
    “It’s not the gold. It’s the getting out of Breven harbor. Let me ask. I’ll see what the captain says.”
    “You said you’re sailing in two hours. Will you come meet us somewhere? What shall we do?”
    The Edori thought swiftly. “The ship’s called
The Wayward.
She’s docked on the southern edge of the port, facing the Varnet Building. Do you know it?”
    She shook her head. “Describe it.”
    “White marble. Sixteen stories. Everything else around it is squat and dark, so you cannot miss it.”
    “All right.”
    “If the captain has agreed to take your friend, an hour and a half from now we’ll throw a red blanket over the railing that you can see from shore. I’ll bring the dinghy to the dock and pick him up. He must be watching for the blanket, for that will be the moment I leave the ship, and it will only take me ten minutes to make it to shore. I will only stay dockside long enough to pick up a passenger. If he is not there, I will return to my ship immediately. Is that clear?”
    “Perfectly clear. I know thanks are inadequate—”
    Now he smiled again, the rich, happy smile of the Edori. “We, too, know what it is like to be persecuted by the Jansai,” he said. “We are all brothers under the skin. We will help anyone who asks. No thanks are needed.”
    “But I am glad to give them. And my friend will be profuse in his gratitude.”
    “Your friend—his name is?”
    “Zeke. Ezekiel.”
    “I am Reuben sia Havita. I hope he is with us as we sail.”
    And then casually, so as not to seem too eager or too afraid, they parted, the Edori heading purposefully toward the wharf, Tamar crossing the street and meandering forward a block until she caught up with Zeke.
    “Well?” he asked urgently, his voice low.
    “He’s willing, but he has to check with his master. We need to be at the harbor in a little more than an hour. They’ll signal from the ship.”
    “What’s the cost?”
    “He quoted none.”
    “That’s ridiculous!” Zeke replied, his voice rising. “No one would do such a service for free!”
    Tamar glanced around, but no one appeared to be eavesdropping. “Sshh,” she hissed. “I told them you’d be willing to work for your passage. And it wouldn’t hurt you to bring your own food.”
    “We don’t have much left.”
    “We have some time. Let’s see what we can find in the market.”
    Accordingly, they made their way to the open-air bazaars that could be found in any sizable Samarian city, and began shopping. It was spring, so there were few fresh fruits to be found, but they wanted dried food anyway, rations that could be packed and carried and eaten at leisure. Zeke, preparing for a longer trip, bought more than Tamar did, but she, too, was looking at a journey. They had little money left between them—they had started out with very little, except Tamar’s secret cache—so they bartered with the merchants and bought as dearly as they could.
    “It’s time to head toward the dock,” Zeke said for the hundredth time, when there were still plenty of minutes to spare, but Tamar could not entirely blame him for being nervous. So she said, “All right,” and stowed a package of wrapped apricots in her backpack, and they headed toward the southern edge of town on streets that paralleled the sea. Not until they had glimpsed the Varnet Building did they cut east toward the wharf. Just in case anyone was watching them. Just in case anyone was curious.
    They took a roundabout route through the shops and office buildings that were just now, at about nine in the morning, opening their doors for business. Tamar could not resist casting a longing eye at