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Jorian had gone after before retiring into respectable domesticity. . . .
    But Janji might trip him up with searching questions. He shuddered at the thought of the embarrassment that exposure of his little fiction would cause. No, he had better resign himself to his virginal state a while longer.
    Belinka spoke in his ear: "That must have been a quick one, Master Kerin. I saw you start for the cabin; then the bir—or hantu, in his language—began chasing me round the ship. He wants my all, as you Prime Planers quaintly put it. And now, but a moment later, off she goes to her own quarters."
    "Neither slow nor quick," grumbled Kerin. "She wanted some damned secret, which I have not. When I failed to satisfy, she withdrew her offer.''
    "But otherwise you would have accepted, would you not? I was commanded to keep you away from wanton women, and the instant I take my eyes off you, you're off seeking a bout in the bedding with this witch. I warned you she is the focus of evil! She can turn you into a codfish for all I care! I shall have a fine tale to tell Adeliza!"
    "Tell her what you like!" said Kerin hotly. "I was never fain to espouse the strumpet, and for her to engraft a familiar spirit on me is an outrage!" He thought he heard a fairylike sniffle. "Now, now, cry not, Belinka! 'Tis not your fault; you but do your duty. But if you tell Adeliza that I flittered a strange woman every day of the journey, that's fine with me."
    The sniffle died away. At length she said: "I am sorry, Master Kerin. I am constrained to give my mistress a truthful account upon my return."
    "At least, tell her not of this failed seduction! It is too embarrassing."
    "I cannot altogether hide it; but I'll strive to soften the tale."
    "Good!" said Kerin. "And whilst you're about it, wilt try to pry out of this amorous bir the deadly secret whereafter Janji lusts?"
    "I'll try; but in return you must remain faithful to me!"
    "I—I'll do my best," said Kerin. It occurred to him that the mercurial Belinka's flare of temper might be a case of simple jealousy. He and Belinka could hardly enjoy an amour in the usual sense; but her emotions might resemble those of a mortal. He wished that Jorian, with his wide experience, were there to advise him.

    The next two days passed uneventfully. Kerin and Janji treated each other with formal reserve. Huvraka did not appear to have noticed any change.
    On a hot morning, the Dragonet put into her home port of Akkander. This was a larger town than Halgir. The streets were still of mud, flanked by many tumbledown shacks; but there were some well-constructed buildings.
    The Dragonet berthed at a quay of red sandstone, near a small shipyard. Therein lay a half-built ship with bare ribs curving skyward, like the skeleton of a whale. The quay was a little higher than the deck of the Dragonet, so that the gangplank had to slope up.
    While sailors shinnied down the sloping yards after brailing the sails, others wound the mooring lines around the bollards on the quay. Then the yards were swung to the centerline and lowered by jerks into their crutches. Huvraka bellowed commands, and grunting sailors hauled and pushed bulky bundles up from the hold, since Akkander had no such cranes as Vindium and Janareth boasted.
    The discharge of goods for Akkander was quick, for it was but a minor part of the cargo. When Huvraka blew a whistle, sailors swarmed up the gangplank or leaped directly from ship to quay, to disappear at a run into town. The burly Huvraka strode up the gangplank, his tulwar thrust through his sash and white teeth flashing in his sable bush of beard. Mota, the lean, taciturn mate, followed. Soon Kerin found himself alone on the ship save for Rao, who had not yet appeared, and Janji. The witch-navigator said:
    "Are you not going ashore, Master Kerin?"
    "I thought thus to spend a few hours. What has Akkander to see?"
    She ticked off the town's temples and monuments. Kerin asked: "What does one for dinner? Are there