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he could catch a glimpse of the women’s quarters from here.
    “Sri Sumbhajee knows you are a pirate with many enemies,” Askay went on smoothly. “For your safety during your stay with us, he has selected a warrior of the highest skill to accompany you… everywhere .” Askay layered this last word with meaningful intensity.
    “I see,” Jack said. “Well, that is very kind of Sri Sumbhajee; please convey my gratitude but assure him that I am more than capable of defending myself—as I have done on many a swashbuckling occasion, as he himself might remember.”
    “Sri Sumbhajee insists,” Askay said in a voice that could not be argued with. He turned and motioned to someone in the corridor.
    A small, masked figure appeared in the doorway, and Askay stood aside to let the warrior squeeze into the room. Jack raised one eyebrow. The warrior was tiny; no taller than Carolina. His loose pants and belted tunic were the bright orange of marigolds. A black scarf was tied around his head, hiding everything except his eyes. Jack couldn’t even see a weapon on him. The warrior clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention next to the door, staring at Jack.
    “Perfect,” Askay said, beaming. “I feel that you are much safer already.” He ducked out the door.
    “Wait!” Jean called. “What’s his name?”
    “You have no need to speak to each other,” Askay responded, “and therefore no need for names.” His footsteps receded down the hall.
    Jack and Jean blinked at the silent warrior. His eyes were dark and revealed nothing about what was going on behind the mask.
    “So, who might you be, then?” Jack asked.
    There was no reply. “Come, come,” Jack said, “if you’re going to be trailing around perniciously spying on me, I think we should at least be able to chat about it.”
    The warrior didn’t move.
    “All right, let me guess,” said Jack. “Is your name…Harold?” He checked; no reaction. “Albert? Gustav? Umberto? Fitz ?”
    “This could go on for a while,” Jean observed. He lay down on his pile of rugs and clutched his stomach. “I wonder how soon the feast will be.”
    “How soon is the feast?” Jack asked the warrior. “You’d better tell him; he gets a tad violent when he’s hungry.”
    The dark eyes did not move away from Jack for a moment.
    “Well, this is pleasant,” Jack remarked. “I can see we’re going to be great chums.”
    He paused, scanning the room casually, and then suddenly drew his sword and lunged at the small figure. But by the time he reached the wall, the warrior was gone. Jack whirled around in surprise and found his sword lifted right out of his hand. There was a strange whirring sound, a flash of moving steel, and a clatter as his sword landed in the far corner of the room, inches away from Jean’s head.
    “Hey,” Jean protested without sitting up. “Do you mind? I like my head the way it is, thank you.”
    The warrior stood before Jack, half-crouched as if ready to leap away again. In his hand was a kind of weapon Jack had never seen before. It had the hilt of a sword, which fitted neatly into his opponent’s palm, but blooming from the hilt were two long, gleaming steel ropes. Now they lay coiled at the warrior’s feet, but in an instant they could flick out like whips and do serious damage. Jack could see the sharp edges of the blades from where he stood. It was a bit of a miracle that Jack hadn’t been sliced open when his sword was plucked away from him. This warrior had quite a lot of skill.
    “Where were you hiding that?” Jack marveled. “What a remarkable toy. Mind if I take a look?” He edged closer, trying to seem casual.
    The warrior began to raise the weapon, as if warning Jack to stay back, but Jack abruptly dove at him, wrapping his arms around the warrior’s waist and knocking him off balance. The warrior struggled to raise his weapon as they fell onto the stone floor, but as Jack had noticed, it was a weapon best used