She hung there, breathing heavily for half a minute, then began inching along the hawser toward the ship. The struggle soon became as much vertical as horizontal. Maia was working so hard, she barely noticed the fierce chill as water evaporated from her skin. She gripped the rough, scratchy rope with her feet, knees, and hands, fighting bit by bit toward the railing overhead.

The hull bumped her head. Maia turned and saw a dark vista of wood stretching in both directions. She also spied a row of portholes, each no wider than two outspread hands, running along the length of the ship, below the level of her knees. They were too small to enter, but the nearest lay open and within reach. Tightly clutching the rope with both hands, Maia let go with her legs so they swung toward the tiny opening. Second try, she hooked one foot inside and swung her center of gravity after it. Now she could rest nearly all her weight on the ledge, offering respite to the hands still clinging the rope. Waves of fatigue washed out of her arms and legs and back, until her pulse and breathing settled to a dull roar.

So far so good. You've only got another couple more meters to climb.

Something touched her foot. It settled around her ankle and squeezed. Maia very nearly screamed. Biting her lip fiercely, she forced herself to unwrap the knot of panic in her breast and open her tightly shut eyes. Fortunately, surprise was the only demon to overcome, since the presence below wasn't hurting her, yet. For now, it seemed content to rhythmically stroke the top of her foot.

Maia inhaled and released a shuddering breath. She managed to turn her head, and saw a hand emerge through the small porthole. A woman's hand, making beckoning motions.

What, no shouts of alarm? Maia wondered blankly.

Wait! That's the upper cargo level Would reavers live here? Not likely.

A far better place to keep prisoners.

It took an awkward contortion to pull the hanging rope so that she could hold on with one hand while squatting closer to the porthole. As she bent over, the wooden cudgel dug into Maia's belly. Her right foot started to hurt from bearing all her weight.

With her free hand, she stretched down to touch the wrist of whoever was silently calling, which went rigid for an instant, then withdrew. Near the opening, Maia saw a dim outline press close . . . the outline of a human face. There lifted the faintest of whispered words.

"Thought I recognized my spare set o' shoes. How ya doin', virgie?"

The murmur lacked all tonality; still, she knew the speaker. "Thalia!" Maia hissed. So this was where the radical var partisans were being kept! There came a faint clanking of chains, as the prisoner pressed closer to the porthole.

"It's me, all right. In here with Kau an' the others."

"And Kiel?"

There was a pause. "Kiel's bad off. First the fight, then from arguing with our hosts."

Maia blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Never mind. Good to see ya, varling. What're you doin' here?"

Surprise and pleasure at this discovery were rapidly being replaced by pain, from both her twisted posture and fear that even whispers might carry elsewhere. She knew nothing of the conditions, of Thalia's imprisonment, and did not relish finding out firsthand.

"I'm going after Renna. Then to get help."

Another long pause. "If we got broke out of here, we could help."

Yeah, like a lugar in a porcelain store, Maia thought. The idealistic rads were no match for the reavers. That had already been proven, and this time they'd be fewer and weaker still. Besides, I don't owe you lot anything.

Still, Maia wondered. Did she have a better plan? If a rad breakout accomplished nothing more than casting the two ships loose, it could make even an abortive rebellion worthwhile. "You'd do as I say?" she asked.

If there hadn't been a moment's hesitation, Maia would have known Thalia was lying. "All right, Maia. You're the boss."

"How many guards are there?"

"Two, sometimes three, just outside the door. One of 'em snores somethin' awful."

There was more she might ask, but the quaking in Maia's right leg was getting worse. Any longer and she might land in the lagoon, right back where she started. She sighed heavily. "I'll see what I can do. No promises, though!"

There was a tremor in Thalia's grateful squeeze. Maia shifted her weight in preparation for resuming her climb. The pressure of the wooden cudgel eased and she exhaled in relief, only to wince as something else jabbed her thigh. With her free hand, Maia fished under her belt and pulled out the cloth-wrapped scissors. On impulse, she bent once more and tossed it through the small, dark opening. The touch on her ankle vanished.

Maia wasted no more time. While her right leg and back throbbed, her arms felt refreshed, so they did most of the work at first. Soon she was shinnying almost vertically, with the hull stroking her back. It was a journey she could never have imagined making as a newly fledged fiver, stepping out of her mother-hold. Now she thought no further ahead than the next straining pull, the next coordinated slither of hands and knees and ankles. When, at last, one leg floundered over the side, Maia rolled onto the ship's lower deck and quickly sought shelter behind the mainmast, panting silently with a wide-open mouth, waiting for the pain to dull. Waiting till she could listen once more to the sounds of the night.

There was a faint creaking as the ship rocked gently at anchor. The lapping of wavelets against the hull. A soft murmur of conversation. Maia lifted her head to look across the wharf toward the smaller pirate vessel, the Reckless. A pair of women in red bandannas crouched next to an upturned barrel with a lantern set upon it. Although they were playing dice, no coinsticks lay in sight, which explained the desultory nature of the game. The players seemed not to keep score as they alternated rolls of the ivory pieces, talking quietly.

Turning around, Maia realized with some shock that Manitou looked deserted. Of course, from Thalia's description, there would be a brace of beefy vars on duty below, just outside the cargo hold. Still, whatever had pulled the rest of the reavers away must be awfully important.

Sound and sight were vital for warning of danger. Once she felt more secure, however, Maia felt a sudden wash of other sensations, especially smell. Food, she realized suddenly, acutely, and hurried aft quick as she could scuttle silently. Just below the quarterdeck, she found where supper had been prepared and eaten. Stacks of grimy plates lay within a stew pot, soaking in a swill of brine. The resulting goulash was hardly appetizing, even in Maia's state, so she kept looking, and was rewarded at last in a far corner when she found a small pile of hard biscuits atop a rickety table and an open cask of fresh water nearby.

She drank thirstily, alternately moistening baked crusts into a feast. While devouring voraciously, Maia searched for a sack, a piece of cloth, anything to stuff and take back to Brod. At least she could leave a stash of food for him in the little boat.

There was nothing in sight to use as a bag, but Maia knew where else to look. With biscuits in each hand, she hurried to a row of narrow doors at the rear of the main deck. Opening one, she looked down a slanted ladder into the selfsame room where she herself had lived, up to a few weeks ago, along with a dozen other women, amid bunk beds stacked four high. Maia descended quietly, eyes darting till she verified by close inspection that no bed held sleeping reavers. It hadn't seemed likely, with everyone called off on some mysterious errand.

She had entered in search of a bag, but now Maia noticed she was shivering. Why not swipe fresh clothes, as well?

She started with her old bunk. But somebody several sizes larger, and much smellier, had taken over occupancy since the battle on the high seas. She moved on, sorting in near darkness until at last she found a shirt and well-mended trousers roughly her size, neatly folded at one end of a bunk. Still munching stale bread, Maia wriggled out of her own tattered pants and slipped into the stolen articles. The rope belt had to be cinched extra tight, but everything else fit. A clean, if threadbare, coat finished her accoutrement, though she left it unbuttoned, in case it became necessary to dive back into the water. The thought made her shudder. Otherwise, Maia felt better, and a little guilty about poor Brod, cold and hungry, almost half a kilometer overhead.