ALTHEA HAD HELPED HER NIECE HOIST THE HEAVY CHAIR UP TO THE FOREdeck. She thought it a foolish bit of show herself, but none of this made any sense to her. They were all trapped in Kennit's ridiculous and dangerous display of strength. She watched Malta take the Satrap's wet cloak from his shoulders and wrap him warmly in the fresh one. She pulled the hood well up as if the man were Selden. When he had seated himself in his makeshift throne, she even tucked the cloak more snugly about his feet and legs. It pained her to watch Malta do such humble service. It stung her worse that Kennit watched the whole performance with a snide little smile on his face.

Hatred so hot it tinged her vision red rushed through her. She actually gasped for breath as her nails bit deep into her palms. She leaned back against the ship's rail and concentrated on letting it pass through her.

"You want to kill him that badly," the ship observed quietly. The comment seemed intended for her alone, yet Althea saw Kennit turn slightly to the words. He raised one eyebrow in a slight, mocking query.

"Yes. I do." She let him read the words on her lips.

KENNIT GAVE HIS HEAD A SORROWFUL LITTLE SHAKE. THEN HE PUT HIS attention back on a small ship that was drawing steadily closer to them. It came sluggishly through the darkening afternoon. Kennit wondered if it had taken damage in the serpent attack. An array of impressively garbed men stood on its deck staring toward them. Most of them looked portly beneath their rich cloaks. Sailors stood ready on deck to assist their betters to cross to Vivacia. A smile crooked his lips. It would be amusing if it began to sink while it was alongside. "Perhaps I should have dressed for the occasion," he observed aloud to Etta. "Just as well that we have decked our Satrap so royally. Maybe clothing is all they can recognize." He folded his arms on his chest and grinned expectantly. "Toss some heaving-lines, Jola. Let's see what catch they bring us."

"THERE THEY ARE," MALTA WENT ON IN AN UNDERTONE TO THE SATRAP. "Sit tall and regal. Do you recognize any of them? Do you think they are loyal to you?"

He eyed his nobles sullenly. "I know old Lord Criath's colors. He was most enthusiastic about my journey north, yet declined to join me because sea travel pains his joints. Yet, look how easily he crosses to our deck, and how tall he stands. He scarcely needs the man who hands him across. The fifth man, he who comes now, he wears the colors of house Ferdio, but Lord Ferdio is a small, slight man. This must be a stouter, taller son of his. The others… I cannot tell. They are so well hooded and hatted, their collars pulled so high, I scarce can see their faces-"

Malta suspected it, an instant before anyone else did. She glanced past the men boarding the Vivacia. On the deck of the other ship, sailors assisted their leaders to cross. Many surly, glaring sailors, all cloaked against the day's cold. Too many?

"Ware treachery!" she shouted suddenly. Her cry forced them to act, perhaps sooner than they had planned. Some finely dressed men remained on the other ship, but at Malta's cry, all flung aside their cloaks, sailors as well as counterfeit nobles. Their weapons came into view, as did the garb of common fighting men. With a roar, the sailors who had been «assisting» their cohorts flung themselves across the gap that separated the ships. More men appeared from belowdecks, a flood of fighters leaping across, blades in hand.

Kennit's men, never trusting souls, sprang to meet them. In an instant, the main deck of the Vivacia was a melee of struggling men and flashing blades. Everywhere Malta turned, there was chaos. Kennit stood, sword drawn, barking orders about cutting lines and pushing off, while Etta guarded his back with both a sword and a shorter blade. Even Wintrow, her gentle brother, had drawn a knife and stood ready to repel any who tried to come up onto the foredeck. Jek and Althea, empty-handed, had moved to back him. All this, in the merest blinking of an eye.

Horror transfixed the Satrap. He shrank back in his chair, even drawing his feet up from the deck. Malta stood helplessly beside him. "Protect me," he cried shrilly, "protect me, they've come to kill me, I know they have." He seized her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. He sprang to his feet, stumbling on the too-long cloak, and pulled her in front of him. "Guard me, guard me!" he pleaded. He dragged her away from the chair to the point of the bow and huddled there, clutching her wrist.

Malta struggled desperately to break free. She needed to see what was happening on the main deck. "Let me go!" she cried but he was too frightened to heed her. More men were pouring over from the other vessel.

There was a great crash as Jek snatched up the Satrap's chair and smashed it on the deck. She seized one leg of it, and tossed another carved leg to Althea. She was grinning wildly; the woman was crazy. "Malta!" she shouted, and Malta ducked as the woman flung a heavy rung from the chair at her. "Use this!" Then she sprang back to the ladder, clubbing savagely at the men who had nearly gained the foredeck. Althea joined her. Wintrow had taken up a position near Kennit, who was shouting orders to his men.

Malta threw her head back and stared wildly around her. The other ships of the Jamaillian fleet were drawing near. She caught a glimpse of the Marietta charging down on them. She could not see the Motley, but she doubted it had fled. She glimpsed another ship, coming swiftly, not flying Jamaillian colors. Had another pirate ship chanced upon the fray? Then she saw the figurehead move.

"A liveship comes! A Bingtown ship comes to our aid!" Malta shouted the news, but no one paid any heed.

The Satrap had hold of her shoulder. Now he shook her frantically. "Get me below, take me to safety. You must protect me."

"Let me go!" she cried desperately. "I can't protect you if you cling to me like this." She strained against his grip and managed to reach the rung Jek had thrown. She hefted it in her hand, but didn't feel any safer.

"WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT WE'RE CHARGING INTO!" AMBER SHOUTED UP TO HIM.

"We know Althea's on that ship!" Brashen bellowed angrily as he clambered down the mast. "We can't hold back here and do nothing while the Jamaillians take the Vivacia. I don't trust them any more than I do Kennit. She may be killed, or captured. I've no desire to see Althea with a slave tattoo across her cheek. So let's try to turn this to our advantage." He sprang to the deck. "Semoy! Break out the weapons!"

Semoy came on the run. "Right away, Captain. But you ought to tell the men who we're fighting."

Brashen grinned, wild and reckless. "Anyone that gets between us and Althea!"

A surprising bellow burst suddenly from Paragon. "But save Kennit forme!"

THE BATTLE, CONFINED TO THE MAIN DECK OF THE VIVACIA, SUDDENLY shifted. The sheer pressure of men pouring over from the Jamaillian ship was turning the tide. In horror, Malta saw Jek pulled down. Althea dove into the melee after her. As she vanished, a wave of Jamaillian warriors came up over the lip of the deck. She had one glimpse of Wintrow, Etta and Kennit, all in a tight group, fighting for their lives.

"Here he is!" roared a Jamaillian sailor as he leapt up to her. She swung her rung at him. It hit his sword arm, but he simply shifted his arm so the blow was glancing. With his free hand, he snatched the rung out of her grip as easily as taking a toy from a child. He roared with laughter and pushed her aside. His push and the Satrap clinging to her sent her sprawling. The man grabbed the Satrap by the back of his collar, shook him free of his grip on Malta. When she snatched at the Satrap, the fighter held him out of her reach and drew his sword back to plunge it into Malta, then stared in sudden disbelief at a sword tip standing out from his chest. Behind him, a tall man roared his fury. He jerked both sword and victim back and away from Malta. He shoved the dead man into his comrades, pulling the sword out as he did so.