She looked the prince over quietly for a moment, taking in his unusual clothes, scraggly beard, and dark blue eyes. Apparently unimpressed, she then motioned for him to move to one side and join the other slaves she had already examined. But Tristan knew he must speak to her now, or he might never get another chance. For better or worse, he decided to stand his ground.

"I must speak with you, Captain!" he said loudly as one of her crew tried to lead him away. At first he didn't resist. He still had the sword, but he didn't want to cause trouble unless he had to. "I have information that is vital to us both! You simply must hear me out!"

She leveled her blue eyes at him. "I feel sorry for you all, but have no time to hear individual stories," she said calmly. Her voice was smooth, and had a sort of smoky sensuality about it. With a nod from her, two more of her crew began to take him away.

But as they turned Tristan around and began to push him to one side, he heard her voice ring out.

"Wait!"

Her crewmembers immediately stopped, and Tristan turned toward her again.

Stepping down from her chair, she walked around behind him. She closely examined the glowing blood that was dripping from his back, then placed a finger under his vest and touched one of his wounds lightly. Tristan cringed, but held his ground.

Removing her hand, she looked at the bizarre, azure blood on her fingertips. Saying nothing, she turned and motioned for the giant to come to her. He was there in an instant. As he leaned over, she whispered something in his ear. The giant nodded and took Tristan by the arm. Looking up at the colossus, Tristan knew there would be no escape from him. With a single twist of his free hand, the giant took the prince's sword away and tossed it to the deck.

"This man is called Scars," she told Tristan quietly. "The reasons why should be obvious. He is my first mate. He will escort you to other quarters, where you will bathe and shave. Then I will speak to you."

Tristan tried to take a step forward, if for no other reason than to test the strength of the one called Scars. But it was like being locked in an iron vise. "I don't need to be treated any differently than the others," he protested. "But it is imperative that you and I speak." He looked back up at the giant, then at the captain again. "Preferably in private."

He thought he saw a hint of a smile cross her lips. But if so, it vanished just as quickly. Saying nothing more, she indicated to Scars that the prince should be taken away.

Scars lifted Tristan to his toes as if he weighed nothing, and literally danced him across the deck like a marionette. As he took the prince down a stairway leading to the lower decks of The People's Revenge, the captain took her chair and resumed her odd process of reviewing each and every slave.

T he quarters Scars led Tristan to were humble, but after life as a slave, they seemed as luxurious as anything in the royal palace. There was a bed, a tub, and a washstand containing shaving things. There was also a mirror and a porthole. After some crewmen brought water and filled the tub, the first thing the prince did was remove his right boot and make sure he still had the brain hook and the piece of mysterious parchment.

Setting the weapon aside, he unrolled the parchment and turned it to the light of the window.

There was no writing on it. It was very old and yellowed, and he felt certain somehow that it had come from the Scroll of the Vagaries. But who had put it there?

However it had gotten there, he knew it must be taken to the wizards at once-and it was up to him to find a way to make that happen, without letting anyone else know that it existed. Wondering how he would ever manage such a thing, he carefully replaced both the brain hook and the parchment back into the boot.

Then he removed his other boot and the rest of his clothes and set about shaving and bathing, trying to pay special attention to the wounds on his back. Tending them hurt terribly, but it had to be done. Just as he was finishing he felt The People's Revenge lurch, and he knew they were leaving the scene of the battle.

As he dressed, he wondered two things. First, he wanted to know where his own weapons were. Had they been found? He always felt naked without them, and now was no exception. Second, was Scars still outside in the hallway, waiting for him? That question, at least, was easily answered. Opening the cabin door, he saw the giant standing there quietly, arms folded over his huge chest.

Seeing Tristan, Scars solemnly pointed back the way they had come, and shortly they were topside again. The sunlight and breeze felt good on the prince's freshly shaven face.

Things had changed drastically in the short time he had been below. The People's Revenge, flanked by her two sister ships, was headed west at full sail, her ragged crewmen swarming over her like an army of busy ants. Back to the east, clouds of smoke billowed on the horizon. Tristan respected this female captain, whoever she was.

As Scars led him aft, he looked over the men who had saved his life. They were definitely a ragtag group. Their clothes were torn and bloodied, and many of them wore colorful bandanas on their heads. Earrings occasionally dangled alongside their faces, which were more often than not covered by beards and mustaches. Each man seemed to bristle with weapons, and most of them had the hardened, weathered look of those who had spent most of their lives at sea. Tristan had never heard of pirates running the Sea of Whispers. These men certainly looked the part, though.

Scars led Tristan past the ship's wheel and down another flight of stairs. Finally the giant stopped before large double doors. After knocking once he waited for the reply, then opened the doors and ushered Tristan inside.

The prince was surprised at the size and beauty of the room. Curved, stained-glass windows lined the entire stern wall and had been opened, filling the space with dappled sunlight bouncing off the waves. Ornate, gilt-edged scrollwork lined the corners of the ceiling and the window frames; the floor was covered with patterned rugs. A huge desk and several chairs sat just forward of the windows. A luxurious four-poster bed filled one wall, next to the open door to what looked to be a private washroom. The room smelled faintly of wine, smoke, and fresh salt air.

The captain sat at the great desk, poring over several charts. Her sword and baldric were slung over the high, upholstered back of her chair. On the desk were a large wheel of cheese with a knife stuck in it and a broken loaf of bread, accompanied by a half-consumed bottle of red wine. Tristan suddenly realized how long it had been since he had last eaten.

Finally, the captain looked up. Saying nothing, she indicated an empty chair on Tristan's side of the desk.

"I'd rather stand," he said wryly. "I've had quite enough of sitting down for a while."

The captain gave Scars a look, and the giant picked Tristan up in both arms and unceremoniously dumped him into the leather chair as if he were a rag doll.

Wincing at the fresh pain in his back, the prince scowled. "Doesn't he ever talk?" he asked angrily.

The captain actually smiled. She looked up at Scars. "You may leave us," she said simply. "I think I can handle whatever might arise."

"Are you sure, Captain?" the giant replied. His speaking voice was unexpectedly elegant. "His manner seems quite uncivilized to me."

Scars' diction was eloquent and educated, at odds with his rough appearance.

"Yes, I'm certain," she answered. "But if it makes you feel better, you may stand just outside the door."

Scars gave Tristan a distinct look of warning, then went to the double doors. As he walked through them, his body seemed to take up the entire doorway. Then the doors closed quietly behind him, and Tristan and the captain were alone.