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  “Up.” Sergeant Ottotark must have unlocked the chains securing the prisoner to the wall. A long still moment passed with no sign of movement in Five’s cell. “I said, get up!”

  Ottotark lunged into the shadows. Tikaya flinched, expecting the meaty thud of that baton striking flesh. A scuffle and grunt sounded. Someone threw the baton and it clattered against the gate before dropping to the floor. The sergeant growled and drew his arm back, but he halted mid-blow and skittered backward.

  Five was on his feet.

  “Don’t move!” one of the marines inside the cell barked, pistol arm straight and rigid. “We will shoot you.”

  “Doubtful.” But Five stopped short of grabbing Ottotark and turned toward the guards, his features still in shadow.

  “Cursed bastard, you presume much,” Ottotark growled. “We can shoot you without killing you.” A speculative note entered his voice, as if he were truly considering it.

  Tikaya gripped the bars of her gate, trying to think of something to say to help him. After all, Five had come to her defense.

  “Or we can just beat you into oblivion for the rest of the trip.” Ottotark hooked a punch into Five’s face.

  With pistols pointed at his chest, Five could only accept it. Ottotark grabbed his baton and lifted it to deliver more damage.

  “I thought Turgonians were supposed to be brave warriors,” Tikaya blurted. “Abusing someone who can’t fight back is cowardly.”

  “Sew that yap shut, woman. Nobody wants your opinion.” Despite his words, Ottotark lowered the baton and prowled out of the cell. “Let’s go, ugly.”

  Five shambled into the corridor. Thick, tangled black hair hung around his cheeks and half way down his back. A matted beard and mustache engulfed the lower half of his face. Torn, faded trousers with ragged hems reached his calves, and a crudely sewn hide vest covered his torso, leaving muscular but lean—too lean—bare arms visible beneath a layer of grime. Shackles bound his wrists before him, and blood trickled from his nose, adding menace to his already savage appearance. Even slumped, head hanging, he stood a half foot taller than Tikaya.

  He glanced at her, almost wincing, and she had the impression his state embarrassed him. She met his eyes with a respectful nod. Criminal or not, he was the most obvious person to turn into an ally.

  “Let’s go.” Ottotark sent two men ahead, then shoved Five after them.

  After the group had gone, Agarik nodded to Tikaya’s food and water. “Do you need anything else?”

  Everything else, she thought, and a trip back home. “Can you tell me who that is I’m sharing the brig with?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Somebody must know.”

  “The captain,” Agarik said. “He doesn’t confide in anyone. I don’t think Sergeant Ottotark even knows, and he’s the captain’s adjutant.”

  “What happens if the captain gets shot and no one else knows the mission?” Tikaya supposed it was uncharitable to enjoy the thought.

  “The orders are locked up somewhere. The officers know where to find them.”

  “Ah.” Tikaya pointed to the vacated cell. “Why are your people so careful with him? Is he that dangerous?”

  Agarik worked his tongue against his cheek and gazed toward the ladder, perhaps considering whether it would be a breach of duty to answer. “He’s a prisoner from Krychek Island, and we lost four men getting him off the beach.”

  “He killed them?”

  “No, the lunatics on the island attacked our party with spears and clubs. Men gone savage. They wanted to escape, and if they couldn’t escape they’d kill those who originally brought them there months and years before. Ancestors’ wrath, we had to shoot a bunch of them. Seemed they’d rather die than stay there.”

  “And Five attacked you too?” Tikaya rested her arms on the gate and watched the corporal’s face in the flickering light of the single lantern. His gaze had grown thoughtful and distant.

  “No, he stood back and watched. You got the sense he didn’t want anything to do with us, but he didn’t hide either. At first it seemed he’d come along peacefully—he got in the longboat once the captain spotted him and called him over. He didn’t give us any trouble rowing back to the ship, but he attacked a guard the first night, got out of his cell, stole a pile of food from the galley, and slipped by everyone on duty.” Agarik frowned. “Including myself. Without anyone seeing him, he swiped a sextant, compass, chronometer, nautical almanac, and spare sail, and he was about to drop a lifeboat. He would have been long gone by morning, but Captain Bocrest got an itch, and he was waiting with a loaded rifle.”

  “So he—Five—surrendered?”

  “Not exactly.” Agarik rubbed his jaw as if recalling a blow. “Captain threatened to shoot him but didn’t, and it took a full squad to wrestle him belowdecks and get him locked up again.”

  “Where he’s been chained ever since.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  So, whatever the imperials wanted their prisoner for, it seemed he was also too valuable to kill. His first escape might not have worked, but he had that goal in mind too. Good. Two people rowing a longboat would be more efficient than one, and it heartened her that Five had known exactly what to grab. She knew how to sail and navigate in theory but had never been out of sight of her islands.

  “One thing’s a mite peculiar,” Agarik mused.

  “Just one?” Everything thus far struck Tikaya as peculiar.

  “He didn’t take a pen or paper.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You need to do some figuring to account for the errors and adjustments that come with using a sextant. Not many could do ‘em in their head and keep them straight from day to day without a log.”

  “Maybe he forgot,” Tikaya said, though she already had a hunch Five had a background in mathematics. Maybe he could do the calculations in his head and remember the results.

  The corporal grunted noncommittally. He seemed as curious about the mystery prisoner as her.

  More footfalls rang on the deck. Now who?

  “Your duty, Corporal,” the captain said, eyes cool as he descended the steps. “It is not here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Agarik ducked his head and trotted away.

  This time, Bocrest wore his black uniform jacket with a handful of badges and medals adorning the breast. A fresh bruise swelled on his temple, and dried blood crusted on his chin beneath a swollen split lip. Had someone whaled on him as part of a training session? Or maybe he had already started questioning Five, and it wasn’t going well. Either way, the bumps would probably not improve his personality.

  Nonetheless, she lifted her chin and met the captain’s eyes. Bravado would likely get her further than meekness on this ship.

  “Well?” Bocrest asked. “You working with us or are my men taking target practice on your family members?”

  It was a moment before she could unclench her jaw. The man had the diplomacy of a stinging jellyfish. “I will help you, captain,” she said, forcing a civil tone, “but I can’t work in this dark pit, and, surely, if you expected me to translate this language, you brought some basic references and primers. Hodtolk’s? Fisher and Grist? Merk’s Hieroglyphics Compendium? More samples of this writing would help as well. And I’ll certainly need better lighting, paper, pencils, a table. I’ll also need the freedom to walk around. That’s when I do my best thinking.”

  Tikaya expected denial, especially over her last request, but after glaring at her for a moment—it seemed his normal way of looking at people—he said, “I’ll get you paper and better lighting. You may have one daily exercise period. Beyond that, pace your cell if you need to ‘think.’”

  He started for the hatch.

  “One more question, captain,” Tikaya said, wondering if he would answer it honestly or not.

  “What?”

  “Suppose I succeed in translating this language, in helping you with whatever your problem is. What happens to me then?”

&nb
sp; Bocrest eyed her over his shoulder. “If you succeed, your family will not be harmed. You? As far as the emperor and thousands of dead Turgonians are concerned, your deeds during the war condemned you. I suggest you enjoy your last project.”

  Tikaya leaned against the cold metal wall for support. She wished he had lied.

  * * * * *

  When Tikaya stepped out of the hatch, the sun made her blink. She stumbled and almost crashed into the guards escorting her outside for her exercise session. Nobody offered a steadying hand.

  Wind gusted across the deck, tugging at her braid, and slapping her dress against her legs. When her vision recovered, the sun told her they traveled northeast. Endless sea stretched in all directions, so she could only guess at their position and goal. Though the briny breeze stole the stink of burning coal, the black plumes streaming from two smokestacks suggested the furnaces burned at maximum capacity. Full sails made use of the wind as well, and Tikaya wondered how fast they traveled under the combined power. Perhaps she imagined it, but the sun warming her cheeks felt less intense than back home. Where were the Turgonians taking her?

  A pair of marines in gray togs jostled her as they jogged past.

  “Stay out of the running lane,” one barked without glancing back.

  Tikaya sighed and shuffled in the direction the guards indicated. She should have relished the excursion, the chance to stretch and walk, but the lack of company dulled her spirits. She hadn’t even been able to speak with Five again. The captain had granted her request for a desk and better illumination by moving her to one of the officers’ cabins in the wardroom, which put her on the other side of the ship from the man she wanted to conspire with. And the young private stationed outside her door showed no inclination of allowing her to wander.

  The guards led her past masts, smokestacks, and two thirty-foot launches mounted in the center of the deck. She kept her gaze from lingering too long on the big boats. It would take more than two people to get one of those in the water anyway. She stepped past a cannon to glance over the railing. Ah, yes. Smaller cutters were mounted alongside the ship below the gun ports. She and Five could handle one of those. Unfortunately, she needed time with him to make plans.

  “Stop gawking.” One the guards shoved her.

  “I didn’t know there was a minimum walking speed up here,” Tikaya muttered.

  “Exercise is for sweating, not sightseeing.”

  “You’re a pithy people, aren’t you?”

  That earned another shove.

  Tikaya picked up her speed. A heavy gun on brass rails dominated the forecastle, but the area behind it lay open, and a few bare-chested men boxed in a makeshift arena. Racks contained practice weapons, dumbbells, and other exercise equipment. Captain Bocrest and a lieutenant stood on the far side where a temporary archery lane was set up with person-shaped paper targets attached to bales of hay. They practiced with repeating crossbows, though traditional bows also leaned in a rack.

  “You going to do anything, woman?” a guard asked.

  Feeling self-conscious beneath all the eyes that swiveled to watch her, Tikaya walked over to a pile of sand-filled balls with handles. After a few tries, she found a small one she could lift. She maneuvered through a few exercises, though no one had suggested baths were available, so she was not sure how much of a sweat she wanted to encourage.

  “Awkward turtle, isn’t she?” one of the guards said.

  “Fine by me,” the second said. “Makes her melons bounce.”

  “Hah, and her ass. Bookly thing but I’d mount that in a heartbeat.”

  Jaw clenched and cheeks flaming, Tikaya turned her back to them.

  “Nothing else to mount around here,” the conversation continued, “unless you want to crawl into Lieutenant Amn or Corporal Agarik’s bunks.”

  “I reckon they’d be the ones wanting to do the mounting then.”

  She supposed that explained why she was not Agarik’s “type.” The marines went back to analyzing her, and, when others joined in, the commentary grew cruder and more explicit. Though the captain stood within earshot, he did nothing to stop the lewd harassment. She wondered if the men would have treated a Turgonian woman this way or if her status as hated-enemy-of-the-empire made it acceptable.

  Tikaya gave up the exercises in favor of walking around the training area. She eyed the officers plunking quarrels into the targets, surprised they bothered practicing archery given the power of their rifles.

  “How’s the thinking going, librarian?” Bocrest asked. “You figure anything out yet?”

  “I’m working on it. I doubt you have any idea as to the magnitude of the task. People spend years working to translate a newly discovered language, and that’s when they’re surrounded by libraries full of reference materials.”

  “Uh huh. Take a few more laps around the ring to inspire my men’s fantasies and then go back to work.”

  “Double or nothing, sir?” The lieutenant hefted his crossbow.

  “It’s your rum.” The captain turned his back on her and loaded a fistful of bolts into his own crossbow.

  An idea tickled her mind. “You a betting man, Captain?” she asked before she could talk herself out of it.

  Since he had already dismissed Tikaya, he had to turn back to frown at her. “What?”

  “Care to make a wager?”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ll bet you there’s a weapon here I can best you with.”

  The snorts and outright laughs around her were no surprise.

  “Why would I make a wager with my prisoner?” the captain asked. “What could you have to lose that I would want?”

  What indeed?

  “Before you offer to warm my toes tonight, know I’m a married man.”

  The fact that he had a wife—and was faithful to her—left her speechless for a moment.

  Bocrest tapped his foot. Tikaya considered the bruises on his face. If she was right and Five had delivered those, maybe she could use that.

  “I see Prisoner Five has given you some trouble,” she said. “You must need him for something, presumably related to what you need me for. If I lose, I’ll persuade him to help you with your mission.”

  Bocrest laughed. “Why would he listen to the cryptomancer?”

  Because Five did not yet know she was the cryptomancer. “Because we’ve established a rapport.” If one could call a single shared conversation a rapport.

  The laughter ceased, and Bocrest studied her through narrowed eyes. Perhaps that had not been a wise claim to make.

  “Fine. What if I lose?” The captain’s mouth twisted, showing how unlikely he thought that. “I’m not releasing you or promising anything that would involve breaking orders.”

  “I want Five to share my exercise periods, an hour each day.” The captain was shaking his head before she made it halfway through the sentence, but she pressed on. “I also want you to give him a bath, haircut, shave, and fresh clothing to wear.” Tikaya smiled. “Actually, I’ll take a bath and fresh clothing too.”

  “A bath!” the lieutenant roared. “This is a steamer! Water is for pouring into the boiler.”

  “Surely you could manage a damp washcloth,” she said.

  “No,” the captain said. “No to it all. That’s too much extra work for my men. He’s too dangerous to have out.”

  “Why can’t these men watch him?” She pointed to the onlookers. “I can’t imagine the emperor pays them to stand around and gawk at me. Besides—” the captain’s face had grown red, so she patted the air soothingly, “—you don’t honestly believe you’ll lose our wager, do you?”

  He snapped his mouth shut. “No.”

  The captain stuck his palm out, edge toward her, and she banged her hand against it in the Turgonian gesture for a deal sealed.

  “Choose your weapon,” he said.

  She went straight to the bows. They were designed for tall, burly men, so it took some experimentation to find one she could string and
draw. For once her long arms were useful, and her months laboring on the plantation gave her strength she had not possessed during her academic tenure.

  “Think she’ll even be able to load that?” one man asked.

  “Probably shoot her toe off.”

  “There’s no way she’ll hit a target.”

  “Better tell the boys in the rigging to watch out.”

  “Don’t know why my languages instructor bothered teaching me the Turgonian word for encouragement,” Tikaya muttered. “Not like they ever use it.”

  Bow strung, she joined Bocrest.

  “Challenger shoots first,” he said.

  “No practice?”

  “No.”

  “Best of three shots?”

  “One shot. Deal’s been made. Shoot.”

  The lieutenant handed her a single arrow.

  “I see you’re a sporting people.” She should have negotiated the rules of the game instead of trying to finagle baths.

  Tikaya nocked the arrow and turned sideways, bow held loosely in her left hand as the fingertips of her right curled about the string. Just like on the plantation back home, she told herself.

  Except it wasn’t. Even on the calm day, the ship rose and fell with the swells, and activity on deck offered distractions. The misty breeze licked her cheeks, and she closed her eyes for a moment, considering the affect it would have on the arrow’s flight. She locked her eyes on the red dot in the center of the target and drew the bow, anchoring her fingers in her usual spot against her cheek. The men’s ongoing comments disappeared and focus came. She breathed in the tangy air, blew it out, and waited for the quiet moment when her body and the deck were still.

  She released the arrow.

  It cut through the air and thudded into the red dot. The surrounding men fell silent, mouths hanging open. Tikaya resisted the urge to smile or make any triumphant gesture.

  “Your turn,” was all she said to the captain.

  His expression was less stunned and more dyspeptic. Too late, Tikaya wished she had found a way to make the challenge private. If he did not make as fine a shot, he might lose face in front of his men. And take it out on her.