Kraken Dock was one of the farthest down the main pier. I hurried past all manner of disturbing cargoes being unloaded from an equally strange assortment of ships, from great, flat-drafted swamp wanderers to deep-hulled slavers. I saw more than a few slender trading sloops from the distant lower levels, too, but most of the craft had the look of Chinese junks, built more for reliability than for speed. When I remembered some of the hideous things I had seen coiling in the depths of Cocytus during my journey with Riprash, I completely sympathized.

The Nagging Bitch lay at anchor, her hull shiny with black pitch, her sails furled but ready. Grim as she was, I was so thrilled to see her again that I almost ran up the gangplank, but I had been in Hell long enough to know better. I couldn’t even guess what eyes might be on me in Hell’s greatest harbor, so I took my time, mounting to the deck with the weary slouch of someone with nothing to look forward to but more slavery. I was challenged by some of the sailors hauling supplies on board, but before I had any serious problems with them Riprash appeared at the top of the aft stairs, the huge wound in his skull glinting in the lantern light.

“Snakestaff!” he rumbled.

I held my finger to my lips. “Pseudolus.”

For a moment he just stared, but then he nodded. “Soo-doh-luss.” I suppose you don’t survive on the rivers of Hell for as many centuries as Riprash without being fairly swift on the uptake. He beckoned me toward his cabin. It still smelled like a giant sweat sock, but felt pleasant and familiar compared to most of the places I’d been.

Gob was crouching on the floor. He looked up when I came in with the same expression you see on dogs who get kicked more often than not. If I’d expected him to run and hug me, or even just to grunt, I would have been disappointed, though I could tell he recognized me. Folks just don’t hug in Hell, unless they’re rich and pretending they’re actually people. Still, I was definitely glad to see him. He looked a little fatter and healthier, I thought.

“I owe you something,” I said to the boy and crouched beside him. I took his hand and put two iron spits into his palm. “That’s what I owe you.” Then I shook out another handful and a half’s worth of iron. “And that’s because you spent so much time helping me.”

Gob looked at the money, his apelike little face deadly serious.

Riprash laughed. “He’s trying to think where he’ll hide it from me.”

I frowned at the ogre. “You steal his money?”