Four months gone since Djola sat at Council, almost five, and the sun was setting on a barbarian thief-lord village. The library at the beach was orange fire. Clouds of soot obscured other buildings. Djola had to persuade Pezarrat not to burn libraries or wise men. What could he learn from bone and ash?

The pirate fleet raced from the Golden Gulf to open sea. It listed so far starboard he feared it would capsize. The steer-man maneuvered into the wave just so, and the ship righted itself. The storm swell had seasoned pirates vomiting. Samina had hidden a sachet in his Aido bag: lavender, jasmine, and raintree blossoms from Smokeland. Inhaling her medicine steadied him.

Twenty raggedy vessels bobbed in unruly waves around the flagship. The hulls looked thrown together from shipwrecks and plundered docks. Patchwork sails were tucked away from the coming storm around driftwood masts. The rigging seemed frayed, chaotic. Too often foes thought one more storm would sink the pirate derelicts. Illusion. Pezarrat’s fleet masqueraded as ramshackle yet Azizi had exiled Djola to the rogue with the sturdiest, fastest vessels. Merchant-patrols could never catch them.

A warship faster than storm clouds loomed on the port side. Djola made out the catapults and spark-torch weapons of the Empire Patrol, peacekeepers who’d condemn a pirate raid. Blades glinted in the last sunbeams. Archers crouched in the rigging. The Empire Patrol could ram through Pezarrat’s rogue fleet, blasting boats with spark torches. Only Patrols had pirate speed and floating-city weapons. Queen Urzula saw to that.

The Patrol would attack the flagship first. Djola was unsure which side to fight on. As he pulled a knife from his boot, his hands shook. A warrior no more, he’d lost the taste, the will for killing. The Empire ship breezed by. Archers and spear-carriers waved as they pulled alongside the rig riding lowest in the sea. Someone played jaunty notes on a barbarian flute. Planks thunked the decks and joined the ships. A pirate crew lugged booty into the Patrol’s hold. A bribe. Going in Azizi’s coffers, no doubt.