Pezarrat chortled. He enjoyed their sparring. “You should join us.” Half the pirate crew began as captives. “You’ve already paid a tenth of what you owe me.”

“Surely I’ve reached a third by now.”

“During every raid, you hide in your bunk, talking jibber jabber. Afterward you disappear in a scroll or codex.” He looked down. “Amplify Now.” He puzzled over the first image: a conjurer with one eye closed leapt in the air and touched a wheel that exploded into flames. “What does this jumba jabba mean?”

Djola chose his words carefully. “Amplify Now is a poor translation for the Lahesh: Xhalan Xhala.” It felt strange speaking the name of the spell of spells out loud. Vandana took a sharp breath and dropped a needle in the middle of stitching a wound. Djola stared. Nothing had rattled her like that in a year of plunder and mayhem.

“You know dead languages? Speak, woman,” Pezarrat commanded.

Vandana shrugged. She never looked in Djola’s books. Orca couldn’t read. Poor spies.

“Xhalan Xhala is conjure to call tomorrow from what we do yesterday and today,” Djola said.

“No man makes time.” Pezarrat frowned at another symbol. “Flames from a crossroads heart. I’ve seen this squiggly Vévé before.”

“Reckoning fire.” Djola leaned close to Pezarrat. “Calling reckoning fire, a man risks burning up too.”

“I don’t believe in spirit debt.” Pezarrat slammed the book shut. “You claim reckoning fire for yourself?”

“It’s just a carnival dance.” Djola forced a smile. “A trick on the eye.”

“Azizi and Council welcome tricks. A book of Lahesh wim-wom might cut our tax.”

Djola snorted. “Untested, savage conjure is worthless. Just tall tales.”

“So you always say, yet you collect so much.” Pezarrat and Vandana glared at scrolls and codices.

“Azizi would know how his enemies think,” Djola said. “Tall tales reveal a lot.”

“So this jumba jabba is a cheap thing, but not worthless.” Pezarrat tapped Amplify Now against Djola’s chest. “Tell Azizi, all men are the same. Don’t waste himself looking for savage secrets, just grab their randy balls and squeeze.”

“What about the women, the Iyalawos who rule the mountains?”

“Squeeze them too.” Pezarrat sniggered as if they shared memories of violating women. “I don’t fear Iyalawo Kyrie or any of them.” He tossed the book out a porthole into the placid sea.

Djola flinched and bent down to a spy who’d gone to Bog City to poison wells and spread lies. A broken bone poked from a sleeve.

“This one also builds ships.” Pezarrat stood over them. “He needs both arms.”

Vandana gripped his torso and sat on his legs as Djola tugged clenched muscles to make room for the bone. He snapped the broken pieces together and held tight while Vandana wrapped the arm to a splint. The fellow passed out. Djola headed for a captive bleeding from her side.