“What’s that?” Wyatt asked, coming out of the tent the three shared, wiping his freshly shaved face with a cloth.

“Just thinking about the Vintu and living a simple existence of quiet pleasures,” Hadrian explained.

“What makes you think they’re content?” Royce asked. “I’ve found that when people smile all the time, they’re hiding something. These Vintu are probably miserable—economically forced into relative slavery, catering to wealthy foreigners. I’m sure they would smile just as much while slitting our throats to save themselves another day of hauling Dilladrum’s packs.”

“I think you’ve been away from Gwen too long. You’re starting to sound like the old Royce again.”

Across the camp they spotted Staul, Thranic, and Defoe. Staul waved in their direction and grinned.

“See? Big grin,” Royce mentioned.

“Fun group, eh?” Hadrian muttered.

“Yeah, they are a group, aren’t they?” Royce nodded thoughtfully. “Why would a sentinel, a Tenkin warrior, a physician, a thief, and … whatever the heck Bulard is go into the jungles of Calis to visit a Tenkin warlord? And what’s Bulard’s deal?”

Wyatt and Hadrian shrugged in unison.

“Isn’t that a bit odd? We were all on the same ship together for weeks, and we don’t know anything about the man beyond the fact that he doesn’t look like he’s seen the sun in a decade. Perhaps if we found out, it would provide the common connection between the others and this Erandabon fellow.”

“Bernie and Bulard share a tent,” Hadrian pointed out.

“Hadrian, why don’t you go chat with Bulard?” Royce said. “I’ll distract Bernie.”

“What about me?” Wyatt asked.

“Talk with Derning and Grady. They don’t seem as connected to the others as I first thought. Find out why they volunteered.”

The Vintu handed out dinner, which the Storm’s crew ate sitting on stools the Vintu provided. Dinner consisted mostly of what appeared to be shredded pork and an array of unusual vegetables in a thick, hot sauce that needled the tongue.

After the meal, darkness descended on the camp and most retired to their tents. Antun Bulard was already in his, just like he always stayed in his cabin aboard ship. The light in Bulard and Bernie’s tent flickered and the silhouettes of their heads bobbed about, magnified on the canvas walls. A few hours after dark, Bernie stepped out. An instant later, Royce swooped in.

“How you been, Bernie?” Royce greeted him. “Going for a walk?”

“Actually, I was about to find a place to relieve myself.”

“Good, I’ll go with you.”

“Go with me?” he asked nervously.

“I’ve been known to help people relieve themselves of a great many things.” Royce put an arm around Bernie’s shoulder as he urged him away from the tents. Once more Bernie flinched. “A little jumpy, aren’t we?” Royce asked.

“Don’t you think I have good reason?”