They had been a black-skinned people, and the captain, too, was very dark. He leaned toward Abu.

“The world is our prison, yes,” he said. “But God cannot love our jailers more than He loves us. It cannot be the mark of a good man, how meekly he suffers. No. God loves the proud. He has made this world so hard a place. Does it make sense that He should love the weak more than the strong? Does it make sense that He should love the man who fails the test? But defy Him, defy them all and break away—those are the men He will choose for Paradise.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then He is a God to be hated. If we are wrong, and He damns us down to the ninth planet, then still He is a God to be defied. And if we can defy Him in this world, then maybe we can chance it in the next.

Maybe there’ll be a way there too.” His face, which had grown fierce, softened again as his wife caught his eye and smiled. “I’m not wrong,” he said. “I’ve had many blessings.”

The prince said, “If . . .” but he was interrupted by the captain’s hand upon his arm. Darkheart was smiling at his wife as if he longed to touch her; she was sitting in a corner near the door with her breast uncovered, feeding the child. “Enough talk,” he said. “My mind is my own. No proud man could live differently. But I don’t expect you to believe me. It’s not in your interest. The question is, now that I have you, how can I use you? Do you need alcohol to live? I can get you some.”

“No,” said Abu, smiling. “It’s not as bad as that.”

“Don’t be ashamed. There’s decadence in your blood. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Darkheart. “Show me your hands. Your tattoos.”

Prince Abu put his hands palm up on the blanket. “I’ll tell you what I’d like,” he said. “I’d like a bath.

You can barely see them under the dirt.”

Darkheart ignored him. “What does this one mean?” he asked, pointing to the golden sun.

“All whims must be indulged, all requests granted, all commands obeyed.”

Darkheart laughed. “That—must come in handy,” he said.

“You’d be surprised how seldom.”

“You’re not in the right line of work. Now I, I would find it useful. And you will too, I promise you.

Spider has a plan for you. Spider!”

He shouted, and the boy appeared in the doorway as if he had been listening there.

“Wait,” said Mrs. Darkheart from the floor. She unplugged the baby from her breast and covered herself, but it started to whimper, so she gave it to her husband. It was a little boy, and Abu noticed it had no tattoos, no horoscope. No parson had yet touched it.

“Wait,” said Mrs. Darkheart. She sat down next to Abu on the bed. “How do you feel?” she asked.