Marie said, “Signalman, send, ‘This vessel is a Tall Clouds prize, but the descent of Jackhand Djordji welcomes you aboard as guests.’”

The First Owl took their time answering, “The jackhand has no children. Surrender or be taken by force.”

Marie said, “Send, ‘I am Fellhand Marie, daughter of Jackhand Djordji by his choice and mine. You are welcome aboard as guests.’”

While the signalmen fenced, the black-and-red war balloon glided around the Saint Asne’s stern. It was like being sneaked up on by a heavily armed circus tent.

The Gyrine signaled, “You will be boarded. If you resist, you will be killed.”

Marie said, “Send, ‘Gyrine do not kill Gyrine.’”

Fear made Isabelle’s stomach quiver. Had bringing them here been another mistake? Just because Djordji took their traditions seriously didn’t mean other Gyrine did.

Bitterlich shouted to Malgiers, “Form the men up for parade.”

Isabelle turned to Similce. “Prepare to receive guests.”

“Aye,” Similce said grimly, and began shouting at the crew in Skaladin.

Rebecca floated up to be at eye height with Isabelle, and said in a no-no-I’m-really-not-nervous tone of voice, “So … what happens now?”

Isabelle said, “The Gyrine are going to come aboard, and Marie is going to talk them out of killing us. You stay with me.”

The war balloons settled into position, one to larboard and the other to stern of the Saint Asne. Around the waist of each armored tower were belts of cannons on gimbals that allowed them to aim down at the sloop from an angle where it could not possibly return fire.

“Remember to breathe,” Marie said to Isabelle.

Primus said, Even if your friend fails, you can present yourself as a hostage. You are valuable enough that they will not harm you. Once they have taken you in, then you can prey on their ambitions, fear, and greed.

Isabelle clenched her teeth and replied, I will not be the instrument of your revenge.

Primus asked in a milder tone, Even if so doing saves your friends’ lives?

Isabelle felt paralyzed, caught between loathing the ancestral parasite and the sure knowledge she would do much worse than manipulate a few Gyrine to save the people she loved.

Down from the war balloons dangled long ropes like a spider’s threads. Dozens of Gyrine leapt from the platforms and swung down to alight in the Saint Asne’s top rigging like so many monkeys. They unslung muskets and took aim, ready to unleash a lethal hail of lead on the Saint Asne’s crew.

“I never realized they were so … agile,” Malgiers said.

“Throw down yer weapons!” shouted a man from the rigging.

“We hold no weapons,” Bitterlich replied, showing empty hands. Not that he personally needed a weapon, but his marines were likewise disarmed. Everything rode on Marie’s play.