“He steamed up like a campfire in a drizzle. Called me the Breaker’s own shit pile and a dog-humping monkey in the bargain. I said I’d play him one more round, but only if he put the letters on the grid. It was a game for the ages. We played full court. Doublets and triplets were called, pawns danced across the grid. A crowd gathered. Ivar packed his courtyard with winnings, but when the last singlet topped the pile, the pawn for the letters was still on my side of the line. The game had attracted so many spectators that he couldn’t very well renege on his bet.”

Bitterlich sounded doubtful. “And for that he’s never forgiven you?”

Jean-Claude said. “For beating him? No. What earned me his undying enmity was the fact that all the money he won from me was drawn on forged accounts.”

One corner of Isabelle’s mouth turned up in spite of her headache and her capitainely sobriety. “In other words, you cheated at a higher level than he did.”

Jean-Claude shrugged. “I told him he was going to lose. I just didn’t say how.”

Vrain said, “In the present, does he have a patron, or would he be working on his own?”

Djordji rubbed his throat and said, “He’s got no hope against this ship. I’m thinking he’s paid to scout. He’ll sneak in and steal what prize he can if he gets the chance, a jay amongst hawks, but he won’t risk his hide.”

Isabelle said, “Comtesse Impervia informs me of at least three different factions after our prize. Aragoth and Brathon have an interest, not to mention the malcontents at home.”

“Don’t forget the Skaladin,” Vrain said. “This pirate could be working for any of them.”

Jean-Claude said, “Knowing Ivar, he could be working for all of them.”

Dok said, “What’s it matter who they works for?” He glanced at Bitterlich. “The major sneaks aboard, sets fire to the hold, burns them from the sky. No more spies.”

“Never leave an enemy behind you,” said Don Luggia, his gruff voice and surly demeanor at odds with the soft gray and powder blue of his crest. He stepped toward the orrery, scowling at the vaporgrams as if they might tell him. “A man who has betrayed you once will do it again.”

“What if I’m counting on that?” Isabelle said, though she was not Isabelle but Primus Maximus, grand general of the Kindly Crusade, and she’d just laid a trap for her enemies.

“Beg pardon?” Vrain said.