Aminata wanted to beg him to un-ask the question. If Ormsment had struck first against the Oriati, she might as well have written to Parliament begging for a purge.

The ship’s master-at-arms said, “We’d better all hope that’s how it happened. If not…”

“Right. Proceed, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Yes, sir. Sulane repelled the enemy from the station, destroyed three Oriati ships, and then sailed immediately south. On the islands, word got around that Sulane was fighting the Oriati, and people thought it meant the Oriati had come to invade them. A mob sacked and burned several Falcrest-owned buildings. I understand they counted on the Oriati winning, and wanted to curry favor.”

Captain Nullsin cradled his hammer in his good hand and stared straight ahead. Aminata knew what he was focused on. They’d both seen the tiny fist protruding from the wreckage. They’d worked together to move the tumbled limestone sheets. And together they’d found the fisted corpse beneath, curled up like a boxer, his child head charred into a featureless coal.

She cleared her throat and went on. “In short order the riot became a general rectification of Family grudges and insults. The Families began to drop bridges to try to contain it. That worked, mostly, but it meant fire gangs couldn’t move around except by boat, which led to the loss of … some good fraction of the date crop.”

It had been said in certain quarters that the Llosydanes, being ruled by women, must be immune to animal passion and reckless violence. Aminata, born in matriarchal Segu, felt a little cynical pride that she knew better. Give a woman power—not a hearth to keep or an office to run, but real power, power she didn’t have to constantly guard or justify—and she would gain all power’s evils with it. Evils which were not intrinsically masculine at all, but which, in societies that gave men power, belonged most often to men.

Nullsin nodded to her. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. We need to send a packet back to Cauteria with a report on the natives. What are our options?”

“I think we face a choice, sir,” Aminata said. “On the one hand, we can punish the Sydani for disloyalty. As I’m sure you all know from customs work, imports to the Llosydanes are buttoned up tighter than Stakhi ass.” Mild laughter. “If we lower tariffs and allow unrestricted trade, we’ll drive their remaining shipwrights and machinists out of business with cheap import. Then we sabotage their date crop, and when they need to take out a loan to afford food, we sink them so deep into debt they’ll be paying us back for a century.”

The sailing-master made approving noises.

“However,” Aminata said, feeling everyone searching her for some sign of sympathy for the un-Falcresti, the unhygienic, “it looks as if Payo Mu might have planned for exactly that.”

“Who’s Payo Mu?” the purser asked.