“So the question is,” the ship’s surgeon said, “why it happened. Why did Sulane attack those Oriati ships? Why was Sulane even here? And what does it have to do with this Imperial agent, Baru Cormorant?”

Everyone looked to Captain Nullsin, who might have received a coded letter from Ormsment explaining her place in a grand scheme, advising Ascentatic whether to assist her or pretend ignorance or even chase her as a foe

“There was no letter,” he said, heavily. “It’s possible that she’s on sanctioned navy business, but it’s being kept secret from us. Or that … well. Best not to consider it. Lieutenant Commander, has anyone revealed to you why Sulane was here?”

“I don’t know yet,” Aminata said. “But I have a lead.”

*   *   *

SHE dressed to ravish, a word which had, in the not-so-distant past, meant to plunder.

Aminata had brought two of her suasioners with her from Cauteria Fortress, as they knew more tradecraft than the average sailor. Yesterday Midshipman Gerewho, dragging his coat in local establishments for anyone who might pass a discreet tip, had connected with a (reportedly very handsome) race-hygienist who said he might know more about the battle on Moem. Today he would be at the Demimonde restaurant on Eddyn islet at the beginning of second dogwatch, waiting for a navy contact. If the navy wished to speak with him, he thought they ought to send a charming nautical lady to appear as his companion, for he was known as a womanizer. But she should not, if possible, arrive in uniform. He did not wish to seem associated with the frightening warship offshore, which all the Sydani believed had come to punish them.

Aminata decided to handle this meeting herself. He might have some clue to Baru’s true purpose. Also she’d had no time to take a leave watch and go whoring, and she hoped, if he were a womanizer, that he would be agreeable. Spies did that, right? Spies were always consorting with seductive and dangerous men.

She drew the line, however, at his request for her to come not in uniform. Who would she be without the reds? They might take her for a Mbo Oriati. So she wore full starched dress, tall boots polished and buffed, her pins and links shining, a smart little folio on her hip, a clean shave for her scalp and a jaunty cover. Perfect.

The Demimonde was a longhouse, shattered black stone mortared together like a puzzle. When Aminata marched in, the sparse and quiet crowd all looked up from their gossip. Inevitably someone began to whistle “Hey Navy Girl.” Aminata ignored it.

The Belthyc-looking host had date wine on his breath and worry lines all around his eyes. Would she like a discreet table? Yes she would, Aminata said, and would he kindly tell the man that his appointment had arrived? What man? Why, the most beautiful man in the place.