"Who was that?" Sandry wanted to know.

"Rokat," the sergeant growled behind them, and spat.

"Jamar Rokat," Vedris said, nodding to a maid who was opening a set of shutters nearby. "Head of Rokat House here in Summersea. They hold the monopoly on the myrrh trade and import other items. They behave within my borders, but elsewhere they are little better than pirates. They know I will have none of the killing and thievery they use as common coin, and they dare not lose permission to enter our harbor."

"Is this Jamar as bad as the rest of his family?" Sandry wanted to know. There had been something about the fat man's brown eyes, a nervousness, that made her curious.

The duke rubbed his shaved head. "When Jamar Rokat was but twenty years old and living in Janaal, he was courting a young girl of great beauty and fortune. Somehow the word got out that the girls father was considering another man, one who had offered more gold in the marriage settlement. Jamar entered his rival's house and with a silk cord strangled the man, his father, and his grandfather. He desired to make the point that competing with any Rokat was a fatal exercise."

Sandry shuddered.

The duke leaned over to pat her knee. "Fortunately, my dear, you need have nothing to do with any of Rokat's tribe. For that, I am thankful."

Pasco leaned forward as Osa rowed his boat around the low wharf that served the fishing village. Ahead of them stretched a broad length of beach on which a few boats had been careened for scraping and repairs. Lanterns glinted from the fishing boats as their owners prepared to sail. More people had gathered on the strand. Under a lantern dangling from a pole, a man sat cross-legged, testing the drum in his lap. A woman stood behind him, playing scales on a wooden flute.