"Uh? Those things are loose?"

"The Syndic thinks so. The Captain don't take it seriously."

I didn't either, though Tom-Tom looked concerned. "They looked tough. The ones who were here the other day."

"Ought to have recruited them," he said, with an undertone of sadness. He and One-Eye have been with the Company a long time. They have seen much of its decline.

"Why were they here?"

He shrugged. "Get some rest. Croaker. Don't kill yourself. Won't make a bit of difference in the end." He ambled away, lost in the wilderness of his thoughts.

I lifted an eyebrow. He was way down. I turned back to the fires and lights and disturbing absence of racket. My eyes kept crossing, my vision clouding. Tom-Tom was right. I needed sleep.

From the darkness came another of those strange, hopeless cries. This one was closer.

"Up, Croaker." The Lieutenant was not gentle. "Captain wants you in the officers' mess."

I groaned. I cursed. I threatened mayhem in the first degree. He grinned, pinched the nerve in my elbow, rolled me onto the floor. "I'm up already," I grumbled, feeling around for my boots. "What's it about?"

He was gone.

"Will Mercy pull through, Croaker?" the Captain asked.

"I don't think so, but I've seen bigger miracles." The officers and sergeants were all there.

"You want to know what's happening," the Captain said. "The visitor the other day was an envoy from overseas. He offered an alliance. The north's military resources in exchange for the support of Beryl's fleets. Sounded reasonable to me. But the Syndic is being stubborn. He's still upset about the conquest of Opal. I suggested he be more flexible. If these northerners are villains then the alliance option could be the least of several evils. Better an ally than a tributary. Our problem is, where do we stand if the legate presses?"