"Why not? How do you know?" Even boggled I remained curious about my brethren.

"Sailed as a cabin boy when I was young. I learned ships." His tone discouraged further interrogation. Most of the men want their antecedents kept private. As you might expect in a company of villains held together by its now and its us~against-the-world gone befores.

"Not too big if you have the thaumaturgic craft to bind it," Tom-Tom countered. He was shaky, tapping his drum in random, nervous rhythms. He and One-Eye both hated water.

So. A mysterious northern enchanter. A ship as black as the floors of hell. My nerves began to fray.

Her crew dropped an accomodation ladder. The Lieutenant scampered up. He seemed impressed.

I'm no sailor, but the ship did look squared away and disciplined.

A junior officer sorted out Tom-Tom, Silent, and myself and asked us to accompany him. He led us down stairs and through passageways, aft, without speaking.

The northern emissary sat crosslegs amidst rich cushions, backed by the ship's open sternlights, in a cabin worthy of an eastern potentate. I gaped, Tom-Tom smouldered with avarice. The emissary laughed.

The laughter was a shock. A high-pitched near giggle more appropriate to some fifteen year old madonna of the tavern night than to a man more powerful than any king. "Excuse me," he said, placing a hand daintily where his mouth would have been had he not been wearing that black morion. Then, "Be seated."'

My eyes widened against my will. Each remark came in a distinctly different voice. Was there a committee inside that helmet?

Tom-Tom gulped air. Silent, being Silent, simply sat, I followed his example, and tried not to become too offensive with my frightened, curious stare.

Tom-Tom wasn't the best diplomat that day. He blurted, "The Syndic won't last much longer. We want to make an arrangement. ..." Silent dug a toe into his thigh.