Again he raised one hand in a peaceful gesture. This drew some harsh laughter, and one of the archers nocked an arrow to his bow. Blade had a thoroughly unpleasant feeling that this trip to Dimension X was about to become his shortest and possibly his last.

«No! Listen to me!» he bellowed, in a voice that carried from one end of the ship to the other. The words formed themselves in his mind in English, but they came out in the guttural growls of the sailors. Somehow, each time he passed from Home Dimension into Dimension X, his brain was altered so that be both spoke and understood whatever languages he'd need there. Even Lord Leighton had several different theories about how this happened, and nobody else had more than guesses. No matter how it happened, Blade was glad it did. Not having to learn new languages each time he entered a new world saved time, and here it might save his life.

All the sailors jumped at Blade's shout, but the archer also began to draw. «No, listen! I'm not your enemy!» Blade shouted. He was also trying to decide if he should jump down on to the main deck and attack, or jump over the side and take his chances there.

Before the archer could finish drawing, the door to the aftercastle flew open and a short, black-bearded man came stamping out. Unlike the rest of the crew he wore armor, a short jacket of metal discs sewn on leather, and carried two swords. He waved one over his head so wildly that several sailors had to jump back in order to avoid being struck. As he strode forward through the sailors, he cursed them eloquently without raising his voice above a normal tone. By the time he was standing below the break of the foc'sle, looking up at Blade, he had the attention of every man on deck.

While the bearded man-the ship's captain, no doubt about it-was cursing his crew, Blade had time to consider how to explain himself. Apparently he'd appeared out of thin air, as if by magic, so there wasn't much point in giving a purely natural explanation for his arrival. Sailors were a superstitious lot in any case, and they might not accept a natural explanation even for a less spectacular arrival.

All right, then, he'd give a supernatural explanation. He'd been sent by the gods-no, that might not be a good idea. He had no idea of what gods were worshipped here, or how. There was always the risk of being denounced as a liar and blasphemer and punished accordingly. Even if they believed him, claiming to be a messenger from the gods always threw him into local religious politics, which could be even bloodier than the normal kind.

So forget about the gods. If he didn't come from this world or from somewhere Up Above, where else was there?

Of course. The future. He couldn't be sure what kind of gods these people worshipped, but he could be nearly certain they had some concept of a past and a future. If he said he was from-

«Huh, stranger,» said the captain, rapping the edge of the foc'sle with one sword to get Blade's attention. «You said you weren't an enemy. You certainly aren't of Gohar, so what are you?»

«My fathers a thousand years before I was born might have been of Gohar,» said Blade. «I do not know. I do know that I come from a time when your children's children's children are only a distant memory.»

The captain sheathed his sword and looked Blade up and down so intently that Blade had the feeling the captain was counting each scar or even each hair on his body. Or perhaps the captain was just trying to decide whether he faced a man from the future or an escaped lunatic.

At least the sailors were quiet while their captain examined Blade. The archers still held their bows, but no longer drawn. The men with spears let them trail on the deck. Satisfied that the sailors accepted their captain's authority and were no immediate danger to him, Blade looked around him. For the first time since his arrival he got a really good look at the ship.

She was about a hundred feet long and nearly thirty feet wide, heavy-timbered, high-sided, probably slow and clumsy, almost certainly built for carrying capacity rather than speed. She had two stout masts, each supporting a large square sail of coarse cloth, reinforced with strips of leather. The sail on the foremast showed a badge-a blue bird with outspread wings.

Looking over the port railing, Blade saw a series of ports in the ship's side a yard or so above the water, covered by stout wooden hatches. No doubt these were ports for sweeps, which the sailors could man to get the ship into or out of port against Contrary winds. She was certainly too heavy and too clumsy to row in the open sea.

At the stern an aftercastle rose one level above the main deck. Spears and axes were racked along either railing. In the shelter of the aftercastle two men stood at the long tiller, feet braced wide apart and chests slick with sweat. Apparently the people of-Gohar, the captain had said-had invented the stern rudder for their ships.

Beyond the railings, a blue sea rose and fell gently under a paler blue sky spotted with puffy white clouds. If Blade had been in England, he would have called it a perfect day for sailing. A hundred yards to either side of Blade's ship, two others kept pace with her. One was the same type as Blade's, but slightly smaller and with her foresail showing a large green hexagon as a badge. The other ship was much smaller, with no castles at either bow or stern and only a single mast.

Astern Blade could see another trio of ships, also lined up abreast. Beyond them he caught a glimpse of a seventh ship, apparently bringing up the rear by herself. This last ship seemed to be low, two-masted, and painted black all over.

Before Blade could make out any more details of the little fleet, a wild scream jerked everyone's attention aloft. On the lookout platform at the fore masthead, a sailor was hanging over the railing and waving his arms frantically.

«Pirates! Pirates! Pirates to the northwest! Three ships! Three Bloodskins!»

The captain raised his eyes to heaven and his hands to his head. He clutched at his hair, and Blade could tell what the man was thinking almost as if he'd been speaking out loud.

Pirates! Pirates now, of all times, with a madman aboard and some of my men unfit to fight! The captain turned toward the archers, and his fingers twitched as if he was about to signal them to shoot. Blade spoke quickly.

«Captain, I'm sorry about your men. I wouldn't have hurt any of them if they hadn't attacked me. I don't think most of them are too seriously hurt to fight.

«But I do owe you something for what I did to them. Give me some clothes and weapons, and I'll stand with you against the pirates.»

The captain looked from Blade to the archers, then toward the horizon, then back to Blade. His head jerked in a brief nod. «All right. But HemiGohar help you if you're lying.»

«I'm not lying about being a fighting man,» said Blade. The captain looked at the sailors either still unconscious or slowly picking themselves up, then somehow managed to laugh.

«No, you're not lying about that.»