“Well, you can’t have it…yet.” Gio flourished it. “You see that Trisians have so much wealth the meanest utensils are solid gold. Yet Mist’s clique are determined to keep it for themselves. I have bought the caravel Pavonine. At this very moment my allies in Awndyn are stocking her, and other ships. From Hacilith University I’ve found it easy to hire a pair of crusty scholars well versed in Old Morenzian inscriptions. They are optimistic of being able to interpret the basics of Trisian for us. The journey will be a challenge, I grant you, but not so difficult now a trail is blazed. There’s safety in a convoy-if you want to commandeer berths in other caravels who’ll stop you?

“I earned wealth enough from the Ghallain School to pay the crews and create an ideal life in Capharnaum without being constantly tested by the Circle. Who knows, in a couple of years, consolidated and stronger, we might return.”

A swordsman called something I couldn’t hear.

“Ah, Tirrick. I’m just skating all over the floor on those pearls of wisdom,” Gio answered sarcastically. He put the chamber pot down, fished in his inside coat pocket and held up a thick notebook that I recognized immediately. “This is Mist’s own rutter. My agents stole it when they took the chamber pot. Here are the coordinates of the island, and a comprehensive description of the route. ‘Twenty-nine degrees south, one hundred and twenty-nine degrees east,’” he read in a respectful tone. “Nearly on line with the Awndyn northing, I’m given to understand. So, how many of you will join me?”

Two or three hundred hands went up immediately; these men had nothing to lose. Gio pushed the priceless piss-pot with his toe. The Awian soldiers conferred among themselves, weighing the risks of the voyage against the rewards. Having fought in Lowespass, they were accustomed to frontiers. They raised their hands.

In fencing, it is very important to be able to change the direction of your thrust the instant you see that it’s going to miss its target. Gio knew now that he could never be strong enough to destroy the Castle, so he turned the thrust to Tris. He was prepared to exile himself to survive.

My lamp-lit window was the only source of light and sound in the whole pitch-black landscape. Everything that existed was in this hall-Eske Forest was a void. Gio raised his voice above the roar as again the rain swelled to a cloudburst. Drops bounced off the brim of my leather hat. Forked lightning bit color into the forest for an instant. Gio paused as a ten-second-long thunder crash rolled around the hollow of the little town. It hypnotized everyone in the hall. Gio stood right foot forward, held the rapier scabbard and drew the 1969 Sword with his right hand. He swung it casually, feeling its balance.

“We start for Awndyn tomorrow morning. By Sunday I’ll be in the harbormaster’s house to meet you adventurers. We will sail next week.” He held the rapier up above the crowd ostentatiously. “The Eszai have outlived morality. I won’t lie back and think of the Fourlands while the Castle screws us, time and again. Come with me!” he exclaimed. “To seek this new world-for gold and brandy!”

Gio ended, and the crowd began to applaud. They stood up, clapped and cheered him. The ovation went on and on. Gio glanced up at the windows; I turned my white face away and shrank back against the frame. Gio bounded off the stage and his friends shook his hand and slapped him on the back all the way down the hall. His eyes were hectic bright and his cheeks were flushed. The doors were thrown wide-light and people spilled out. I looked with hatred. Kill him, god, if I only had my crossbow! Kill him, I’ll jump straight on his head! If he wasn’t surrounded by swordsmen.

Gio’s voice was too low for me to hear as his knot of well-wishers bustled him out of town along the woodland path. Some men fetched their horses, others dawdled in the doorway fiddling with their lanterns.

Gio is impugning my virility and I can do absolutely nothing about it. I banged the heel of my hand against my forehead. Be calm! There will be time for revenge later. I’m not very good at later; I wanted him to suffer now.

God, I was livid. I was going to take this out on someone, and since I couldn’t beat Gio, Cinna Bawtere would have to do. I dived off the roof and flew in very turbulent air just under the low storm cloud’s base. I risked being sucked up into it. A gull battled along underneath me, vivid white against the dark iron gray. The hurricane tussled my hair and coat out behind me. My clothes were light even when waterlogged. My wings cleaved the gale, driving rainwater off their oiled surfaces, but the covert feathers were becoming damp and thinning; I was beating harder to stay up.

I followed Cinna out of Eske along the dark forest track, straining to see him. He was hidden beneath his black umbrella, sploshing toward the nearby Slaughterbridge village pub. Air roared over my wings as I slid down the sky. I struggled to slow my ground speed and maneuvered directly above him. I folded my wings back with a jolt and fell on him.

I hit Cinna with the soles of both boots between his shoulder blades, bowling him over and over into a puddle. I absorbed the impact into my legs and landed in a crouch. Cinna rolled around on his back, knees pulled up, winded. I burst out laughing; falcons must feel this exhilarated when they hit prey. “I take my hat off to you, Mister Bawtere! Never knew you had an acrobatic streak!” He kicked like a struck rabbit. A dagger appeared in his hand. He crawled out of the chalky, rain-pitted puddle and collapsed in a milk-white wet heap on the path. “The gallows waits in Eske; it’s a much shorter drop! I can take my pick of felonies in your catalog of crimes. You’re as good as dead!”

I did want to kill him. I wanted to feel the life go out of him under my hands. He saw my cruel expression-comprised of Tern’s rejection, Gio’s slander and six hours in a rainstorm-and he curled up, sobbing. Cinna’s predictability was consoling-I had thought I was losing the ability to read people. They seemed to be becoming gradually more incomprehensible.

“Ah…” Cinna panted. “Please don’t hurt me. Please…I…”

“How did Gio acquire the logbook?”

“I don’t know!…Ah…I swear! He’s a clever man; he has many agents. Ah…I respect you, Comet. You’re Eszai. You’re a legend in Hacilith.”

“Put the dagger down, then.”

Cinna did no such thing. I kicked his hand and the knife flew out of it. “Put it down!”

Cinna huddled under the remnants of his broken umbrella.

“How did Gio know of Tris?”

“I informed him. I’m sorry! You never said it was a secret!”

I suddenly realized that I had told Cinna everything, six months ago, under the influence of a fingernail full of scolopendium. Shit. It began to dawn on me that this appalling turn of events could be all my fault-caused by my big, stupid mouth.

I bated forward with my wings spread, made as if to kick him and he cowered. “Are you sailing with Gio?”

“Yes…Yes, what of it? I am My Own Man.” He huffed in a breath. “I’m to be captain of the Pavonine. Yes, Comet, I was a sailor by trade; had you forgotten? I’m returning to that trade now. It’s legal!”

“I see.” I drew my sword from under my coat skirts. “Do you believe all that bullshit Gio was spouting in there?”

Cinna knelt up, several acres of ghastly fawn brocade, and started prodding his saggy chest to check for broken ribs. His blond pin curls were plastered to his skull, his fat cheeks were ruddy. The pathetic specimen looked at me carefully through the pouring rain. “No, of course not…Though there’s a seed of truth in everything he said…He thinks you’re an alcoholic.” A knowing, assertive look appeared in his eyes. “I have a reliable source for decent cat, by the way.”