Tang could think of worse fates, but he did not dare say so in the presence of his ambitious wife. "Lady Feng is safe." He pulled Wei Dao's hands away from his sting- ing face. "I know."

The princess scowled and tried another tack. "Still bet- ter to give Cypress what he wants. If Lady Feng is not

here when Minister Hsieh arrives, there be many ques- tions. How do you explain that Cult of Dragon steals

Third Virtuous Concubine?"

Tang pulled away from his wife and pushed his key into the gate lock. "I cannot give Cypress what he wants."

Wei Dao's perfect mouth twisted into a doubtful frown.

"What do you mean? I see hundreds of ylang blossoms in spicehouse."

"All picked in evening." Tang turned the key and heard the double click of the bolt shooting into the catch. When the commander of the guard came to fetch his men, he would have to be entrusted with the key. There was noth- ing else to be done; certainly, the garden could not be left unlocked. The prince faced his wife, then said, "Ylang blossoms picked in evening are not potent."

"Not potent?"

Tang shrugged. "They are good for balms and teas, but potion made from those blossoms does not last. Only flowers picked in morning have strength to make perma nent love potion."

Wei Dao narrowed her sloe-eyed gaze. "Why do w have only weak blossoms?"

"Because strong blossoms do not keep long. Even i journey from Shou Lung is short, they spoil before we sel them all."

Wei Dao shook her head in open disbelief. "No. You d not want venerable mother to return! You like life of bar barian!"

Unaccustomed to being addressed in such tones, ever by his own wife, the prince raised his hand-then founi

Wei Dao's wrist pressed against his own, blocking hi strike.

They glared into each other's eyes for a moment, thei

Tang asked, "What if I press oil and spell fails? Wha does Cypress do to Lady Feng then?"

Wei Dao looked away and did not answer.

"Then we do this my way," Tang said. "We wait to;

Hsieh's ship-then I press oil."

Wei Dao's face paled. "You mean…?"

"Yes." Tang nodded. "Blossoms come on Ginger Lady."

The princess's eyes grew as round as saucers. "And you do not tell Cypress?"

Tang scowled at her naivete. "Secret of oil is to press morning-picked blossoms. If we tell Cypress, do you think he returns Lady Feng to us?"

Wei Dao lowered her gaze in a practiced show of defer- ence. "My husband, your wisdom outshines the sun." She even managed a blush. "Please to excuse. I go do penance

for my doubts."

Tang smiled benevolently, then dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Do not be hard on yourself."

"Oh, but I must." Wei Dao bowed very low, then turned to scurry down the Path of Delight.

Five

The harbor at Pros seemed equal parts quicksand and mudflat, with just enough water to float the flat- bottomed scow carrying the Storm

Sprite's survivors toward shore. Ruha sat beside Captain Fowler in the front of the boat-it seemed ludicrous to call the square end a bow-scanning the shanty town ahead. Most of the buildings were gray, ramshackle affairs in desperate need of a lime wash. The huts closest to the water hovered above the beach on flimsy stilts that looked ready to pitch their loads into the mud at the slightest push. A half-dozen rickety docks jutted far out into the bay. Two of the piers were empty;

the rest bustled with fishermen unloading their take.

As the scow approached shore, Ruha noticed that most of the catch had the same high dorsal fins and wedge- shaped heads as the vicious fish that had swarmed her.

The witch could not even guess how many sharks lay piled upon the piers, but there were close to two-dozen boats unloading the sharp-toothed monsters.

Ruha looked over her shoulder to the scow pilot, a sour-faced man with leathery skin and unkempt gray hair. "That seems like a great number of sharks. Do the people of Pros eat nothing else?"

"They're not for us," the pilot replied. "The Cult of the

Dragon buys all we can take-and it pays mighty well,

I'll add."

Fowler scowled at this. "What for? Shark's hardly a

good-eating fish."

The pilot shrugged. "No one knows, and no one's asked. Since the Cult came to town, we've learned to keep our noses out of their business. You'd be wise to do

the same."

The pilot barked a command to his rowers, and the

vessel angled toward one of the empty piers. A small gang of shoremen emerged from the shanties and wan- dered down the dock, preparing to unload a cargo the

boat did not carry.

Fowler gnashed his tusks, then stood to inspect the small crowd more carefully. "I don't see Vaerana Hawk- lyn." He glared down at Ruha's face, veiled behind a beautiful silk scarf given to her by Minister Hsieh, and fingered the Harper's pin fastened inside his robe. "If she's not here, how doyou plan to pay me?"

"Vaerana will meet us." The statement was more one of hope than conviction; it had taken the disabled caravel five days to sail the short distance from the battle site to

Pros, putting Ruha ashore four days late. "And even if she does not, I have been given a local name."

"Jonas Tempaltar? No cooper I know has the gold to buy a cog." Fowler cast a longing glance toward the Gin- ger Lady, which still lay anchored in the bay, awaiting a small load of supplies needed to complete her most press- ing repairs. "It's not too late to go to Ilipur."

"Captain, if you wish to return to the Ginger Lady alone, perhaps Minister Hsieh will give you the reward."

"Not bloody likely." During the voyage to Pros, it had grown apparent that while Hsieh felt indebted to Ruha, he considered Captain Fowler little better than an ani- mal, hardly worthy of notice, and certainly not deserving of reward. "I'll see my gold from the cooper first."

The scow scraped over a mud bar, then slowed as it approached the pier. As the stubby vessel drifted along- side the dock, the pilot commanded his crew to raise oars.

The rowers stowed their equipment and threw mooring ropes to the shoremen, who quickly pulled the boat to the dock and tied it to the piles.

A pair of large warriors in steel breastplates stepped forward to peer into the empty hold. Both men wore black caps embroidered with the hastily sewn emblem of a dragon's head.

"No cargo, William?"

The pilot motioned at Ruha and her fellow survivors.