'You've thought this all through.' Dev feigned admiration.

The girl's skin was pale enough for a blush to darken it. 'No poet can afford to be a fool.'

'And there's proof of that in your bag.' Dev pursed his lips. 'Let me see. I go looking for that and you grab whatever you can steal and make a dash for the shore where you betray me to Taer Badul's swordsmen.'

'I don't see much worth stealing here.' Her mockery answered his own, but this time, her eyes strayed towards his hammock.

Dev was on her in an instant, knocking the curved knife out of her hands, the silk round her neck, his fists crossing behind her head. Before she could summon more than a stifled whine, her knees buckled and she went limp beneath him. Smiling with vicious satisfaction, Dev rolled her over, tying wrists and ankles with the scarves, binding hands and feet together behind her arched back. When she stirred, scant breaths later, her puzzlement cleared to furious realisation. She tried to spit at Dev but her mouth was too dry.

'You just rest there,' he soothed as he unhooked the lamp from the beam. 'You've got me wondering, so I'll have a look at this proof of yours.' Stroking her matted hair tenderly, he shoved the last of the rags from the floor in her mouth and gagged her. Making sure she could hear him laughing, he sauntered through the main hold.

The first thing he did in the prow space was assure himself that the boxes and bags of leaf and intoxicants were untouched. Satisfied that the scrawny little bitch hadn't been lying about that at least, he caught up a tasselled shoulder sack of heavy woven cotton, yellow trumpet flowers embroidered on the dark blue cloth.

Swinging it thoughtfully from one hand, he went back to the stern cabin. 'Feels like you've been stealing from more than me. Let's see what your loot is worth.'

The girl's glare was as fierce as a netted jungle cat's.

Dev untied the drawstring and upended the bag, sending a cascade of oddments to the floor. Squatting down, he tossed aside a tunic even more ragged than the one the girl wore, then a faded silk dress. He shook his head disdainfully. 'A fine poet you must be, if this is your performing gown.' Ignoring smeary cosmetic jars and tawdry ornaments, he reached for a solid black cylinder. 'Now, what might this be?'

It was a scroll case, leather sewn tight over ironwood, painted with dark tarit tree resin. Dev twisted the cap off and tilting the case, he slid out a thick bundle of reed papers and uncurled them.' The Ringed Dove, The Owls and the Crows, The Loal and the Turtle? He nodded with approval at the quality of the pictures. 'You stole this from a poet with a good repertoire of moral tales for children.'

The girl looked back at him for a moment before deliberately closing her eyes and turning her face to the planks beneath her.

'You'll pay attention when I'm talking to you.' Dev replaced the pictures in their case with some care, recapping the cylinder and tossing it up into his hammock.

Sitting cross-legged beside the girl he grabbed a handful of her hair and turned her face towards him. 'Try and bite me,' he continued conversationally, 'and I'll knock every tooth out of your head. Are we clear on that?'

The girl nodded but her eyes were still scornful rather than intimidated.

Dev chuckled as he ungagged her. 'You show plenty of spirit, I'll give you that.'

She licked her lips, working her dry mouth to moisten her tongue. 'You can give me my belongings and let me go.'

'But I thought you wanted passage south?' Dev looked quizzically at her. 'Changed your mind?'

She looked at him with contempt. 'Just untie me and let me go.'

'I'll give you passage south,' Dev said obligingly. 'If you are truly a poet. Though I must say,' he added with frank surprise, 'I've no notion why a poet would want to go in the opposite direction to all the potential audience.'

'I am a poet,' the girl said stoutly. 'I was apprenticed to Haytar the Blind.'

'Haytar the Blind is dead,' Dev pointed out with a grin. 'I heard that news in the Mahaf domain, not ten days since.'

She ignored him. 'Haytar was the greatest interpreter of The Book of Animals. Even a lout like you must know that.'

'I'd heard that said. Though I prefer poems about lecherous slave boys and round-arsed dancing girls myself.' Dev nodded, with an insolent glance at the girl's rump. 'So you looted his corpse and fled, did you?'

'I was his apprentice,' she repeated, tight-lipped. 'His last apprentice. He gave me that picture scroll on his deathbed and bade me use his poems to live by, until I should find a theme of my own, something to inspire a new cycle of poems that everyone would know by my name.' For the first time, tears shone in her eyes.

Dev raised sceptical eyebrows. 'And how exactly is making a voyage to the south going to lead you to one of those?'

The girl squirmed in her bonds. 'There's magic abroad in the southern reaches, truly.'

'Is there?' Dev hid his interest in disdain. 'What would a doggerel merchant like you know about that?'

'More than a vice peddler like you,' she shot back. 'There's warlords fighting wizards in domains clear across from Aedis to Ritsem. Take me as far south as you dare and when you run scared, I'll make my own way onward. There'll be tales of valour and tragedy in battles like that and I'll make an epic out of them.'

'To make your name,' Dev mocked. 'What would your name be, so I know your epic when I hear it?'

'Risala,' she said grudgingly.

'I always thought poets were mad.' Dev got to his feet, grinning. 'Now I'm sure of it. Very well, I'm tired of working this boat single-handed. I'll carry you south as long as you do whatever work I give you, and as long as you split whatever you take on shore for telling your little animal stories.' He paused by the foot of the ladder. 'Play me false and I'll cut your throat and throw you overboard for the robber eels.'

'Lizard eater,' Risala said with feeling. 'Aren't you going to untie me?'

'When we're good and clear of the beach,' Dev assured her. 'Far enough out for no one to hear you scream, if you've a mind to try tricking me from the outset. Now, you keep a civil tongue in your head, or I'll take the lamp away from you for a start.'

Risala opened her mouth again and then shut it, lips pursed.

Dev winked at her. 'Not so hard, is it?' He climbed up the ladder, his amusement fading. How much time had that nonsense cost him? How far had the Amigal drifted?

Once on deck he was relieved to see the little ship was still lolling in the dead water between the two great galleys. Better yet, the fat-bellied ships had drifted apart to leave him a way out. There was still a fair amount of commotion on shore but Taer Badul's swordsmen appeared to have left the beach. Time to go before they came back. Loosing the stern sweep from its knot, Dev drove the broad blade through the water, manoeuvring the Amigal out into open water, wondering how best to turn this unexpected turn of events to his advantage.

So Majun said that Ulla Safar was starting a war? That could be true, then again, maybe not. The girl sounded certain magic was abroad in the domains just south of Ulla waters. The first thing to do when he had her well away from shore, with nowhere to swim for, was to find out just what that certainty was based on. She could tell him or bleed for it.

What then? A more important question: was this Risala any good? If she wanted to stay aboard, she'd better give him a little recital. If she was any good, she could be an excuse for him sailing south. Everyone knew poets were mad. A trireme's shipmaster might still look askance at him, but Dev could let slip he was pandering to the girl's whims by day in exchange for the favours she was doing him by night. Besides, sailing single-handed was attracting more attention than he liked. A girl aboard would put an end to that.