Is that an omen in itself? Does it matter? Let's see what

the dusk brings by way of guidance. After that, one may or another, you're done reading the omens aboard this ship.

He began to work carefully, steadily, and the day slid away unnoticed.

'All right there, soothsayer?' Bee came to light the lantern hung high on the sternpost and Kheda realised his head was aching from the strain of concentration and the knowledge of what he must do now plain before him.

'I'm fine, thanks.' He paused to rub his eyes and ease his cramping shoulders and worked on. Music floated up from the bottom deck; Munil could put his flute to more uses than just keeping the rowers pulling in time with each other. Some while later, the cook called out to offer anyone still hungry a last bite before he raked out his stoves for the night and threw the embers over the side.

Kheda ignored the answering bustle. If he tried to eat, he would choke. That would reveal him to everyone as faithless; everyone knew how to read that portent. Showers came and went, none too heavy, their coolness still refreshing with everyone's memories of the baking dry season slow to fade. Full dark came and cloaked the water in a muffling blanket. Voices echoed across from the islands in the bay, bright like the light from the fires flickering on the rocks, shadows and shapes fleeting across the flames. Lamps glowing like polished amber hung around the Beloc pavilion ashore, music flowing liquid and graceful from strings caressed by the hands of musicians as skilled as any the Daish warlord had ever heard. From time to time, laughter threatened to go a little beyond what was decorous but any such excess was soon curbed.

Kheda moved to take advantage of the stern lantern and continued carving as the various galleys at anchor grew still and quiet, oarsmen retreating to their hammocks, the more favoured crew to their cabins. The night closed in around every boat, only held at bay by the lights making soft golden islands of each stern platform. All sound ashore ceased.

'You should get some sleep, soothsayer. We'll be heading north with the dawn.'

Kheda looked up to find Godine looking at him with veiled concern. The lad who fetched and carried for the cook stood beyond him, ready to earn his sleep when the galley was underway by pacing her upper deck to keep the night watch.

'Very true.' Kheda stood and brushed shavings of ivory from his soft, worn trousers. His fingers ached but the carving was finished. He smoothed the edges of the hole he had painstakingly bored one last, unnecessary time. He cut a length from the leather thong he'd stolen along with the quilt and threaded it through the ivory, knotting the leather securely before slipping it over his head.

'What is it?' asked Godine, puzzled.

'A reminder,' Kheda said shortly. 'Good night.'

'I'll see you in the morning,' yawned Godine, disappearing down the wider stair to the accommodation deck.

Kheda followed and made as if to go down to the rowing deck. He didn't, stopping instead to sit on the narrow ladder, listening. The boy's soft footsteps brushed on the planks above his head before disappearing towards the prow. A few rustles and snores came up from the rowing deck but no sound to suggest anyone was wakeful down there. He couldn't hear anything from the lowest hold where the rest of the oarsmen must surely be sleeping soundly. He sat in the darkness and counted off all the constellations he could recall, in order, as they would be set around the unseen compass of the heavens above.

Finally, he moved, climbing noiselessly back up to the accommodation deck. He walked with agonised stealth past light doors fitted with louvred panels to let a little cooling air flow through the niggardly rooms. Not that Godine, Munil or Bee would complain. Lack of living space was a trade they were happy to make, in exchange for the solidly walled storerooms beyond, a share set aside for their own use, their own assets hopefully increasing with every landfall.

Who are you going to steal from this time? It has to be the shipmaster or one of the overseers. If you steal from Ikadi Nass, at best they'll be flogged, at worst hanged from their own mast. No warlord could let such a thing pass, and they'd still be under suspicion even after they'd been lashed till their ribs showed. You owe Godine more than that and you had better make sure you reclaim your rights at the end of all this, so you can make recompense for his losses.

Kheda passed the storerooms close to the cabins where the men slept, where Godine guarded the valuables he carried in trust for his lord. The space they were granted for their own use lay beyond what little light came down the ladder from the stern lantern. Kheda took the heavy stained knife out from beneath his tunic; a dishonourable tool for a dishonourable job. Then he realised he didn't know which store had been granted to which man.

Let this serve as an augury, then, a test. If I am truly doing right by my domain, following a true path, I should find something that will buy me a passage to Shek Kul's domain. If I'm caught and killed, well, that disaster's already overtaken the Daish domain, as far as anyone else is concerned.

With that realisation, the slight tremor in his hands stilled. Feeling his way as much as seeing, Kheda moved cautiously to the first door. He eased the tip of the crude knife into the crack between the lock and the jamb. Leaning all his weight, he forced it in further, at the cost of muted splintering noises. He wrenched the knife towards himself and the wood gave way with a loud crack. Kheda stood, motionless, distantly wondering why the heart hammering in his chest wasn't breaking his ribs.

No one stirred behind the cabin doors. The boy on watch didn't come running on curious feet. No prying face appeared at the top of the ladder down to the rowing deck. Kheda pushed the door and slid inside the store. It was windowless, the better to foil any of the two-footed rats that skulked around some insalubrious anchorages. A small candle lantern hung on a nail beside the door with a spark maker on a little shelf below it. Kheda lit the lantern and put the spark maker back.

Fool. You're a thief now. Steal things that you might need, and think how best to avoid being caught while you're at it.

He pocketed the spark maker and used his bag both to wedge the door shut as best he could and muffle any telltale light slipping beneath it. In the dim candlelight, he considered his options. There were several bolts of fine muslin in pale colours and one of a red-shot golden silk as well as hanks of goat hair for shawls. Kheda ignored them, too big, too heavy, too bulky. He sniffed at a row of middling-sized casks. Sharpnuts, lemon spice and more of that cursed agali root. He stifled a sneeze. All valuable enough but worthless to him at present. An open-topped crate had smaller boxes made of roughly split cane stacked inside it. Kheda untied the cords securing the topmost.

Packed carefully in a nest of grubby tandra fluff, he found a trio of white crystal cups carved like coiled shells. Relief made him almost light-headed. He hastily reknotted the cord, reaching for the next. That held more Ikadi domain quartz, this time a nested set of bowls shaped like vizail blossoms. One more and that would surely be enough. His hand hesitated before snatching up a third box. He opened it to reveal a rock crystal goblet, its rim ornamented with canthira leaves.

Enough. It cannot be that far to Shek Kul's domain and any one of these should buy you passage clear across the Archipelago.

Kheda grabbed his bag and stowed his loot inside. Then he halted, motionless for a moment, before taking the cord from one of the boxes in the crate, knotting it around the leather thong holding the ivory spiral beneath his tunic.