‘I can be very persuasive.’

‘I’m so afraid you’ll be disappointed,’ Serrah said.

‘More than I have been?’ He softened, smiled. ‘Until just lately.’

She brightened, and smiled back.

‘You’ll be going together?’ Pallidea wondered.

Serrah looked to her man. ‘Reeth knows better than to try it without me.’

Darrok gave a gritty laugh. ‘Never thought I’d see you blush, Serrah.’

She made a suggestion concerning where he could put his hovering saucer, bringing a grin to Pallidea’s lips, a rare sight.

The snow was getting heavier. Somebody had planted a scorpion insignia on top of a nearby hillock, and the green pennant fluttered noisily in the bitter wind.

‘Whatever you decide, Reeth,’ Serrah declared, wrapping her cloak tighter, ‘you know I’ll back you. But I hope we can do something about Kinsel first.’

‘I won’t go until we do.’

‘Good. You know, Tanalvah told me something about Kinsel from when he was a boy that I’ve never mentioned to you. His father was arrested by the authorities. Some trumped-up charge, apparently. They forced him into slave labour, and then the army. It killed him. And it really struck me, and Tan too, I think, how that’s so similar to what’s happened to Kinsel himself. Like father, like son. Only we can’t let him end up the same way, can we?’

‘He deserves our help,’ Darrok decided. ‘You and I should talk this over, Reeth.’

‘That was my thought. Tell me, assuming it is Kinsel out there, and Vance has him, what do you make of the singing?’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised. For a man who acts like a savage, Vance has some unexpectedly cultured tastes.’

‘You think he’d be indulging them during a raid?’

‘You don’t know him, Reeth. He’s perfectly capable of something like that. To add a note of drama to the proceedings perhaps, though the gods know they seemed dramatic enough to me at the time. Or to cosset himself against our victory. He’s unpredictable. He could simply have been taunting us.’

‘You mean he might know about the connection between us and Kinsel?’

‘Who can say? After time on a galley, and left to Vance’s tender mercies, your friend might be made to reveal anything.’

‘The CIS’s torturers couldn’t break him. Or the paladins.’

Darrok raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m impressed. A brave man.’

‘I’ve often wondered,’ Serrah said, ‘why they sentenced Kinsel to the galleys rather than just executing him.’

‘You need to understand the nature of our rulers,’ Darrok offered. ‘It could have been a sop to the masses. A way of showing that insurgence won’t be tolerated, but without the stigma of actually being seen to put a popular man to death. Politics plays a big part in these decisions. Given the character of our self-appointed leaders, it was as likely to have been pure sadism. They had to know his end would be lingering and painful.’

‘That sounds like the bastards,’ Serrah remarked.

Darrok absently brushed snowflakes from his tunic and looked to the sky, blinking. ‘This is getting too rough. We’ll have to call off the exterior work, damn it. Let’s get inside.’

Serrah and Caldason slipped arms around each other’s waists. With Pallidea walking beside his floating dish, Darrok led them towards the mock fortress’s grand entrance. He signalled as he moved, a silent order for the grateful workers to down tools and seek shelter. The swirling snow had the look of countless locusts descending. Fires were doused, horses draped with blankets. A young girl collecting discarded nails in a bucket laid down her burden and ran for cover.

‘We shouldn’t leave things too long as far as Rukanis is concerned,’ Darrok said. ‘What he suffered in the galleys wouldn’t compare to what Vance can put him through. I feel sorry for your friend if he really is in that devil’s hands.’

‘Go on, have a grape.’

‘Thank you, no,’ Kinsel Rukanis repeated stiffly, keeping his eyes downcast. He’d found it safer that way.

Kingdom Vance replaced the crystal fruit bowl on a polished oak table. He plucked a grape for himself, popped it into his mouth and assumed an exaggerated expression of pleasure. ‘Hmmm. You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘What I’m missing,’ Kinsel said, daring to lift his gaze, ‘is my freedom.’

The pirate feigned concern. ‘Is my generosity lacking in some way? Is the quality of the wine not to your liking? Are the silk sheets on your bed-’

‘I hate to spoil the delight you take in mocking me, Vance, but please don’t abuse my intelligence.’

‘You think it intelligent to insult my generosity? When someone talks to me like that it’s usually a prelude to their death.’

‘Then have done with it. Even dying’s preferable to your brand of hospitality.’

‘You can have your freedom whenever you want. Or at least a chance to win it. You’ve only to meet me in combat. We can do it now, up on deck.’

‘I’ve told you before that I won’t do that.’

‘Should you win, I give you my word that my crew would release you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Or if it’s a question of your skills being less than mine, I’m sure we could find a way of evening the odds. I could fight with one hand tied, perhaps.’

‘I’ll not lift a sword against you or any other man.’

Vance laughed. ‘You fascinate me, Rukanis. You’re not a coward, yet you don’t believe in violence. Whereas I’ve always found it an invaluable tool in my line, not to mention a continuous source of entertainment.’

It was no idle boast. Kinsel had seen Vance’s fickle brutality toward his enemies and crew alike.

Both men were big, in their different ways. Vance was taller than average and large-framed. A mass of black curly hair framed his craggy, blemished face, and he was full-bearded. He favoured showy clothing; blue ankle-length frockcoat with gold trimming, breeches stuffed into thigh-high leather boots. And he swathed himself in jewellery: bracelets and ear studs, chains and pendants, rings on every finger.

Where Vance was flamboyant, Rukanis was modest by nature; in his life before slavery he could hardly have been called ostentatious. He was a little below the norm in height, and thickset, with a slightly barrelled chest that denoted the extra lung capacity of a singer; though the tattered convict’s uniform he currently wore hung looser now. His hair and beard were dark and had started out trimmed short, but now both were growing unruly.

Vance crunched into a red apple. ‘If you’re not willing to fight for your freedom,’ he said, chewing, ‘I’m not inclined to grant it.’ He discarded the apple after a further bite, tossing it casually over his shoulder. It joined a clutter of half eaten fruit littering the floor of his grandly appointed cabin. ‘Besides, you’re more use to me alive.’

‘Why?’

‘The gift of your voice, for one thing. Despite what you may think, I’m no savage.’ He belched and wiped the juice from his beard with the back of his sleeve.

‘What’s the other thing?’

‘You were sentenced for Resistance activities. Who better to call for those on the island to give up?’

‘I’d be appealing to strangers. Why should they listen to me?’

‘You underestimate your influence. The Diamond Isle’s been taken over by rebels. Chances are you know some of them.’

‘That’s quite an assumption. And even if I did, why should they give up because of me? Their vision’s bigger than one man.’

‘Vision,’ the pirate mouthed contemptuously. ‘They have as much vision as a eunuch looking for a good time in a whorehouse.’ He fixed Rukanis with a steely gaze. ‘Do you know Zahgadiah Darrok?’

‘I’ve heard the name,’ Kinsel replied cagily.

‘Darrok’s behind this defiance. He’s formed a union with these damned revolutionaries to keep me from what’s rightfully mine.’

‘You mean the island? I thought he owned it.’