Havarian fished around in the bottom of the boat and smiled when he came up with a stout earthenware bottle sealed with a cork. He popped the cork out between his ragged, gray-yellow teeth and downed a huge swallow of whatever was contained inside. When he took the bottle from his lips his eyes bulged dangerously, as if they were going to pop out of his head, and he seemed to be either trying to take a deep breath in, or scream.

"Havarian?" Abdel asked, momentarily concerned.

The old pirate finally let loose a huge, phlegmy cough. Spittle and mucus trailed off his chin, and his body convulsed through a series of deep gags.

"Are you all right?" Abdel asked.

Havarian managed a laugh and said, "Smooth..»

Abdel sighed and threw his back into the rowing. He couldn't get there fast enough.

Abdel didn't study the island asylum very carefully at all. He could spot the tallest tower easily enough and made straight for it. The building did generate a kind of dull foreboding, and Abdel had to work to keep it out of his mind. He didn't want to think too much about what he was doing. He didn't want to think that he was intentionally breaking into a place that no one would ever want to see the inside of.

Abdel shook his head and rowed faster.

"Ease up, kid," the old pirate grumbled. Havarian looked up at the towers and battlements of the fortress-like asylum and went pale. "Ye sure yer'll wantin' to be in such a hurry?"

"I need to get to that wall, there," Abdel said, ignoring the old man's question, "below the tallest tower."

Havarian scanned the rocky shoreline and pointed at a collection of boulders that made something like a miniature harbor. Waves crashed all around, but there was a small place of relative calm no more than a few yards from the base of the tower. The smooth brick wall rose up from the jumble of boulders, just at the edge of the island.

"I can get yer in there nice enough," Havarian said, taking the oars, "but I won't be hangin' around this rock, boy. Yer passage was one way, hear?"

Abdel smirked and nodded impatiently. Havarian turned the dinghy into the shelter of the boulders and nodded once to Abdel when he thought it was shallow enough for the sellsword to get out of the boat.

"Don't die in a place like this, boy," Captain Havarian called after Abdel, who was wading toward the boulders at the foot of the wall. "It's a bad place to let yer soul loose in."

Abdel nodded again, only glancing at the old man long enough to see him already rowing quickly away from the island.

It took Abdel only a few minutes to find the odd glyph Bodhi had traced for him.

He said "Nchasme," in a loud, confident voice and was rewarded with the sound of stone grinding on stone.

A cluster of bricks pulled back into the wall slowly, shedding dust as they moved. A door barely big enough for Abdel to squeeze through opened into darkness. Abdel thought he heard a man screaming from somewhere far away, and he looked back at the little harbor. There was no sign of Captain Havarian.

Abdel forced a smile and ducked into the opening.

The man was missing both his legs, but that wasn't his most obvious handicap. Abdel took another small step toward him, the big sellsword biting his bottom lip in puzzled indecision. The madman with no legs was weeping inconsolably and occasionally barking out a strangled, desperate, "Where are you going?"

Unfortunately for Abdel, he was doing this in the open doorway that was the only exit out of the straw-littered room. The place smelled so strongly of urine it was all Abdel could do to hold his stomach down. He could have simply pulled the man away and passed, but there was something about the grimy, crawling skin and the gnashing, ground-flat teeth, the flying spittle, the crawling lice, the smell, and the insane, unpredictable nature of the man that made even Abdel more than a little reluctant to touch him.

Abdel cleared his throat, but the madman gave no sign that he noticed the sellsword or any one of the handful of asylum inmates in the room.

"I need to pass," Abdel said, in a clear, unwavering voice that still sounded weak somehow.

The madman didn't look up, but he did sob loudly once and squeak out, "Come back, come back, come …"

"Oh, 'e ain't movin', swab," one of the other inmates, a vile-smelling man in the garb of a sailor, drawled with a wink and a smirk.

Abdel looked at the sailor and sighed. Looking at him made it clear to Abdel that it wasn't the straw on the floor that smelled so bad—it was the sailor.

"That one ain't moved since …" the sailor said, obviously not sure how long the crippled madman had occupied this inconvenient resting place.

"I need to get through there," Abdel told the sailor, as if that would help.

The sailor laughed, showing more empty space than teeth, and said, "Why'd ye e'er set that course, swab? That away leads in."

"In?" Abdel asked.

The sailor nodded, smiling broadly.

"I need to go farther in," Abdel told the sailor. "I need to go all the way in."

"Ye're mad, then," the sailor said.

"So I've come to the right place," Abdel replied, drawing his broadsword and taking three confident steps toward the man in the doorway.

" 'E won't like that," the sailor warned. "The coordinator, 'e don't want nobody to kill nobody."

Abdel stopped and turned, glancing at the blade and realizing he didn't want to kill this poor wretch anyway. "What are you talking about?"

"The coordinator," the sailor said, his tone at once condescending and afraid. "The captain o' this nut house. Big time lord mage type, this one. 'E'll rip ye apart… seen that one do it, too, I 'ave."

"The coordinator?" Abdel asked.

"Aye."

"Take me to him."

The sailor smiled and said, "Name's Mai Cheirar."

Abdel narrowed his eyes. He'd seen dozens of this type before. Pirates, cutthroats, scalawags, whatever you called them, they weren't to be trusted, not even tolerated. Abdel had ended up killing as many of them as not.

"Take me to him, now."

Mai Cheirar stopped smiling and nodded curtly. He sized up Abdel quickly, then smiled again. "Ye'll 'ave to move that one after all, mate."

Abdel turned to the man in the doorway and lifted the broadsword high, holding it as if to behead the raving lunatic.

"I need to get through that doorway," Abdel said slowly.

This time the man looked up, revealing a bruised, pockmarked face.

"All…" he croaked out with a voice deeper than his earlier plaintive wails would ever have hinted at, ". . you … had to … do was … ask."

Abdel sighed, not enjoying being played for a fool. "Just move," he demanded.

The suddenly lucid inmate scuttled out of the doorway and Abdel wasted no time stepping over his slowly receding form with Mai Cheirar in reluctant tow. He passed into a narrow corridor, lit by guttering torches that made the place smell of smoke. There was a faint breeze that kept the smoke from getting too thick, but the air in the corridor was heavy and hot just the same.

Abdel looked at the pirate, who pointed, smiling, in one direction. Abdel was tempted to start off in the opposite direction, but after a moment's indecision, he followed the man's lead. Abdel had to hold his breath when the pirate passed, and as they continued down the corridor, Abdel intentionally fell behind, hoping some space would lessen the stench.

"Ye're sure about this?" the pirate asked, his voice echoing in the tight, windowless space. "Ye're sure ye wanna meet the coordinator?"

"You're sure this is the way?" Abdel asked, ignoring the pirate's question. He tried to breathe only through his mouth. Mai Cheirar passed out of sight briefly as the corridor took a sharp turn to the right. Abdel took the opportunity to take a breath and rub his eyes.