At one point, the priest's information gathering was interrupted as the door was unbarred and opened.

Several soldiers came inside carrying a large kettle of some sort of fish stew and a handful of wooden bowls. "Finish what you want and use the kettle for your jakes," one of the soldiers said. The stew was weak and watery, but to Kovrim, who hadn't eaten in more than a day because of his seasickness, it tasted fine. After everyone had a chance to nourish themselves, the priest continued his questioning.

In the end, despite the total surprise of the corsairs' attack, it sounded as though the company's losses were light. Only four were confirmed dead or mortally wounded at sea, and none of them had seen Vambran fall. Kovrim's hope that his nephew was still alive, and possibly still free, began to grow.

The supplies were not so promising. Most of their equipment, including packs, belts with pouches, and any holy symbols belonging to the priests among them, had been taken. Old Bloagy had managed to keep a small knife concealed, tucked way down in his boot, but it was hardly a weapon, and it certainly couldn't get anyone far in an escape attempt.

"Well, Crescents," Kovrim said at last, "it looks like we'll be biding our time here for the night." When everyone began to speak at once, asking why they had been attacked on the sea and why they had been taken prisoner without having even engaged the enemy in battle, Kovrim had to shout to get them to settle down. "Those are questions we don't have the answers to, yet. But if these soldiers follow any of the code, I'm sure we'll be learning more soon. In the meantime, get some rest, and no one is to try anything foolish on their own. We're still on campaign, and I'm the ranking officer, and those are my orders. Any questions?"

None of the twelve had any issues, so after another bowl of stew for each, the Crescents settled in for the night. Kovrim found a relatively comfortable spot leaning against one wall of the barn and began to try to piece together what he could of the day's events. Assuming that both the encounters with the pirates and the mercenaries were coordinated, he was troubled by the incongruity of their purposes. The pirates had wanted them dead, no quarter offered-he suspected that the kraken was their doing and not just lousy luck. The silver ravens, on the other hand, had seemed loathe to kill them, even going so far as to allow him to heal Velati. Something didn't quite make sense, but Kovrim had a suspicion he would eventually come to regret finding out the answer. He considered whether or not it was an opportune time to slip away unseen and try to hunt for some help, but he decided against it, at least for the time being. He wasn't sure if the guards had taken a head count, and he didn't want to create more trouble for the rest of the Crescents. He would wait to escape until he knew he could get away with it.

The priest fell asleep fretting about many things.

"Now remember, this place is real trouble, so be on your toes, and stay out of everyone's way," Xaphira cautioned again as she led Emriana around a corner and down the narrow side street toward the entrance to The Silver Fish.

Emriana tried to contain her sigh of exasperation. "Yes, I know," she said. "You've told me five times already."

"Well, I want to make sure you get it, Em," her aunt snapped back, startling the younger girl with her vehemence. "I'm not kidding around. This isn't practicing in the barnyard. A body or two winds up sitting outside the doors of this place just about every night."

Emriana was more careful to sound respectful and agreeable. "All right, I'll watch out."

"Good."

Emriana could hear loud, boisterous music and singing as they approached, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. They reached the entrance to the rathrur and Xaphira led the way inside. Immediately, Emriana could see what her aunt was talking about. The clientele were of the surliest, roughest sort she could have imagined, all dirty, sweaty men and women who performed the most menial labors of the city. As the two women strolled in, more than a few conversations halted as many pairs of eyes turned curiously toward them. Xaphira didn't seem to notice, but Emriana found herself feeling very self-conscious. She caught herself crowding in a little tighter behind Xaphira, almost stepping on her heels.

I can't believe she used to spend all of her time here, Emriana thought, vaguely disgusted. It's the great unwashed all packed together.

The girl wrinkled her nose at the sour smell that hung in the smoky air and followed her aunt. Xaphira led her over to a spot along the bar that was unoccupied at the moment and settled against it. Emriana noticed a dark stain that looked suspiciously like blood spattered across part of the bar nearest her. She discreetly placed her hands at her sides rather than lean against it as she tried to peer around without actually staring at anyone.

In the far corner of the rathrur, a small stage had been set up, and three musicians played a lively tune while the patrons sang along. One of the bards had a swollen, discolored nose. Emriana realized that there were actually three different sets of lyrics to the song being performed, and the crowd seemed to be competing with itself to see which of the versions was actually correct, the winner being determined by sheer volume. She listened to the version being sung by the table nearest to hers, but after getting the gist of the bawdy words, she blushed and tried to tune it out again.

One of the other patrons stood up and wandered over in Xaphira's and Emriana's direction, and the look in the fellow's eyes made the girl shiver, for it reminded her a little too much of how Denrick had looked at her that night in her bedroom, when he had her tied to a chair.

"Uh, Aunt Xaphira, don't look now, but here comes trouble," Emriana said as quietly as she dared over the music.

Xaphira slipped one of her throwing daggers free from her belt and made a show of jabbing it into the surface of the bar, though she never looked up at the approaching man, who was weaving slightly. Upon seeing the brandished weapon, the drunk fellow paused, tilted his head to one side as if considering whether or not the struggle would be worth the prize, and apparently thought better of it. He adjusted his direction to take himself to the far end of the bar and didn't look back.

Emriana shuddered again. "I can't believe you liked coming here," she grumbled, wrinkling her nose again.

Xaphira laughed. "There was a time when all of this was good sport, Em," she said, "There was nothing better than coming down to the dockside of town and slumming with the commoners."

"Why?" Emriana asked, realizing the disgust in her tone was obvious but not caring.

"Because, my dear niece, it made your grandfather unhappy," Xaphira replied. "And I enjoyed making him unhappy, just like you enjoyed making Dregaul unhappy." Then the older woman sniffed once, perhaps recalling some wistful memory about her deceased brother. "Besides, it felt good to be challenged," she added after a moment. "The folks here don't tend to fight fair, but they also don't tend to fight to kill. A black eye or broken hand was worth the experience of learning to brawl." Xaphira caught the eye of the barkeep and motioned for service, then turned back to Emriana. "It was fun," she finished.

Emriana tried not to roll her eyes. "You're lucky you didn't come home with a broken skull," she said derisively. "Actually, you're lucky you made it home at all."

"That is too true," Xaphira said, nodding in agreement. "So now you know why I told you to stay alert. I would be in the deep stable muck if I brought you home tonight with a split lip. I don't think even Hetta could save us from your mother, then."