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I knew it meant trouble as soon as the cry went up: "Sail in the west!" It could have been another merchant ship, of course, something innocuous. I felt it an ill portent, though, and the worried glances Valentine and the mate exchanged told me I wasn't alone. They too feared it was the pirate.

"Flag or masthead?" the mate called up.

"Not yet," the lookout shouted back. "She's on the horizon. Just the sail."

I interrupted another worried look between the mate and my old friend. "She's probably a whaling vessel. They're out late in the season." Drawing on my training to keep my voice and appearance calm was second nature. It wouldn't do to let them see my own reservations, any more than it would to allow an audience to see any hint of uncertainty during the blade dance. "I'll be below. Call me if the lookout makes out her flag."

Slowly, I turned and strode to the ladder; a show of a different kind than I'd used to put on. It wasn't until I was below deck and in my own cabin that I let myself lash out, my fist smacking into the rope-wrapped beam.

She was no whaling vessel on the horizon, I knew that much -- not unless her captain was a bigger fool than I. There were no ships of any kind in the Sea of Dragons this season, nor the last. No ships save the pirate's, since his reign of terror, begun a year past, had taken so many. I was the only captain who'd been foolish enough to sail these waters, tempted by the gold a cargo of wool, lamp oil, worked metal, and seasoned wood would bring from Dar Halik. I'd wagered on eluding the pirate, and now he'd caught me.

I was never one to give up easily, though. The charts were already laid out on my table. I judged the wind and the current, found my position, and started the calculations. My ship, the Zephyr, wasn't as light as her namesake, but she was a fast vessel for all that, and I thought I could make port in Menglad in four days, perhaps three. Assuming I could keep out of the pirate's hands for that long...

It wasn't necessarily safe even in port, of course. The pirate had sacked and burned two coastal cities last season. But the warriors of Menglad were fierce, and it was more hope than we'd have if the Zephyr should be taken at sea.

I was still considering our course when Valentine walked into the cabin, rapping on the door as he came. A sailor ought by rights to treat his captain with more formal respect than that, but I couldn't complain about Valentine. The roguish fox had been my friend for years, had taken me in when I'd had nowhere else to turn. Besides, he had the respect of the crew. He hadn't dared volunteer to captain the ship, perhaps, but the Arcadians wouldn't have crewed it if he hadn't signed on.

Perhaps that would have been for the better, in hindsight.

"Looks like our luck's run out, Set. Captain Kitsuki, I mean." He managed a smile at that, but it was a wan, sickly-looking thing.

I shook my head; I had no patience for jokes. "A vixen makes her own luck, Val. We can reach Dar Halik in three days, if we can stay clear that long."

Valentine's cloudy blue eyes flitted to the charts, and he ruefully shook his head. "Not likely the Zephyr will outrun those blackguards. I've never heard of any ship outpacing Malak Kolenka."

I couldn't help scowling at the name. As much as I owed Valentine for rescuing me after that affair in Xian, he could be as much of a superstitious barbarian as the other Arcadians, sometimes. Malak Kolenka had terrified merchant traders on the Sea of Dragons over a century ago, and still they cringed at his name. "It isn't him. Just a clever cat using his name. Kolenka's been dead a hundred years."

He favored me with that wry smile of his, the one that told me he'd heard but hadn't listened. "Course, Captain. Anyway, he'll have us. The Zephyr doesn't run well enough to carry us to port ahead of him. If there're gods you pray to in Genji, you might want to start."

I felt my lips curling back, baring my teeth in frustration. He could well be right; he had more experience than I. It would be a tight race for sure, and the port wasn't certain safety even if we made it.

"Regrets, Set?" he asked softly.

Again I shook my head. "No. We're not finished yet. We make for Dar Halik with all speed."

"Best make some of your luck, then." It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw approval in his gaze before I turned to head on deck.

*

The sail on the horizon grew, the hull appearing as a distant blur. The ship drew nearer to us. Any traces of doubt I retained were gone, but it was a few hours more before the lookout confirmed my fear. "Flag, Cap'n!" he called down.

The tremor in his voice told me what I needed to know, but still I yelled back, "What colors does she fly?"

"Skull and bloody bones."

The deck fell silent at the reply, as silent as a ship at sea could be; then, a moment later, came the harsh susurrus of whispers as those sailors off-watch, who'd gathered about on the deck, repeated the information to each other. With each repetition of the phrase, the terror in their eyes grew.

I stamped my foot on the deck, heavily, letting the boom still the whispers. When I had their attention, Valentine growled, "Belay that." They spoke no more, and soon dispersed as he went to them with a few quiet words.

I was grateful for the support; I wasn't certain what to say, myself. They were convinced it was the legendary pirate giving chase to us. As if no other vessel could fly that flag! But they held tightly to their beliefs. Even Valentine was certain of it, and if I couldn't convince him, I'd never convince them. They respected me well enough, having seen my skill, but they didn't trust me the way they trusted him. Captain Setsuna Kitsuki had sailed with Valentine for years, but to them, she was still the outsider from Genji.

But to be truthful, I hadn't minded that too much. Not until now.

I turned my attention from the western horizon and the blurred smudge that was the pursuing ship to the north, and started. "The sky, there. What do you make of it?" I asked the mate.

The young wolf turned, his eyes blinking. Squinting, he leaned against the rail, studying the distant line where sea and sky met. Uncertainly, he said, "Looks like storm clouds..." A smile spread over his lips as he took in the meaning. "A storm in the north, Cap'n!"

I nodded, relieved to hear my observation confirmed. A storm meant trouble, usually, but this time... If we caught the storm before the pirate caught us, we might be able to slip away from him. The storm meant a possible escape, and I could see new hope lighting the sailors' eyes as they set to the tasks I called out. The cargo had to be secured, the lines prepared, the hatches battened, the storm canvas readied, a thousand small tasks seen to. The Arcadians set to them with a will.

Dusk fell in what seemed a short time. I retired to my cabin two hours into the night's watch, and once again Valentine paid a visit.

"Come in," I said, though he'd already pushed the door open and strode into the room.

"Might be I was wrong, Set. Storm's rolling closer."

I nodded. "Good news. If it hits us before he closes on us, we can lose him. The sea's a big place."

"We'll want to make for port. He'll find us otherwise. Even if we lose him, he'll find us, so long's we're at sea."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I know you think it's Malak Kolenka out there, but even he couldn't track a ship across the open seas. Besides, Kolenka's decades dead."

Valentine shrugged, his gaze turning toward the ceiling, as it tended to when he was deep in thought. "Hope you're right, Set. Thing is, though, Malak Kolenka's a black sorcerer. Might be he was never dead, just adrift, or marooned. Eighty years might's well be a week to a sorcerer, look you."

I forced a laugh at that. "A sorcerer? But nobody's ever seen him work any magic, have they? There'd be something more than empty legends, if anyone had seen any magic winds or the like. Someone would've mentioned it."

He smiled slightly, without humor, as if he knew something I didn't. "No one he's attacked has ever lived to tell any tales," he said quietly. "Me, I'll trust your luck to get us to Dar Halik."

I hoped my luck would prove trustworthy.

I hoped I'd come up with a plan.

*

The next day dawned clear, though the black clouds on the horizon had spread a little further across the northern sky. The pirate's ship behind us was closer, too, but not as much as the storm, I thought.

The storm would hit first. The storm had to hit first.

Each hour passed agonizingly slowly that morning, with the ship behind drawing closer, and the storm ahead growing darker. By midday we could see her hull from the quarterdeck -- just a spot, still, beneath the expansive sails, but no mere blur. She was close, too close. We couldn't have outraced her to port; Valentine had been right about that. The storm, though... the storm changed matters.

I found it hard to sit down to the midday meal; I had no appetite. I forced myself to eat, anyway.

Valentine entered my cabin just as I was finishing my meal. I tossed down the rest of the weak wine I'd been drinking and met his gaze. "Which is closer? Still the storm?"

"Mal-- The pirate," he said, shaking his head. "It's a fast ship he's got, and the lookout reckons he's picked up some speed. She'll be on us an hour or two after sundown."

"That soon?" I sighed. "We'll have to hope for the storm. Otherwise..." I felt my fingers curl into fists. "Have the mate hand out the weapons. If nothing else, we can fight."

"Fight sorcery with axes and spears? As well fight one of those lion Myrmidons with a toothpick, Set."

I scowled, then. It was not something I often allowed myself to do in front of others -- even friends. "Then we'll die warriors' deaths. I will not give up, Valentine." He seemed taken aback by my use of his full name, as well he might. "Now move! Get those weapons!"

He hid his wounded look quickly, but not quickly enough to mask it from me. I'd regretted snapping at him the moment he'd left my cabin. But I couldn't go to apologize, either; I was right about this. I was. Perhaps all he said was correct, and we could no more defeat the pirate through force of arms than a single ant could topple a rhinoceros. Still I would give them the opportunity to stand. They would not die unarmed, cut down by a murderous pirate crew like peasants' grain beneath the trampling hooves of a provincial lord's army. They could fight. There was no shame in falling to a greater foe.

That might be little comfort to my crew, though. Arcadians had some strange beliefs.

A plan. I needed a plan. I felt there must be something I could do, something that would be clear to a more experienced captain, and yet I could see nothing. I would have to trust in the storm... and in luck. And I hated to trust in luck. A vixen, I'd said, makes her own, and I believed it as strongly as I believed anything.

There are times, however, when belief is not enough.

*

The sun had nearly set when I next made my way above deck. I'd taken the opportunity to snatch a bit of sleep -- if it came to a fight, I wanted to be well rested. The Xianese saber I now wore was a comforting weight against my hip; the quiet chime of its rings against the back of its blade was somehow reassuring. With that blade in hand, I had no fear of the prospect of facing a pirate crew, should it come to that.

The Arcadians were gathered about the decks in loose knots, conferring in hushed voices. Now and then one sailor would break away from his group and trot to another, or to Valentine, who leaned against the rail looking steadily toward the billowing sails of the pirate ship that chased us. The ship, I noted, was indeed much closer, but we seemed to have gained a little ground since the last estimate; she'd make hailing distance in two or three hours, and be on us a little after that.

I saw, too, that the weapons had been handed out. The fact failed to fill me with confidence. Each of the crew held a rusty axe or spear, most of them rather distrustfully. These were no warriors; some, I guessed, had never fought in anything more serious than an occasional tavern brawl.

Yes, the Arcadians might have their warriors' deaths. But they'd take few enough of the pirates with them. There was no chance of winning a pitched battle.

I turned toward the north, trying to read the wind. The storm seemed to be coming on swiftly; what had been a blurred dark mass against the horizon was now a massive array of black thunderclouds blanketing the northern sky. I guessed at our speed, the pirate ship's speed, and the speed of the storm, but I failed to arrive at any certain conclusions. It was a slim hope to be hanging our lives on.

Still, it was a hope.

My musings were interrupted by the approach of one of the sailors, an otter from Arithea. I remembered him; he'd signed on for a love of the sea. Ancestors, he was young. "Cap'n," he said gravely, then stood, scuffing a foot against the deck, not sure how to proceed.

I waited.

"The thing is, Cap'n," he finally continued. "Me an' some of the others were talkin', see, and it's, well, it's the pirate, Cap'n. You reckon maybe if we turn about an' surrender, he might be satisfied wi' the ship an' cargo, and let us go? Some o' the others, they say pirates'll do that, sometimes."

I listened to the speech with, I think, more bemusement than anger. These Arcadians were odd folk. On a Genjese vessel, a mere sailor would never think of questioning the captain; it would be tantamount to mutiny. Even a mate would step cautiously, perhaps asking the captain to clarify while apologizing profusely for his own failure in misunderstanding the captain's intent. But Arcadians, they'll question if they've a mind to. This democracy of theirs makes them insubordinate.

Sometimes, though, it also makes them clever. Insightful.

"How many of the others think that, lad?" I asked, gently.

He opened his mouth to answer, but he never had the chance. There was a sudden rush of air past us, accompanied by something else -- some sensation that set my fur, and the otter's, too, standing on end. A heartbeat later, with a sizzling roar, a column of flame slammed into on of the Zephyr's sails, lighting a sickly green-tinged blaze.

The otter gaped at the place the blast had struck, for a moment. So did I. So, I think, did every sailor aboard. It seemed that there was indeed a sorcerer among the pirates.

I snapped out of my daze and clapped the otter on the shoulder, hard. "Get up there." Turning toward the deck, I raised my voice. "Get up there, the lot of you! Into the rigging! Cut that loose, before we burn to the waterline!"

The more seasoned sailors among them were moving before I'd finished, climbing the ropes and scampering among the rigging to cut away the burning canvas and cast it into the sea. No sooner had it struck the water than a voice rang out around us.

"Ahoy the ship! Turn about and prepare for boarding! This is Captain Malak Kolenka of the Reaper's Kiss, and I mean to have your ship and your lives!"

"Maybe you were right," I muttered to Valentine, who I found standing by my side once more. "Maybe it is him."

He turned to look at me, silent, not even a trace of the raffish grin he'd normally sport at hearing me admit I might have erred. Lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug gesture, he turned to gaze upward at the place where the scrap of sail had been cut away. "They'll be wanting your answer," he murmured at last.

I tore my gaze from him and regarded the knots of sailors who were looking toward me. "Some of you were thinking we should turn about," I said. My voice was quieter than it should have been, but it carried. There was none of the usual chatter to interfere; I had their full attention, if only for a short time. "That the pirates might release us. Now you know. This is no ordinary pirate hounding us for treasure. This is Malak Kolenka, the blackest sorcerer ever to sail the seas." Personally, I still doubted it was the old pirate of legend, but there was no room for doubts among my crew, and they believed. "You all know he's never left survivors. If this were any other pirate, we could hope for mercy... we could even fight." I sighed, forced to give up the notion of battle; Kolenka could simply burn us from afar. There was no glory to be had in such a death. "But if we turn about, we give up our lives along with our ship. Our only chance is to lose him in the storm. It's coming on fast. We can reach it before he reaches us. So let's get to it."

As rousing speeches go, it would never match those the minstrels sing about. It served, though; more than one of them looked to the place where the bolt of sorcerous fire had struck, and I saw fear and uncertainty replaced by determination.

Genjese would not have responded so. When dealing with Arcadians, however, never underestimate self-preservation as a motivating device.

It helped that I knew they wouldn't mutiny, of course. What good would it do them?

The sailors sprang about their tasks with new vigor, and I paced the deck, stopping now and then to measure the distance between the Zephyr and the pirate ship. I expected another bolt of that hellfire to come roaring into our hull at any moment, but minutes passed without any such sign.

I stopped wondering why when I looked to the north sky.

The sun had set, so it had stolen up almost unnoticed, but now the looming clouds rolled across the gibbous moon that had shone in the sky. I started, realizing for the first time just how quickly it was coming upon us. Kolenka's crew must have noticed, I thought, and been distracted making preparations. While mine... we had made some earlier, of course, but my crew might be unprepared.

"All hands!" I bellowed, making my way hastily toward the wheel. "Storm out of the north! Into the lines! Furl the sail! It's coming in quick, and it's straight out of the hells!"

The mate was at the wheel, and he gave me a startled look as I took it, holding us as straight on course as I could. "Lines," I barked at him; he nodded, departing with all dispatch. I felt the wind shift; I could smell the storm, now, I thought, a tingling ozone scent. But no; the wind was wrong for that. My imagination.

It was only minutes before the storm broke on us. One moment we were dry; the next, we were caught up in a wailing wall of wind and water, fierce gusts and high waves pounding at the ship. I heard, over the howling gale, the sharp sound of a sail splitting. The deck became treacherous, underfoot, slick with rain and seawater. I thought I saw one of the sailors swept overboard, but I couldn't be sure.

Kolenka's booming voice spoke out of thin air again, its thunder dwarfing the roar of the wind. "Damn your souls! Storm or no storm, I'll have your ship!" This threat was accompanied by another burst of green flame, but this time, the searing column whooshed past the Zephyr, smashing into one of the towering waves.

I found it somewhat reassuring. Whatever his unearthly talents, this sorcerer-pirate who called himself Malak Kolenka did not possess unerring aim.

I hadn't much time to reflect on that, though. My fingers were already numb in the chill rain, my muscles aching as I wrestled the wheel. Someone -- Valentine, I thought -- brought a heavy cloak to drape over me, and I was grateful, though it was but little help.

Such a tempest I'd seen only once before, and that one had destroyed my parents' little craft, and them along with it, and had nearly taken me into the bargain. The Zephyr was a ship made of sterner stuff, but still I began to wonder whether the storm was not a greater enemy than the pirate behind. The gargantuan waves threatened to capsize us at any turn, given a slip of the wheel; the pelting rain ran in rivers over the deck. We were taking on water; that, too, could sink us. Lastly, there was the wind, screaming from every direction, eager to pluck an unwary sailor from the rigging and dash him into the waves. The chill made fingers numb on the lifelines; the wetness made footing treacherous on the wood. The squall was like one of the leviathans of legend, risen from the depths to devour my Zephyr in a single snap of its jaws.

Then an arc of green flame struck the wheel not a foot from my hand, and I reassessed. The sorcerer was the greater threat. Fortunately I had to hack through and throw overboard only a portion of a single spoke of the massive wheel; it would still serve.

I started to hope that the wind and waves would claim the Reaper's Kiss, but each time the Zephyr rose atop a swell of water, the pirate vessel was visible behind, its lights swinging wildly but somehow still aglow. Every now and then, a blast of the sorcerer's hellfire would shriek out of the darkness; many struck the ocean harmlessly, but others tore into the sails, setting them alight despite the downpour, and the nimble sailors in the rigging would have to scurry to cut away canvas, rope, and wood. Once, a ghastly shriek came from overhead; a blast had caught a wolf in the chest, and he fell burning into the sea. He was still burning even after the water closed over his body; I could see the glow dimly in the ocean behind us for a short time.

There was no time for mourning.

Time almost seemed to stop, for a while. It began to seem as if we had always sailed amid the tempest, our way lit by flashes of lightning overhead and by the blaze of green mageflame. At some point, the mate had rejoined me at the wheel, for it took two of us to hold the ship against the forces that tossed us about. At some point, we had both been tied to that same wheel, to keep either of us from being swept away by the torrents of wind and water that battered us. At times I was dimly aware of Valentine or another sailor, struggling about some task, but for the most part, my world was the wheel. The wheel and the storm.

And then it was over.

It was late in the evening of the next day before the storm had spent its fury. A low, constant drizzle remained, the sort that would soak everything in cold water, but there was nothing that could do to increase our discomfort: everything was already drenched.

A little numb from chill and lack of sleep, I turned. My gaze went first behind us, where I saw the Reaper's Kiss still following, a looming specter in our wake. Still too close, despite the storm -- our sails were reduced to tatters. We had an hour or two, no more. We'd lost our gamble.

"Land ho!" shouted the lookout, and I saw that he was correct; on the far eastern horizon, I could barely make out land. The storm must have blown us toward shore. No matter; it was further than our crippled ship could take us before Kolenka was upon us.

I felt, rather than saw, Valentine walk up to me. I could hear the strain in his voice; the long chase through night and day in the storm hadn't been easy on any of us. "Looks like luck's failed us, Set."

"That's why I hate relying on it," I responded wanly.

He nodded and looked back at the pirate ship. The Reaper's Kiss was within hailing distance now, even discounting Kolenka's sorcery, but there'd been no hail. There would be none, I was fairly sure. "He hasn't burned us out of the water yet, there's that."

I laughed softly. "No. Maybe he's too angry about having to chase us through that storm." I paused, mulling that over. "Maybe... he wants to punish us for it. More personally."

Valentine favored me with a flat look. "We can't possibly fight, Set. The crew's exhausted, and I'd bet you couldn't even hold that sword."

He was wrong, but not by much. "No, we can't fight. But maybe..." An idea was beginning to form. "I need time."

"We don't have much." He glanced back toward the Kiss, then added, "Might scrape a few extra miles out of her if we throw the wool overboard. It weighs heavy in the hold when it's waterlogged."

I nodded. "Do it. The metalcraft, too. We need to be lighter."

He beckoned to some of the nearer soldiers. "And the rest?"

"The wood's not heavy, is it?"

"Not enough. Maybe it'd give us another five minutes. The oil might give us ten."

"Leave the oil." I sighed. "Just the wool and metal. We'll get as much speed out of her as we can."

"We won't make land," he warned me.

I actually smiled at that. "We won't need to... with a little luck."

"What happened to not relying on luck?"

"Ah, but this is a vixen's luck." And I waved him on. He knew me well enough not to question me further.

*

I watched the last of the bales of wool bobbing forlornly in the sea. The Zephyr had gained speed, as expected. The Reaper's Kiss was still outpacing us, though -- as expected.

As I'd hoped, there continued to be a decided lack of hellfire.

I grew tired of watching the Kiss approach after a few minutes. "He'll be on us soon," I remarked. Valentine and the mate both nodded. "In five minutes, start to turn about, hard to port. Ready the boats on the starboard side; we'll launch from there, so he doesn't see them right away."

Valentine shook his head. "What good will it do? He'll burn our boats out of the water."

"He'll be too busy with the Zephyr," I promised. "Just ready them."

"Fine, but no nonsense about being the last to launch, Set."

A flurry of activity ensued. Eight minutes later, the boats had been made ready, and the Zephyr sat still in the water, awaiting the approach of the Reaper's Kiss. My sailors were no warriors, were superstitious and sometimes barbaric, but they were a good crew all the same. We'd lost five in the storm, including the one who'd caught a bolt of hellfire, but they'd saved the ship and cargo.

They'd served admirably.

I didn't watch the boats launch. I had business in the hold below -- securing my luck, you might say. By the time I'd ascended back to deck, sword in one hand, unlit torch in the other, only one boat remained. Valentine beckoned to me from it. I shook my head. "I'm staying with the Zephyr."

"What? Set, that's insane. You can't. You've done all you can. Come aboard and--"

"Not all," I answered. "Now cast off. That's an order from your captain." I turned. The splash behind me told me the boat had launched.

Near the base of the mainsail was a hatch that opened on the hold, used sometimes for loading large cargoes. It was to this that I went, and I struggled to lift the heavy wooden top. Soaked from the storm, it proved obstinate. I looked to the Reaper's Kiss, only a few lengths away, coming into boarding position; she was so close now that I could see the individual faces of the pirates in her bow: a leering rat here, a battle-scarred tiger there. I redoubled my efforts, making no headway. I had to laugh. After all of that, to be stymied by a piece of wood.

Then suddenly Valentine was beside me, setting his hands against the thick planks. Together we managed to throw the hatch aside just as the Reaper's Kiss came up parallel to us.

He peered into the hold, then up at me, inquisitively. "Is this your luck?"

"It is." I stood, trying not to show how shaky my legs felt beneath me. After a moment, he stood as well. The pirates boarded, but they merely waited until, soon, one of their number, a cat in a long red coat, came forward.

To hear the tales, Malak Kolenka stood eight feet tall, with eyes of lightning, thunder in his step, and the cry of a raven in his voice. The cat who sauntered easily onto the Zephyr's deck was none of these things. He would have been anonymous among the teeming docks of Arcadia, in fact. But when he looked my way, I could feel his presence, as I had some of the Great Lords. This feline had been touched by power, and it had left a palpable impression.

"Which of you is captain?" he asked. The voice which had boomed so when carried by his sorceries earlier was rather soft, in person, but there was a hard edge beneath it, steel wrapped in silk.

"I am," I said. "Captain Setsuna Kitsuki, of the Zephyr." I let my sword drop to the deck, a show of surrender.

His face turned toward me once again. "You've led me a chase. Even now, you delayed me. To gather my trophies, I'll need to hunt down your boats, each by each."

"My deepest apologies," I said, adding a rather elaborate bow in the fashion of the Xianese blade dancers. I expected the courtesy to be lost on him; rather, I counted on it.

Kolenka scowled; sarcasm, it seemed, did not please him. He lifted a hand, and a column of eerie green flame incinerated the Zephyr's colors. A second quick gesture brought a pair of bolts crashing into the deck to either side of me.

I'm proud to say I didn't flinch, although I must admit that the fact might have been due more to my weariness than to my iron will.

"No apologies necessary, m'lady captain," he sneered. "I'm going to see you have the honor you deserve, for leading me the longest chase I've had this century. First, since you think yourself so entertaining, you can spend a few nights entertaining my crew, while I'm executing yours." A raucous chorus of cheers and shouts from the pirates left me no doubt as to their intentions, but if he had thought to hear me plead for mercy, he was disappointed. His scowl deepened as he continued, "Then you'll die -- and it'll take a long time, make no mistake. I'll wring more agony out of you than you've ever dreamed possible. And once I've ended you, I'll nail your skull to my mainmast."

I tilted my head. "I'm afraid, captain, I will have to decline the honor. You see, I've elsewhere to be." I let the head of the torch in my left hand dip into the fire that still blazed beside me on the deck. It sprung to life instantly, and Kolenka took a step back, surprised.

"What're you about?" he demanded suspiciously. Then, eyes widening, "What's your cargo, you bitch?"

I smiled, then, as I chirped, "Lamp oil," and dropped the torch down the open hatch.

In the next moment I was running for the rail, and Valentine was right beside me. I could hear the clamor of the pirates behind us, but I ignored it. I ignored everything save the rail, and the deck below, and the leap I had to make, vaulting into the air.

I was still in midair when the first explosion sounded. The torch must have found a pool of oil; I'd smashed as many of the casks as I could when I'd descended into the hold earlier. The conflagration spread rapidly, sending sharp shreds of wood into the massed crew of the Reaper's Kiss as they milled on deck. Kolenka himself had vanished, surrounded by the sudden sheet of surging flame that had burst from the hatch and roared high enough to light the mainsail on fire.

I hit the water fairly gracefully, all things considered, and struggled out of the heavy cloak I'd still been wearing. I found it difficult to swim; a throbbing pain in my side told me that I hadn't escaped the sudden inferno unscathed. Valentine was there, though, his arms wrapping around me, helping to draw me toward safety.

The nearest of the boats must have seen us jump and turned, for other hands soon pulled us from the water. I turned in time to see the burning skeletons of both ships; the oil-fueled blaze from the Zephyr's hold had spread rapidly, and now consumed the Reaper's Kiss as well. I felt a pang at the loss of the Zephyr -- she'd been a good ship.

Beside me, Valentine coughed wearily. I turned my head toward him. "There," I said. "That's a vixen's luck."

He stared at me for a long moment, then turned toward the burning hulks of the two ships. "If that's luck," he retorted at last, "I want no more of it."