Calliope looked out over the harbor of Copher. At night, and from the Sultan's palace it was a dazzling spectacle. the waterfront was illuminated by hundreds of lanterns, running for a mile and a half around the semicircular anchorage. The lanterns ran down the jetties to merge with lights aboard the ships, making them look like shining fruit sketched out but not filled in. The water shone in rippling blue gold as moonlight and lantern light converged on the soft lapping waves. She could make out sleek corsair xebecs, tubby merchantmen from the Empire, even a few Brettonian ships with their massive fore and aft castles and simple square sails painted with their ludicrous heraldry. The most common of course were the Araybian dhows, single sailed vessels with a bank of oars, hauling spices, slaves, brass, salt and every other commodity from here to Marienburg. It made Calliope literally hungry to look at and she imagined the ships she would take once the Sultan put her afloat once more.

The apartment was a fine one, built into the side of the palace with thick braided rugs and colorful mosaics of court and hunting scenes. The balcony was shielded from the main rooms by a lattice of fragrant teak wood wrought into an elaborate arabesque. Potted lemon trees grew along the walls, attracting a few insects but handsomely repaying it with their citrus scent. Earthenware pots filled with water hung in nets from the ceiling, radiating cool that was the only refuge from the heat even for the Sultan. Calliope ran a jeweled brush through her hair, combing it out. She had let it grow past her shoulders in these months on land, but she still kept it bound up much of the time to keep it from her eyes. Strangely the thought of all the slaves in the city came to her. The Imperial harem girl, the strong fighter, the countless rowers shackled to oars out in the harbor. Slave uprisings weren't common, little wonder when they were put down with such unrestrained savagery, but she wondered if a day would come when the slaves would over whelm their masters in an orgy of blood and destruction. Part of her hoped so, slavery offended her, even though as the bastard daughter of an Averland noble she had never shared those kind of privations. Rise up and burn it all, she thought grimly, just do it when I'm somewhere else.

The door flew open under the booted kick of a Mamluk soldier. Calliope spun, leaping to her feet with the instincts of a mariner who had spent years on ships where seconds counted. Three soldiers rushed into the room, long scimitars drawn. They saw her silhouetted against the moon and moved in, weapons low.

"Throw down your weapons!" Azim commanded, trailing the guards by what he probably thought was a safe distance. Calliope had produced a knife that she kept in her boot and was judging a run for her pistol and sword. They were in her weapons belt, hanging uselessly from a chair in the main room. The guards were already passed them.

"What in the Seven Hells is going on?" Calliope demanded, backing a few steps towards the balcony. The Vizier grinned, his teeth very white in the semi darkness. He plucked her pistol from her weapons belt and turned it over in his hands idly. Calliope willed it to misfire but he merely set the weapon down on the table.

"The Sultan found you amusing, but at the end of the day he is a wise man... when properly advised," Azim smirked. Calliope backed another step and felt the railing of the balcony behind her. No escape there, it was thirty feet down to the next balcony even if she timed the jump right.

"And you advised him..." Calliope prompted.

"It seems Bernaro of Sartosa is happy to leave the lands of the Sultan in peace.... provided that we get rid of you," Azim explained. Calliope wanted to feel rage, but she had been a fool to trust these Arabs, of course they would rather backstab than fight.

"He will never keep his word," Calliope tried, eyes darting around. Azim chuckled.

"Maybe, maybe not, but at least we will be rid of scheming foreign pirates here at court. Of course we aren't wasteful, you might even survive a few days in the pits. Take her." Azim commanded, tiring of the game. Calliope whipped her hand back and threw the knife. It full high, cutting the rope to one of the pukas with a twang. The heavy pot crashed to the ground, scattering the soldiers. Azim screamed as it struck his leg with an audible crack. The Vizier went down in a heap, screaming and clutching at protruding blood slicked bone. She snatched up her sword belt and leaped for the door. It flew open as another guard, responding to the commotion, barged through the door. Stars exploded across Calliope's vision as the edge of the door hit her across the face. A moment later she was somehow on the floor, her hand scrabbling for her sword. The Mamluk soldier put his boot on her wrist and pressed his sword to her throat.

"Take her to the pits," Azim hissed, his voice black with a hatred hotter than the desert sands.