Valterro, previously silent behind Captain Ranee, sputtered, "That fucking little—"
"Quiet," said Zamira. "Lost your purse last night, didn't you? Ravelle has fast hands. Fast hands, a quick mind, a talent for command and a way with a blade. He earned his way onto my crew by killing four Jeremite Redeemers by himself." Zamira felt vaguely amused to be talking Kosta up with the same half-truths he'd worked so hard to disabuse her of. "Yet you said he had his own ship," said Rodanov.
"Yes. The Red Messenger, sold off to the Shipbreaker just this afternoon. Pierro, you saw it off the Burning Reach a few days ago, didn't you?" "Indeed."
"There I was, going about my business, innocently scooping up prizes here and there on the Sea of Brass," said Zamira, "when I happened upon Ravelle's Messenger. Interrupted his plans, to say the least. I poked holes in his story until I squeezed it all out of him, more or less."
"What story is that?" Ranee sounded as though she had a collection of small rocks in her mouth, but she made herself understood.
"Think about it, Ranee. Who is Ravelle? One man — a thief, clearly. Trained to do many unusual things. But could one man sail a brig out of the gated harbours in the Sword Marina? Could one man break into the Windward Rock, overcome every guard there, free an entire vaultful of prisoners and pack them off in his brig, conveniently stolen the very same night?" "Uh," said Ranee, "Well, possibly—"
"He didn't do it alone." Colvard spoke for the first time, quietly, but her voice drew the eyes of everyone on the pavilion. "Stragos must have let him escape."
"Precisely," said Zamira. "Stragos let him escape. Stragos gave him a crew of prisoners eager for any sort of freedom. Stragos gave him a ship. And he did all this knowing full well that Ravelle would sail south. Come down to join us in our trade."
"He wanted an agent among us," said Strozzi, uncharacteristically excited.
"Yes. More than that." Zamira gazed around the circle of pirates, ensuring that she had their undivided attention before she continued. "He has an agent among us. Aboard my ship. Orrin Ravelle and his companion Jerome Valora are currently in the Archon's service."
Ezri whipped her head around to stare at Zamira, mouth open. Zamira squeezed her arm unobtrusively. "Kill them," said Colvard.
"The situation is more complicated and more grave than that," said Zamira.
"Grave indeed, for these two men you speak of. I find it best to make corpses of complications."
"Had I discovered their deceit on my own, it would already be done. But Ravelle is the one who confessed these things to me. He and Valora are, by his claim, entirely unwilling agents. Stragos gave them a latent poison, to which he alone supposedly holds the antidote. Another month will bring them due for their next dose."
"Death would be a favour, then," mumbled Ranee. "That bastard will never let them be anything but puppets—"
Rodanov waved for her to pipe down. "What, to hear it from Ravelle's lips, was their mission? To spy on us, I presume?"
"No, Jaffrim." Zamira put her hands behind her back and began to slowly pace the centre of the pavilion. "Stragos wants us to do him the favour of flying the red flag in sight of Tal Verrar again." "That makes no sense," said Strozzi. "It does when you consider the Archon's needs," said Colvard. "How so?" Ranee and Strozzi spoke in unison.
"I hear that things are brittle between the Archon and the Priori," said Colvard. "If something were to come along and put a fright into the fine citizens of Tal Verrar, their regard for the army and navy would rise."
"Stragos needs a foe from outside Tal Verrar," said Zamira. "He needs it with all haste, and he needs to be assured that his forces can kick it around with a will." She spread her arms wide, toward her fellow captains and their mates. "We might as well be painted like archery butts." "There's no profit," said Strozzi, "in bringing a fight to us—"
"For those that take their profit in coin, you're right. But for Stragos, it means everything. He gambled a ship, a crew of prisoners and his very reputation on Ravelle's mission. You don't think he's serious? He made a laughing stock of himself by allowing a "pirate" to escape from his secure harbours, all so he could wait to redeem himself by crushing us later." Zamira brought her fists together. "That was Ravelle's task — convince us, trick us, He to us, bribe us. And if we couldn't be made to serve, his plan was to do it himself, in the Messenger."
"Then our course is obvious," said Rodanov. "We don't give Stragos a damn thing. We don't dance around his noose. We keep five hundred miles between ourselves and Tal Verrar, as we have since the war. If need be, we play meek for a few months." He reached over and gave Strozzi's paunch a hearty slap. "We live off our fat."
"If we do that much," said Ydrena Koros, "begging your pardon, Captain. This evidence of yours, Captain Drakasha — the word of these two men sounds thinner than—"
"Not just their word," said Zamira, "Think, Koros. They had the Red Messenger. Its crew, the survivors of which are now my crew, did indeed come from the Windward Rock. The Archon sent them, all right."
"I concur," said Colvard, "though I also agree with Jaffrim that standing down from provocation is the wisest—"
"Would be wisest," interrupted Zamira, "if Stragos was doing this on a whim. But he's not, is he? He's in the fight of his life. His very position is at stake. He needs us."
She paced the centre of the pavilion again, reminded of the "arguments" she'd put forth over the years in her pretend turns as a magistrate for initiation rituals. Were these theatrics any more convincing? She hoped to the gods they were.
"If we tip Ravelle and Valora over the side and ignore them," she said, "or shy away from Tal Verrar, Stragos will try something else. Some other scheme to trick us into a fight, or to convince his people that we're bringing one. Only next time, the gods may not see fit to allow the instruments of his design to fall into our hands. We'll be blind."
"There's more hypothesis here," said Rodanov, "than just about anything I ever heard at the Collegium."
"The Red Messenger and the prisoners do indicate that Stragos took a gamble," said Colvard. "That he took a gamble indicates that he can't move openly or with confidence. Knowing what we do of the situation in Tal Verrar… I'd say this threat is real. If Stragos requires an enemy, we are the only suitor at this dance that fits his need. What else can he do? Pick a fight with Balinel? Camorr? Lashain? Karthain? I hardly think so."
"What would you have us do, Zamira?" Rodanov folded his arms and scowled. "We possess the means to strike back at the Archon."
"We can't fight the Verrari navy," said Rodanov. "Nor can we storm the damn city, summon lighting from the sky or ask the gods to politely dispose of Stragos for us. So by what means may we "strike back"? Wound his feelings with vicious letters?"
"Ravelle and Valora are expected to report directly to him to receive their antidote." "They have access to him," said Colvard. "An assassination!" "For which they suffer the blame, assuming they live," mused Strozzi.
"Good for them," said Rodanov. "And what, you wish our consent to take them back to Tal Verrar and let them loose? By all means let fly. I'd be happy to lend them a pair of knives." "There is, from the perspective of Ravelle and Valora, only one minor complication: that they would prefer to acquire a permanent antidote and then do away with Stragos." "Alas," said Ranee, "we so rarely realize our desires in life—"