“Assassins!” the Sultan fumed, glaring dangerously around the audience chamber. The sun was already rising and the heat was beginning to warm the desert air, even in the cool well watered chamber. Calliope and Markus stood grim faced before the body of the hired killer, which had been carried to the room for the Sultan to view. Achmed stood beside his father, his face a mask of confusion and anger. “They murdered the princess Yasmina,’ Achmed said in a tight voice. The Sultan whirled on the prince, his gold white robes whipping like a pennant. The girls body had been taken to the embalmers so that it could be prepared for the burial. “And what was my son and his bride to be doing in the guest wing in the middle of the night?” the Sultan demanded in a dark tone. Achmed, his mind addled by the spell Calliope had placed upon him, could only stammer. “And what do you two know of this!” the Sultan demanded, spinning to face the two foreigners to the evident relief of Achmed. Calliope spread her hands wide in a gesture of helplessness. She was dressed in a sheer top of black fabric that covered her breasts and trailed a gossamer thin sheen of gossamer silk down over her midriff, shading but not concealing her bare midriff. A similar skirt duplicated the effect on her legs, although a long slash provided more freedom of movement than might otherwise be expected. The whole ensemble was ruined by the sword belt she wore buckled around her hips but she was in no mood to go without a weapon. “We were in Calli’s chamber,” Markus supplied, “we heard a scream and rushed back to my room.” “The assassin, must have been going for the prince, but his bride to be threw herself in front of the knife,” Calliope added helpfully. Achmed’s jaw worked, he clearly remembered hiring the assassin but he couldn’t contradict the story, the memories Calliope had carefully inserted into his mind matched the story they were telling. “The princess collapsed into his arms and bore him back so that he cracked his head on the floor,” Calliope went on. In actual fact Markus had kicked him in the head, an act he had taken all together too much pleasure in, but they had needed a bruise to explain what happened. “First my son is kidnapped by pirates, next he is targeted by an assassin. What am I to make of it?” the Sultan demanded. At that exact moment the doors swung open and the Vizer hurried in. He cast as look around the gathering, his sly eyes suspicious. Calliope didn’t even want to guess what angle the Vizer might try to work here. “Great Sultan, perhaps we ought discuss this with your son in private?” he suggested, casting an unreadable look at the two pirates. “Yes, yes…” the Sultan agreed. He fixed Markus with a penetrating look. “I am certain you have the bussiness of your ship to occupy you Captain,” the fat monarch clapped his hands together and two armored soldiers carried over a small chest. They threw back the lid to reveal sparkling gold and silver coin, stamped with the likeness of the Sultan on one side and the symbol of Harashyim on the other. “In gratitude for your services thus far,” the Sultand declared. Calliope and Markus bowed and stepped forward to collect the chest. “Thus far?” Calliope asked as they exited the chamber. She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.