Emmaline gazed up in wonder at the bursting lights. She had seen a firework display once before, a celebration of Karl Franz’ birthday, though that seemed a tame and orderly thing compared to the exuberant pyrotechnics she was witnessing now. “Cast the line you scutts!” Morgan snapped, drawing his eyes back to the leadsman standing on the prow. The gawping sailor cast his leaded line into the water, allowing the knots to run through his hands. “Four fathom! Four fathom to this this line!” Morgan grunted and peered up at one of the towers, before backing them a point away from the eye of the breeze. The leadsman repeated his task with a splash. “Five fathoms, five fathoms to his line!” Morgan breathed a sigh of relief and then glared at Emmaline for witnessing it. Most of the crew seemed to share his feelings. Despite her attempts to obscure the fact, it seemed that the crew had decided, rightly as it turned out that she was a woman. Carrying a woman, and a witch was a double offense against the gods of fortune which were never far from a sailor’s mind. Welkins, a squirrely runt of a man who seemed to have come from Marienburg originally, was making a small fortune selling scrimshawed talismans that he claim protected the wearer against ‘witch craft’. So far as Emmaline could tell they had no effect whatever, but it didn’t prevent her from respecting a good hustle when she saw one. The best she could expect was suspicious looks and it was a good thing her sleep quarters had moved aft or she might have found herself over the side some dark night. “Three fathoms!” Three fathoms and yellow sand!” the leadsman squeaked. Morgan made another small adjustment to the wheel, baring his teeth. Sartosa, famous as a den of pirates and cut throats survived for a trio of reasons. One was topographical, as Markus and Morgan were demonstrating the approach was extremely perilous, a labyrinth of razor sharp reefs and shoal that made any approaching ship extremely cautious. The channel was not marked and it was an offense punishable by blinding for any man to act as a pilot. The channel could easily be blocked with wrecks or guns could be laid to cover the approaches, raining heated shot down from the heights on enemy vessels. The second reason was political, Tliea, Estalia and Araby were too fractious to unite to destroy the nest, the Brettonians were incapable, and since Marienburg purchased its independence it was too far from any Imperial harbor to be worth crushing. The final reason was economic. A scourge they might be, but pirates provided slaves and resold goods the captured, there would always be merchants who would trade for the spoils of bucaneering and so even if Sartosa were to be burned to the ground, which had happened several times, the lure of gold would always resurrect it. “Ten fathoms! Ten fathoms to this line!” the leadsman yelled, the relief evident in his face and the face of every sailor on deck. Before them opened up a deep lagoon with high walls of black basalt. Emmaline though it must have once been the caldera of a volcano before the sea battered its way inside. The flooded caldera provided a remarkable natural harbor deep and calm. On the far side the passage of ages had worn down the steep slopes to a sandy strand from which protruded dozens of warfs and jetties. A score of ships lay at anchor, tied up to pilings or moored out in the deeper water. Water taxis simple rafts of green timber, ferried booze, fresh food and prostitutes out to ships. All were drapped in garish fabrics and held torches at bow and stern giving the whole scene a garish magnificence. The settlement itself climbed the gentle slopes into a tropical forest, the city had no plan that Emmaline could determine, some of the buildings were rather grand but for the most part they seemed a wild tangle of many disparate construction techniques and architectural styles, as diverse as the ships which littered the harbor. [@POOHEAD189]