Emmaline glared daggers at Markus as she dropped the Sigmar stone back into the basket. She avoided stamping a foot by a colossal effort of will before stalking back to the cabin. Slipping inside she latched the door and pulled off her clothing, swabbing herself down with a sponge, making no effort to hurry. Once she had cleansed herself of the mornings labor she took a comb and began combing her hair, patiently delivering the one hundred strokes until it regained something of its bounce. Finally she changed into the silken dress she had worn when she had first been captured. The dress was not better for having some of its stitching plucked out as improvised sucher. Even so it qualified as finery in Sartosa. Her palms were red from pushing the heavy sanding stone, though for a miracle she had managed to mostly maintain her nails. For sheer spite she waited a few minutes more before finally emerging from the cabin just as Morgan was reaching for the latched. The senior privateer gave her a frustrated glance which Emmaline did not deign to notice.

"Ten minutes?" Markus asked acidly as she joined him on the gangplank.

"It takes as long as it takes, if you like I can go back and put on makeup," she returned testily. Realistically she didn't have any makeup, though there were supplies on board with which she thought she could make a serviceable rogue and perhaps lip powder.

Markus seemed on the verge of reprimanding her further but glanced up at the sun and then walked down the gangplank. Emmaline followed as they made their way through the streets. Pirates in various stages of post-inebriation groaned and lamented their lots in life, most more ore less laying where they had fallen when their money or capacity had given out the previous night. There were no bodies actually visible, though Emmaline suspected that might be because they had been picked clean and tossed wherever was coinvent and out of sight. They moved up to a series of rickety looking warehouse that were built close to the dock but high enough to avoid the moisture from the harbor.

The spice merchants warehouse was near the outskirts, and was in somewhat better repair of the structure doubtlessly reflected the high price of the good stored within. Across the square stood a stockade of spaced timbers which had been woven with rope which looked to be discarded rigging from ships. The resulting cage was not particularly sturdy, but the several dozen captives inside had little incentive to go anywhere. Beyond the five or six bored looking guards with coach guns and halberds, there literally was no where for them to go. Emmaline gave them a curious glance and caught sight of a strange figure. Slipping away from Markus she crossed the square to the cage. A couple of the guards made half hearted proportions, but they seemed more interested in nursing their sore heads. The prisoner who had caught Emmaline's eye was a rangy man in his late forties. His skin was a dark mahogany and he was naked save for a loin cloth and a strange head dress that seemed to be a woven towel. He was sitting cross legged by the fence with his palms pressed together. As she watched he opened his arms and moved his hands through a series of graceful motions. It wasn't magic, though it clearly had the appearance of ritual.

"Are you looking for anything in particular madam or do you just wish to watch and old man do yoga?" he asked, his dark brown eyes cracking open.

"Who are you?" she asked, gripping the rope that separated them. He chuckled.

"That is not really your question is it?" he replied, continuing to move through his ritual. Emmaline considered it.

"Are you from Ind?" she asked, earing herself another chuckle.

"I am Rajad Singh," he replied. One of the guards took a concerned step towards Emmaline but she held up a hand in bar. The guard paused. He didn't know who Emmaline was, but she was dressed well enough that she might be someone.

"Right but that wasn't my question," She returned. Rajad chuckled again, the sound coming easily and naturally to his lips.

"Gracious lady I am from Salan, which is not Ind to me, but is to you," he replied equably. Emmaline turned to the guard, catching sight of Markus across the square looking none to pleased. His hand rested on the butt of one of his pistols and though it would have been a long shot she wouldn't have bet he couldn't hit the guard if he had to.

"I wan't this man out of here," she told the guard. The pirate goggled at her, the fellow probably would have been less shocked if she slapped him.

"Look here miss, these slaves are waiting to be sold, you can bid on them like everyone..." he trailed off as Emmaline lowered her hand into a pouch and produced a pair of gold coins. The guard licked his lips nervously and glanced at his fellows.

"I.. err suppose, if you squared all of us, its possible that this slave might have died of a fever," one of the older guards said, glancing around at the rest of the guard detachment to ensure his fellows were in agreements, which judging by their hungry looks they enthusiastically were. Emmaline produced a handful of gold and passed it out. Once the coins were distributed they pushed the slaves back from a gate with their halberds and then escorted the unresisting Rajad out before sealing it once more.

"Right now bugger off before anyone else sees you," the spokesman for the group declared. Some pirate captain had just been cheated of his fee, though possibly he would be squared by the guards for his trouble. Emmaline guestured to Rajad and walked back across the square towards Markus.

"You are to be my mistress then?" he asked in his thick accent.

"Yes, no, sort of," she replied, uncertain of how exactly to procced. Rajad's face cracked into an unsettlingly white smile.

"Thank you for clearing that up," he mocked. Emmaline, already not best pleased with how her morning was going shot him a hard look.

"If I am not a slave, then I could go anywhere I suppose, I don't need to follow you," he pointed out. Emmaline snickered.

"Those coins I gave the guards were counterfeit, and when they figure it out they will probably try to recapture you if they don't string you up by your wedding tackle. Your best bet is to get out of port as quickly as possible," she explained.

"Ah," Rajad said bobbing his head in acknowledgement, "In that case I believe I will follow you as you direct."