“Veshya Kay Santaan,” Emmaline said carefully annonciating each syllable. Rajad clucked irritably.

“Kee, like a key for a lock,” the former slave responded.

“My gods, you sound like a drunken monkey,” Rajad scolded her sourly. Emmaline rolled her eyes.

“Well your Reikspiell is awful too,” she replied in an insulting imitation of Rajads accent.
 
“I do not sound like that,” Rajad scowled.

“You sound like a Veshya Kee Santaan,” Emmaline rejoined. Rajad’s eyes rose to the heavens in a prayer of deliverance.

“That was better,” he admitted grudgingly. The pair of them were sitting on the shaded folksail deck in the cross legged pose Rajad had insisted upon. It turned out that Rajad had some experience with ships, though smaller ones than the Hammer and with something called a lateen rig. His basic competence and willingness to help had stood him in good stead with the crew who were suspicious both of his exotic looks and anything to do with Emmaline. While she was happy enough for him to help with pulling on ropes and other nautical nonsense however, Emmaline had bought Rajad with a specific purpose in mind. This was her second lesson in Indi, the language spoken in distant Ind and she felt she was doing fairly well, despite Rajads various colorful metaphors. The strange stretches he insisted on performing, something he called ‘yoga’ were less to her taste but she humored him as part of the teaching process. It would take months to reach Ind, perhaps as many as six depending on the winds, and Emmaline intended to be able to speak the language fluently by the time she arrived. Fortunately she had already learned to speak Brettonian, badly and Tilean, better. She could even get by in Arabyian though she didn’t get much chance to practice. A wide variety of tongues was an asset when it came to learning a new one.
Emmaline like Rajad, he was an interesting man, though he said little enough, it was clear that whatever story had bought him to the Sartosa slave pens was a great one, just as it was clear he had been no mere sailor before his capture. Though he was unceasingly insulting he was also pleased to share his knowledge with her, seeming to view it as a genuine pleasure.
 
“What is he doing?” Rajad asked, looking forward to the quarterdeck. Emmaline cast an eye down towards the quarterdeck.

“Practising I assume,” Emmaline replied, resting her arms in the position she had seen Rajad use. He clucked and reached out and adjusted her hands.

“Idiot girl,” he muttered. Emmaline extended her middle finger, spoiling the pose for a moment.

“It is wise to practice,” he said neutrally, so neutrally in fact that the rebuke was clear to her.

“I practice,” Emmaline replied defensively. Rajad gave her a hard look.

“You are lazy and self indulgent, you only practise that which interests you,” he scolded her. Emmaline snickered.
 
“What is the point of gold if not to indulge yourself?” Emmaline asked. Unfortunately any response was cut off by a bellow from above.

“Breakers! Breakers ahead!” They had reached the Fool Rocks.