Markus smirked at the Tilean nobles doing their best to act like they understood the Elves when the Asur spoke to one another in their mother tongue. He knew if he continued with a bit more audacity, the gentry would speak about him disfavorably for quite some time, which might harm his chance of any sort of trade agreement. Though that was only a small realization. He was certain he would get what he wanted regardless, and still wanted to have a bit of fun.

It was everyone else's turn to make their declarations of names and titles. The Elven Prince, for he was indeed a Prince of Cothique, was called Imladon the Reaver. He had escorted his lover, sorceress of Saphery Beruthiel Emeraldsea here along with his two retainers, Galadel and Imladrak his cousin. Markus wasn't very learned in Elven lore or geography, just far less of a neophyte than your average imperial citizen, not that it spoke for much.

The humans were a bit more interesting. The surnames of Ralphio Miragliano and Dante Colombo were known to many well read people in the Old World, the former the descendant of a famous inventor and the latter the product of a sire who was a famous explorer. Perhaps Markus could speak to Colombo on any old maps his many great grandfather might have of the western seas. The last fellow was Marco Gattio, and though he had never heard the name, Markus was informed he was quite the skilled painter.

"Might I inquire what your business here is, Master Flintbrook?" The Elven Prince Imladon asked to break the greetings, using 'master' with a small distaste in his mouth. Apparently he was not keen to wait on the female humans to give their introductions. Then again, they might be up and coming wives such as Emmaline could portray.

"I'm here for much the same reason I imagine you are, your highness. I seek to make and maintain contacts in Tobaro for mutual benefit. I do quite like gold, if you hadn't noticed the company I keep." The Captain said wryly, indicating Emmaline. Though it looked as if she had already disappeared. He hoped she would keep a low profile.

"An uncouth ape, though evidently skilled it seems for such low people." Beruthiel the sorceress said in Elvish.

"One needs to be uncouth to be a Captain," He replied back in her tongue, which gave him a very good view of the imperious sorceress's eyes popping wide in surprise. "Some women quite like uncouth, I've learned." He added smugly, though unfortunately that was a step too far. She gasped, offended whilst Imladon and his cousin simultaneously half drew their keen blades. It was Galadel that stepped forward, the human nobles surprised and just about to call out to their guards, unsure of the cause of the sudden threats.

"His Asur is quite terrible, I'm certain he meant no offense your grace, my lady." Galadel negotiated in Reikspeil, brows raised gently and hands wide in supplication. Markus was quick to nod, giving a bow. "My deepest condolences. I have been at sea for many months and am unused to such valiant company."

Bowed and staring at the ground, he half expected to be beheaded. He couldn't tell if the excuse worked, but it was at that moment the trumpets at the great door of the room sounded, announcing the Duke's arrival.

The tour that Enrique provided was breathless and filled with his constant chatter. Emmaline swept along behind him through halls and galleries which showed money and taste in inverse proportions. Tobarans, it seemed, were very fond of gilt and polished timber. The timber here was a surely as sign of wealth as the gold was and was displayed as such, either intricately carved, or polished to a mirror like sheen. Emmaline amused herself by gasping and oowing at each new thing Enrique showed her, which seemed to make the man even more flustered and excited.

"And this is our family hall of history," Enrique declared proudly, leading her into a high vaulted hall that was lined on both sides with cabinets. Inside the cabinet were a dizzying array of items. Many were valuable of course, but others were merely of historical interest. A set of throwing stars that claimed to be from the founding of the city, in a jagged pattern that made Emmaline vaguely nauseous, crystals and gems which marked the opening of various mine shafts, yellowed documents heavy with seals and ribbons. There were weapons too, swords and axes as well as firearms from all over the old world as well as suits of armor which had been polished till the gleamed. There was even the preserved head of a siren in a glass jar, as well as a stuffed... beastman of some sort, more ratlike with chisel like teeth. Enrique provided exposition for each piece, clearly having spent a great deal of time among the collection.

"These my ancestors bought back from the crusades in Araby," Enrique blathered on, guesturing to cabinets which contained arms, and armor of knights and their Arabian opponents. There were several gorgeously decorated books, astronomical instruments and battle flags with the sigil of the Sultan Jafar. Emmaline was stiffling a yawn when her eyes suddenly fell on a small circular bracelet of simple wood. It had been carved into the shape of a serpent that was devouring its own tail. Emmaline staggered suddenly as flashbacks of the vision she had witnessed in Arcane Street earlier in the day, the snakes eyes seeming to glow green in her minds eye. She felt as though the snake was lunging at her, though not in attack and she felt the hot blast of desert winds across her scaly skin.

"Are you alright Lady Emmaline?" Enrique asked anxiously. Emmaline realised that she had staggered slightly and the noble had caught her before she could fall. She nodded her head and smiled sensually.

"A little tired is all," she said smoothly, allowing her weight to lay against Enrique for a moment before straightening slowly.

"Is there somewhere we might lay down?"

The hall was abuzz with activity after the Duke and his wife had entered. The dancing had faltered but as of yet had not altogether stopped. While he ruled the city and made a showing of himself, this was his home and most here had already become at least tangentially acquainted with he and his family. He was an alright fellow in Markus's book, as his arrival had been a good segue for him to excuse himself, though rather than making a B line toward him as many were, he went to grab a drink or two a dozen paces away.

A slim woman presented him with a tray of wine glasses, smiling sweetly. She either wanted to bag a rich man or simply didn't want to lose her job, but either way he didn't care. He took a glass and downed it in a swill.

"Spero che la tua giornata sia stata grandiosa," She remarked, expertly bowing as the tray was held steady in her hands. Markus could only understand about four of the words vaguely, so he smiled and placed a silver schilling on the tray. Her eyes widened as he walked away, deciding to see if the line around the Duke had thinned. Most people seemed to have simply wanted to greet him and try to keep themselves relevant in his memory before slinking off back to their intrigue and business deals. The Captain stood behind three men as they chatted the Duke up, unable to ascertain if they were old friends or lollygaggers.

The Duke had dark features, with an olive color to his skin and a hardiness to his countenance. In fact he seemed like Tobaro personified. Refined but gruff, with a no-nonsense attitude intermingled with a sense of flair and style. The fellow moved aside the last man and held his hand out to Markus, who did not hesitate to shake it. That seemed to garner some modicum of approval from the Duke.

"We have no met before. Are you an...Imperial?" He asked, his accent heavy albeit clearly fluent in reikspeil.

"Yes, I am-"

"Captain Flintbrook!" A voice cried. Both Markus and the Duke turned to see Enrique the heir running to their position, trying his best not to bump into anyone. The Duke regarded Markus and then his son, clearly not used to being out of the loop of something. Markus immediately took note that Emmaline was missing. He sighed, thinking she had gotten into trouble.

"Enrique? You know this man?" The Duke asked.

"Lady Von Morganstern has collapsed, sir. I don't know why. She's alright but-"

Markus's throat closed in sudden worry. "Lead the way" he ordered, hurrying away with him, hoping the next few moments the Duke didn't notice he forgot to add an honorific.

Emmaline recovered from her swoon the instant Enrique hurried out of the bedroom in which he had left her. She hurried to the door and peered out making sure there was no one in the hall. Predictabley there wasn't, this was a private section of the manor and all of the family was doubtlessly at the reception below. She hurried across the floor, greatful that she had opted for the satin blue slippers rather than something with a heel, retracing her steps to the family collection.

The snake bracelet was where it had been before, though this time when she looked at it the thing seemed innocent and inert. She wasn't quite sure why it fascinated her. Certainly there were many items of considerably greater monetary value, but her gold lust hadn't stirred. Well, hadn't stirred much. Reaching out she touched the glass and murmured an incantation. She could sense the lead which held the glass pane in place and a moment later the familiar smell of molten metal filled her nostrils. Gently as she could she pushed the glass backwards into the case until it came free, falling the few inches to strike the bracelet without breaking. Carefully she reached in and withdrew the bracelet with two fingers. Up close it was even more lifelike than it had seemed during the tour, every scale picked out with the precision of a master craftsman. She turned it over in her hands, admiring the workmanship for a moment before looking around and finding what she was looking for. She hurried over to where a small and thankfully empty pewter inkwell stood on a desk. Lifting the thing in her palm she began another incantation, the same one with which she counterfeited coins, and shaped it to her will. Within a few seconds a second bracelet rested in the palm of her hand. It wouldn't fool a careful inspection, pewter wasn't as good for this sort of thing as gold or silver, but it would defeat a casual observer for the day or so it would take for the illusion to fail. Hurrying back she slipped her fake into position and then whispered another spell, drawing the glass back up by the lead residue on the edge and fixing it back into place. That accomplished she thrust the stolen bracelet into her bodice, lacking a more practical place, and sprinted back to the bedroom where Enrique had left her. Footsteps could already be heard in the hallways as she reached the bed and flopped down, taking a moment to ensure that her prize was thrust sufficiently deeply into her cleavage to escape notice before putting on her best wan expression.

Two Hours Later...

That had turned out better than Markus had anticipated. The fluctuating opinions of the Elves and austere manner of the Tilean nobility had been a dodgy obstacle at first, but somehow Emmaline's collapsed had been an almost cathartic icebreaker to the gentry, as if Markus' quick reaction to his date's sudden fall had garnered their respect and acknowledgement. Thankfully Emmaline had been alright, and Markus half expected it to have been a ploy or plot. He hadn't asked her about it since, content to know she wasn't dying or overheated by the arid mainland air mixing with the coastal wind to created an almost palpable humidity. In fact it had been just after the two of them had returned to the ball that they were met with an applause and the blessing of the Duke to perform business in his city. It took but an hour for Markus to haggle and settle upon a contract to ferry textiles and iron to one of the Lustrian city's along the coast called Skeggi, thankfully situated fairly close to a port Markus had heard tale of called Nuevo Luccini, a notorious den of pirates and thieves. They would simply transport the goods to the former and make berth at the latter before continuing to Ind.

Tomorrow, Markus would speak to Galadel once more before they received Sketti and his gunpowder, and then they embark on a long voyage to the New World. More than satisfied, Markus was now content to walk back with Emmaline under the starry sky as they stepped along the bricked Tilean road that led down the main causeway of the city, back toward the ship. In true pirate fashion, the two had nabbed a few bottles of rum before they had made their exit, both now with a bottle in hand.

Heave a pawl, O heave away...
Weigh hey, roll and go...
The anchor's on board and the cable's all stored,
To be rollicking randy dandy-O~

The Captain sang with the barest slurring of his words whilse Emmaline took another swig. He always had a shanty in his head whenever he had a long way to walk, odd enough. Markus glanced over his shoulder and saw the Estate now out of sight, gulping down a few swills of rum before he wiped his mouth with the forearm of his expensive jacket.

"So lass," He started, clearly in a good mood. "did you actually fall or were you doing something of nefarious significance?" He asked her.

Emmaline's face split into a broad grin. As usual everyone at the gathering had taken it as a matter of course that women randomly fainted. There was some truth to the stereotype, though usually it was the result of drink or being laced too tightly into a corset. Emmaline lifted a bottle of rum to her lips and drank, given her activities at the ball she had missed most of the free drinking and eating, in fact she probably shouldn't be drinking at all considering she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast time, but her mood was good and this rum was of the highest quality smooth and spiced.

Rather than responding she reached into her bodice and removed the bracelet she had stolen from the collection. To her shock, rather than being made of dark polished wood, the snake was now made of gold, gleaming in the light of the torches which lit the street. Emmaline stared at it in shock. It was preciesly as it had been, every detail exact save for the changed material and the fact that eyes appeared to be tiny emeralds.

"Something about it..." she began, when suddenly one of the eyes blinked. It wasn't a glitter of the stone, the eyelids actually closed.

"Shiz!" Emmaline yelped and started back, dropping both the bracelet and her bottle of liquor. Faster than she could follow the braclet seemed to whip and curl in the air, elongating as it did so, uncoiling and striking downwards. The things mouth caught the neck of the bottle while its tail curled around Emmaline's forearm, arresting the fall of the thick glass bottle. Gone were the glittering golden scales to be replaced by what looked for all the world like a real live three foot long cobra. Emmaline stared at the snake in shock as it lifted the bottle back into her nerveless fingers. Almost against her will her fingers closed to hold the bottle, then, without any apparent concern the serpent curled itself several time around her forearm and shimmered into inanimate gold once more.

At first, Markus didn't respond when she pulled out the golden armlet. He felt his good mood and hopes plummeting into the chasm of oblivion. He took another long drink of his rum, letting the liquid fully wash down his throat in a vain attempt to keep himself from getting too angry. He knew he had told her they were going to 'fuck shit up' if things went south, but things hadn't gone south and she had stolen from the Duke. What's more, he knew she had likely left a counterfeit piece there, which while it helped in the short run, would only indicate them in the long run since there were only a handful of sorcerers at the party that could accomplish such a thing.

"Emmaline...why the f-"

Needless to say, the snake had not only suddenly come alive before their eyes, but it had saved her drink and slid back atop her slender arm to rest easily once more.

"What in Taal's Timber was that?" He asked dumbly, just as confused as Emmaline. Slowly he approached her and opened himself up to the winds of magic, taking her arm and gazing with what magesight he had to see...almost nothing. There was an elusive quality to the thing, but he couldn't tell. He half expected it to come to life again and bite him, but so far it had remained contented. The sparkle of the sapphire and the glint of the golden armlet on Emmaline's voluptuous body had his drink-addled mind roving, though he blinked it away and tried to concentrate. It seemed others had noticed as well, however.

"Ah, what a beautiful couple you are, il signore." A menacing voice echoed from the street beyond. Emmaline's head popped up as Markus slowly turned to see three ruffians approaching slowly, smiling as they walked. Their black facial hair was roughly shaven and in their hands were long knives. Markus was surprised they were referring to them until he recalled just how decked out they had dressed for the ball. Emmaline's development with her golden snake and this sudden mugging caused him to actually laugh, not able to really comprehend what he should feel so instead he felt a pirate's amusement. Slowly the three surrounded Emmaline and Markus.

The Captain drew his backsword, holding it out to the two men he could see. The subtle changes with his magesight, along with Emmaline's yelp betrayed the man behind him making a move. Markus flipped his sword and stabbed it backwards, impaling the fellow, splatters of blood hitting the pavement. The shock of the kill had given the other two pause, which allowed him to slice the throat of the second. It was only the third who had collected himself that gained any advantage, leaping at Markus before he could fully heft his sword again. The Captain dodged the slash, and the two traded three blows before Markus cut the ruffian across the stomach and sent him to the ground.

"Please il signore! I have three chil-" His words were lost in a gout of blood as Markus' backsword slunk into the flesh of his neck, the swordsman feeling every inch of skin, meat, and bone give way. The man shuddered for a brief moment before dying. It gave the captain a pure satisfaction he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he felt his anger at Emmaline slipping away after having vented his frustrations in what he might call a more 'healthy' way.

"Once we get back to the ship" He said to Emmaline, still looking at the corpse below him. "Tell me everything that happened in my cabin."

"O-Over dinner?" She asked.

He couldn't help but smile, despite himself. It was not a fair sign, but he was somewhat intrigued the clusterfuck they might find themselves in. "Of course, we're still on our date right?"

---

High above the two, two figures stood in the darkness among the rooves of the Tilean city state. One floated effortlessly above the uneven tiles whilst the other had purchase that no human could hope to match. They were of the Eldar race of Ulthuan, and they had followed the two ever since the Captain and his sorceress had left the festivities. Eerily, Beruthiel's eyes glowed softly as she watched what occurred below.
"It was just as I thought. There's something odd about those two." She told her lover. The Prince stayed silent as she pondered, able to see the magic of the armlet with far more clarity than either of the humans below. Massive waves of winds flowed around the artifact; nearly as large as what she could summon if she uncloaked herself and bore the entirety of her power.

"Will you tell the Duke?" Imladon asked her.

"Will you?" She mused, knowing how important their mission was. Though she could not help but giggle, understanding the Prince just rather not have to return to renew ties instead of worrying over the loss of trust.

"I am here for good relations, but this is not my expertise." He concluded, as seemingly apathetic as ever.

"You did not need to follow me, beloved. It might have been better if this was not on your mind. But for their part, I believe it is one of the old powers taking a fancy in these apes." She concluded.

"Interesting." Was all he added, and it was the truth. Both Elves watched as the two departed into the darkness.

The passage out through the Fool Rocks was less eventful that the way in. Though the sailors kept weapons near to hand and plugs of wax in their pockets, no sirens were sighted. According to Tobaran sailors, several of whom had signed on with the Hammer, the feeding cycle was over and wouldn't begin again for another month. The creatures were always about, but most often encountered when trying to feed. Emmaline explained her adventures in Tobaro to Markus, including the confusing welter of visions she had experienced in Arcane Street. Despite her best efforts, up to and including casting spells on the bracelet, she wasn't able to further rouse the artefact to action. In fact she was half convinced she had imagined the entire thing until, when she was trying to work a particularly risky spell on the bracelet, the snake momentarily animated, gave her an irritated look, and then solidified back into a slightly different configuration. Regardless she found that she was drawn to the bracelet, and when she slept with it under her pillow she was assailed by strange dreams of brown skinned people in linens bowing down before a strange statue of a serpentine looking figure whos features she could never quite make out.

On the second day out Morgan bustled into the cabin while Emmaline and Markus were sharing breakfast. Emmaline was customarily nude and made a prefunctory effort to cover herself with a sheet which had been kicked to the floor the previous evening. The corsair ignored her completely and spoke to Markus.

"We have a problem captain," he declared bluntly. Markus arched an eyebrow inviting Morgan to continue. Sailors didn't get old by sugar coating bad news and so Morgan plowed onwards.

"There are some rumblings among the lads, they didn't get shore leave in Sartosa or in Tabaro and they aren't happy about it," Morgan reported grimly. Emmaline got the impression he was holding something back but the privateer plowed onwards.

"Also we are down to less than a weeks worth of booze," he replied grimly, "if we don't get them some time ashore, and a supply of rum, I don't think we will make it all the way to Lustria."

Markus mouth was full of sausage and eggs, still slightly bleary eyed from sleep. Finally they had begun their journey to Ind, with only one pit stop along the way. Had it not been for the various business meetings they would had left earlier, and now he would be disappointed yet again once Morgan strode in. He didn't blame the man. The quartermaster did his duty as any good quartermaster would, but it wasn't the news Markus wanted to hear.

"They did have some land time in Sartosa," Markus corrected, but Emmaline shook her blonde head. "No, you had them stay put while conducting business."

Markus opened his mouth, and then closed it when he realized his woman and first mate were right. Dammit, now? Really? His first thought was to get up and go scare them a bit, but he cowed the urge. He knew they needed some time off. Blowing off steam was what any pirate needed, just as Markus had done killing those thugs that had attacked he and Emmaline. He refused to go off course again, but perhaps there could be a compromise. He did need some rum himself, anyway.

Moments later, Markus and Morgan pulled out the map of the Arabyan Gulf, tracing fingers across the paper to see where their course was to lead. The waters of Araby weren't treacherous (near the coast) save for pirates, and that wouldn't necessarily be a disadvantage to them in so many words.

"Copher?" Morgan mumbled. "Been there before. The City of Spices, they call it."

"Lashiek," Emmaline pipped in, drawing their gazes. When Markus gazed at her questioningly, she added. "City of Corsairs."

"Hmmm, very well then." Markus replied. "We'll take a 3 day trip to Lashiek. Let the lads do what they want, fuck who they want, give them their shares. But then they're going to haul ass across the great water to the new world or I'll keelhaul all of them."

Morgan made an amused sound as he picked up a set of dividers and paced off some distances on the map. He made a grunting noise.

"Winds will be fresher close to the southern coast this time of year," Morgan mused. Markus nodded and put another forkful of egg into his mouth, considering. He tapped a chalk mark on the chart.

"We best alter course south then," he said around a mouthful of sausage, "else we would have to backtrack around the reefs." Morgan nodded his head and began to roll the chart up.

"Will three days be enough?" Emmaline asked, snatching a sausage of Markus' plate and popping it into her mouth before he could object. Morgan and Markus both snorted at the question.

"If there is a sailor who can't blow his pay in three days I've yet to meet him," Morgan explained. Markus nodded his agreement.

"Aye, they will be broke as Brettonian crofters, drunk as the Grand Theoginist, and poxed as any Marienburg whore besides," Markus snickered.

"Do we have coin to pay them with?" Emmaline asked. Markus and Morgan exchanged looks. Funds were low she knew, but she wasn't certain how low.

"We can pay the men," Markus confirmed, "but we are going to have to find some coin if we are going to have to find more coin."

"We still do have that shipment of iron and goods you got from Tobaro," Morgan commented, the quartermaster reminding them they still had a fair way of getting cash. Markus looked at Emmaline, who looked away guiltily so as her wave of blonde hair fell before her eyes to hide her.

"You know as well as I do that one flimsy promise of money leads to a mutiny the second it fails." Markus reminded him, turning back to the old seadog. "Besides, there's no telling what the Duke might think of us at this moment. We can transport the goods, but there is a chance they'll try to arrest us once we make our destination."

Morgan raised his hands and shrugged, sighing. "Well then, what do you suggest lad?"

Emmaline raised a hand, and the two regarded her. "Uhm...I have an idea?"

---

The City of Corsairs was a spectacular sight from the railing of the ship. The spires reached the sky, towering with majesty as if they were carved by the hands of giants. The sun gleamed golden in the expansive blue sky that reached as far as the eye could see, and even the colors, sounds, and smell of the place came to opulent life as they had drifted closer. No crewmember of the Hammer wasn't breathless from the spectacle, whether or not they had seen it before in a past life. Markus had only been to an Arabyan port once, and it was for just a day. The closest he had ever gone to a true desert was a foray into the badlands during his mercenary days.

It was a strange experience to the crew when they had stepped off and saw the city close up. The colors were there, but most were on cheap and gaudy goods men would lie to their teeth to you about. The spires were there, but that was only in a small area of the vast shantytown of a city teeming with the poor and destitute. The sun beat down mercilessly on any that were not in direct contact with a coastal breeze. Thankfully, the crewmen weren't picky, and they knew something about making a living in the slums. Each member of the crew save Halfdan and Morgan had readily embarked on a journey of debauchery, to squeeze Lashiek dry of whatever pleasures and money they could find.

Markus and Emmaline found themselves in a less than safe area, having passed alleyway through alleyway, descending down stairs into a slum of blackmarket trading and illicit activities that even the city proper would turn their nose at. Markus wore his normal attire, though he had taken a windswept cloak he could wrap about his face if any sand billowed from below. Now they just needed to find the right man with the correct information in this den of theives.

Although Arabian fashion varied considerabley across social strata Emmaline had opted for the dark flowing robes and veil of a successful but not too successful merchant's wife. Though flowing the robes had been cut for a less generous figure than Emmaline's and clung at her hips and chest, worse still it was slightly too long and she tripped several times on the hem before Markus shortened it with an improbably sharp knife. In a couple of days the hacked off hem would fray, but Emmaline doubted she would be wearing it long enough for that to be a problem. Fortunately Markus' presence was enough to keep the various pimps, pickpockets and murderers who haunted the slums dusty alleys and dilapidated bazars. Whenever they passed close to the merchants they were assailed with shouts and descriptions of the wonderous goods that were for sale, but they made those claims to everyone whose eyes lingered for a moment too long.

"It should be..." Emmaline began, scanning a boulevard lined with wineshops and falafel vendors. Her eyes fell on a faded sign with three moons on a blue background. A few wizened men squatted in the doorway throwing dice and gulping wine from a skin they passed between wagers. They glanced disinterestedly at Markus and with somewhat more interest at Emmaline but they scooped up their dice and skuttled out of the way as the pair of foreginers entered. The interior was a single large cool room which was bisected by a wooden lattice of faded and cracked timber. The first section was a wineshop with a bar against one wall that was lined with casks, wineskins hung from the ceilings in the dozens, though if there were any method of distingishing them from one another Emmaline couldn't see it. In all likelyhood there was no way and no point, simply a quantity of watered wine that could be had for a few coppers. There was a doorway cut into the latice which Emmaline headed for the doorway, ignoring a greeting from a fat looking man who slouched behind the bar.

Beyond the doorway the room was lined with shelves that were stacked high with scrolls. Some were familiar vellum and parchment, but the majority were the papyrai that many mages in Altdorf had prefered. The material was rare and expensive in Altdorf but apparently not in Araby. A man sat in the corner of the room at an impressive stone topped desk. The desk was carved with a bewildering variety of sigils, a large sheet of paper was spread over it but the sigils shone through the thin material. A very ordinary looking quill was drawing itself over the parchment, periodically rising to dip into a clay inkwell. The man looked up, revealing that one eye was missing and had been replaced with a piece of rough quarts which had been shaped into a rough sphere by blows of a chisel. It sparkled with an internal ight of indeterminate color that dimmed as he lifted his gaze away from the table.

"What can I do for you," he asked in thickly accented Riekspiel. Emmaline didn't bother to ask why he chose that dialect despite having never met them before.

"I need a map," Emmaline responded in Tilean, more to be irritating than for any other reason.

"Hakeem, has maps, if you have coin," the Arabyian said cautiously. Hakeem Al'Hadi was a name Emmaline remembered from late night drinking sessions in the taverns which surrounded the Colleges of Magic. The Celestial College adepts often debated how exactly it was done, but they appreciated the work of Hakeem and people like him. Arcanocatography was unknown among sanctioned Imperial mages. Like many talents of hedge wizards it wasn't well understood and likely involved drawing on several winds of magic at once, a practice which was a dangerous gateway to dark magic.

"I can pay," Emmaline answered, though that wasn't quite the same thing as having coin. Hakeem smiled professionally, though the effect on his ruined face wasn't pretty.

"Then we can do business, as soon as you show me your payment," the Araybian said suspiciously. Emmaline reached into a pouch and withdrew two bars of iron she had taken from the cargo and set them on the table.

"Ah you are a jester then? Or just fool enough to waste Hakeem's time?" he demanded narrowing his good eyes.

"This iron is from the mines of Tobaro," Emmaline explained as though the arcanocartogropher hadn't spoken.

"One piece we will take to Lustria, the other, to Ind," she continued. Hakeem sneered, but there was a flicker of interest in his eye.

"You know something of my craft I grant you, but I would be a fool to believe that two outlanders could really deliver on such a deal. Perhaps if you spent the night with Hakeem..."

"All I require in trade is a map of the city, a small investment on such a return, and as for if we can deliver..." she inclined her head to Markus.

"This is Markus Flintbrook, the most fearsome captain upon the seas, if anyone can do it, he can, he has sailed far and killed hundreds who stood in his way," she told Hakeem. The threat was not subtle and it didn't take Hakeem long to make up his mind.

"Fine, I will take it on faith you will do as you say," he drew a map from one of the shelves and handed it to her. Then he placed his hands over the iron and muttered a quick incantation. Both bars glowed for a moment with the same light the sigils emitted and then dimmed.

"This one for Lustria," he said pointing at the smaller of the two, "and this one for Ind. Better if you had brought gold." Emmaline snorted.

"If I had gold to spare Id have just paid you," she snickered. Hakeem snorted somthing that might have been a laugh and then made a dismissive gesture. OUt in the street Emmaline unrolled the map. It was a simple depiction of the city, though areas of it glowed with a soft blue light when Emmaline focused her vision. THe bright spots showed areas where powerful magic had left after images. She tapped the brightest.

"Albrect told me that all the stories of Djinn he had heard were ledgend, except perhaps that of Mavikim of Lashiek," she explained.

Markus was always amused watching Emmaline work. Since he had known her, she had been mostly on his terms when it came to decision making and setting, so whenever he had a chance to see her wheel and deal he found it was interesting. Now that they were within the steet, the swordsman opened his magesight and felt the world a bit more keenly, able to decipher the magical indicators on the city map, a bit more satisfied now that he saw real proof that there might actually be such a being of legend within the city. The Captain had heard of great sorcerers of Araby and Sultans using Djinn for tasks, but he had never learned much on even what the things were save for vague rumors.

Still slightly apprehensive, he traced his finger from where he supposed their location was to the sizeable domain of what could only be Mavikim on the map, then deducing how far away it was from their ship. He still did not know what this creature was able to accomplish for them, but he decided to humor her on if it was worth it and thought outloud.

"So if we capture this Djinn, we still must wait three days before we can set sail. I won't go back on my word to the men. Which means we need to find a suitable safehouse for us, or we will need to make it to my ship without being seen by guards, or preferably anyone."

"There's also the matter of getting in." Emmaline added as they stood close, both still peering at the map whilst sharing the occasional glance. "His small palace won't be impregnable, but this is the City of Corsairs. If the average thief could bypass his security, he would have remained a rich man to speak of. Aaand since your men are on holiday, you can't exactly assault the place. Not that I would suggest the brute approach."

The two thought for a moment, Emmaline pursing her lips. Markus glanced at her, and then decided to do it again. A wicked gleam entered his eye, and she noticed it a second later. He gathered she usually liked that look, but when it was at her, it wasn't very reassuring.

"I think a more feminine approach would work wonders." He decided.

"You really think this will work?" Emmaline asked as they sauntered down the street. Unlike the slums they had left, this street was a wide bouldevard both sides of which were lined with mansions which ranged from large town houses to small palaces. Each house was set off by its own wall of low sandstone topped with iron spikes, broken glass and other impediments to thieves. Behind each wall were small gardens, some quite elaborate, whose lush green color clashed with the sandstone and did more to display the wealth of those inside than the onion domes and marble facades of the structures they fronted.

"Well it is working for me," Markus snickered. Emmaline was dressed, if that were the correct word in a brazier of red silk, and a short skirt of the same fabric, both of which had been hung with short chains of overlapping brass discs and elaborate lacework. Bangles and necklaces had been added along with rather intricately applied henna tatoos which covered the backs of her hands, crept up over her neck and ran from her hairline halfway down to her brow in a series of interconnected geometric designs. Her hair had been gathered up in a lose braid that hung behind her head and a series of guasy veils that covered her from head to mid thigh provided the illusion of modesty. Emmaline resisted the urge to stick her tongue out with some difficulty. Markus was dressed in chainmail wrapped in dark cloth with a scarlet cloak and an ornate helmet with a chain coif that extended down over his neck and shoulders. He carried a scimitar at his waist though he had his backsword tucked in under the cloth for good measure. There wasn't much in the way of a city watch in the City of Corsairs, various groups paid their own muscle to stop their competitors from taking what they would at sword point, and the resulting peace was rather a nervous one. High class prostitutes, like the ones Emmaline's costume deliberately emmulated, usually had at least one of their own toughs to see them safely through the streets.

"Well I guess that is a point in its favor," Emmaline murmered. It was just after dusk now and the city was moving from its langorous afternoon stupor into the roar of its busy night. Like many desert cities, the heat of the day meant that much bussiness was conducted in the cooler hours after sundown, and in more mercantile districts the streets had been crowded and the air filled with the scents of perfume, cooking meat and the ever present scent of the sour wine and aarak which passed as the local drink. Even in these richer areas, couple promenaded and self important servants strode along on their own errands. Emmaline and Markus had scouted the area earlier with the map and identified Mavikim's palace. Predictabley it was the largest on the street, and contained four onion domed turrents as well as a vast central dome over a three story marble edifice. The domes had been painted with bright metallic golds, greens and reds which swirled around them, and gold or brass glittered from the arabesque windows on the upper stories. A pair of guards, equiped much the same was as Markus was, though in cloth that was cleaner and finer, lounged beside an iron wrought gate flanked by two large stone pillars, each surmounted by the carved forms of crouching lions. Beyond the gate was a palm lined path which lead to the main door, the way illuminated by several lanterns which had been housed in green glass.

"What is your business?" one of the guards demanded as they approached. At least that is what Emmaline thought he said, her Arabian was rudimentary at best, fortunately Markus had more experience in these parts and spoke the tongue better. Both men were alert now, weight distributed with the tell tale poise of experienced fighters who expect trouble. One of them looked back over his shoulder briefly as though signaling to the house.

"What else," Makrus asked making a theatrical guesture at Emmaline, "One of the finest dancers in the city for the entertainment of the house of Mavikim."

"We have heard of no such arrangements," one of the guards objected, tearing his eyes of Emmaline with obvious difficulty.

"And while I am sure you are the close confident of the Mighty Mavikim," Makrus interjected, "we are expected." The guards wavered, clearly uncertain about letting in strangers and also about upsetting their master. They seemed on the point of interrupting further when Markus reached out and drew several stray locks of Emmaline's hair from beneath the gauzy veils, running it through his fingers to demonstrate that it was fine and blond.

"Who else but Mavikim could afford such ... exotic luxuries," Makrus continued. That seemed to convince the guards, whores might be as common as rats in a place like this but pale skinned and fair haired ones were a rarity beyond price.

"Well the Master does like them blonde," One of the guards snickered, the tension going out of the pair, "Who knows maybe he will even share with us poor servants one day." That bought a chuckle from both guards as one drew a key from a pouch and unlocked the gates.

"Go up to the house, the servants there will take her off your hands," the guards explained.

In a way, the Arabyan estate wasn't too unlike the larger aristocratic domains of the north. The walls surrounding the small palace were made of stone, likely sandstone, and the guardrooms at the base of the towers and framing the gates were small and square. Laughing and cursing could be heard within as the two passed onto the stone road that lightly curved upwards climbing a low, undoubtedly artificial hill. Along the parapets behind as well as the roofstop of the approaching manor, the patrols walked to and fro lazily, or were lost in thought on various musings of their lives. Obviously they had been in this job so long they weren't as alert as a new recruit would be, though Markus could make out all eyes inevitably fell on he and Emmaline, seeing as they brazenly walked under the failing light of the sky and her voluptuous charms were on display for all to take a gander at. At the corner of his eye, Markus could see a well tended garden with a spring pool that gently cascaded water from the mouths of two stone jungle cats. On the left was all of the pragmatic housing and equipment storages a baron would need for his servants and soldiers.

The two approached the great central stairway amid the marble pillars that held up a large foyer, leading into the solidly built palace halls. Two large, swarthy skinned guards approached. Their glaives were likely ceremonial in use, but Markus could tell they knew how to use them if it came to it. They stepped down two of the large steps in tandem, eyeing Markus and Emmaline. The woman looked a bit uneasy, and Markus whispered to her. "I doubt you'll have to touch him. In fact, I'll kill him if he does."

"This was your idea!" She whispered harshly, then she turned and fluttered her lashes at the guards.

"For the master of the household," Markus declared, his voice clear even though the cloth covered all but his dark eyes. He spanked Emmaline for good measure, which sent her in a small leap and a squeal. The guards chuckled at that, a bit of the tension dropping. They spoke to one another in their language, a dialect Markus had a hard time deciphering. Something about the master needing a new batch of women. They exchanged a coin, likely from a bet between the two of them.

The one who had won the bet beckoned for Emmaline to come forward. She did so obediently, and Markus slowly began to follow her, pressing his luck.

"You can go," the loser said grimly. Markus met his stare and did not flinch. The guards above were too high up to be able to see the exchange below, but Markus knew fighting now was still far too blunt of a solution.

"My own master in Copher paid many coins for her and for our travels. It would be a dishonor to not see her safely to the one who would acquire her." He explained, lifting his head with authority.

"Too bad. You can go back to Copher and tell him she was received. Do so now or we'll send back your head." The other warned, waiting for Markus to back down, which he did after a moment of hesitation. The Captain gave a low, prideful bow and turned, striding down the steps and towards the road that led to the gate. Ever were his eyes on the two guards, and as soon as he saw them both turn to stand between Emmaline so as to escort her, he quickly ducked and made his way left, towards the cover of the gardens. If there was a way in, he would find it there.

Emmaline resisted the urge to struggle as she was led up the stairs by one of the guards, the other remaining below to bar Markus from attempting to follow. The guard grabbed her rump with a grin and muttered something in Arabian that she didn't follow. They reached to top of the stairs and the door opened before them. A moon faced man with very smooth skin and a completely hairless face guestured her in to the rooms beyond. The guard opened his mouth as though to object but the hairless man snapped at him in Arabian, Emmaline caught the word fool but not much else. The guard gave Emmaline a shove and she stumbled on the top step, staggering into the arms of the smooth skinned man. He was dressed in a silk robe of plain but very fine fabric.

"Come girl," he said in passable Reikspiel closing the door behind him.

"A blonde eh, did they take you as a slave off a ship," the fellow inquired politely.

"Yes master," Emmaline replied demurely as they passed through a large hall floored in priceless rugs and lined with works of art from a variety of cultures. There were several other closed doors which Emmaline presumed led off to private quarters, though she saw no servants other than this one.

"A pity," the man replied as he led her to another large set of doors, these ones inlaid with gold and precious stones. The servant knocked respectfully on the door and a voice called from beyond in acknowledgement. The door swung open and she was led into a vast bedroom. The central dome was vast and hollow above them, hung with green plants and painted with a convincing fresco of the night sky. They even sparkled with some sort of luminescence which she couldn't identify.

"Thank you Khazeem," said a powerful looking man who rose from a divan in a robe of white silk with golden stitching. He was tall and fit though there was a slight plumpness around his midsection which showed that he ate well regardless of how much effort he put in to staying fit. His eyes were dark and slightly beedy which gave him a look of rakish cruelty.

"I will take it from here," Mavikim said, making a waving motion with his hand. Khazeem nodded and stepped back through the doors closing them behind him with a resounding boom, leaving Emmaline alone with the Arabyian lord. He gave her a long look and his lips curved into an appreciative smile.

"Well you are a cut above what they usually send me," he told her walking over to her and beginning to circle like a shark. His fingers stretched out and brushed her hips as he moved around her like a stockman inspecting a cow.

"Which one of them sent you?" Mavikim asked curiously.

"Hakeem of Copher," she replied, plucking the name of the hedgewizard they had spoken to earlier. Mavikim arched his eyebrow at the statement though his inspection didn't cease.

"I've not heard of Hakeem, what favor does he ask for?" Mavikim asked curiously. Emmaline's mind wheeled for a moment before landing on a plausible lie.

"Revenge, against a pirate known as Von Roberts," she extemporized quickly. Mavikim cocked his head.

"I had heard an Imperial pirate put in here a week ago, I'm not surprised he was as offensive in Copher as he was here."

"Shall I dance for you Lord?" Emmaline asked feeling more than a little nervous at the strange Arabyian's attention. Mavikim laughed cruelly.

"That won't be necessary," Mavikim laughed and he took Emmaline by the hand and lead her into an alcove in the back of the vast chamber. She just had enough time to recognize that she was in trouble before she was shoved roughly against a rack. Emmaline cried out in shock but Mavikim bent her wrists back and fastened brass shackles with a click. She kicked out, catching Mavikim on the hip. The Araybian grunted but it was like kicking a block of granite. He seized her ankle and locked down first one and then the other so she was completely immobilized.

"Not much point in fighting girl, you are payment afterall, I suppose when I am done with you, you can at least take solace in the fact that Hakeem will be granted his favor. Brief solace that is," he chuckled evilly. Emmaline muttered a spell, preparing to blast Mavikim with a lance of golden light, but the winds would not come. It wasn't that the wind was weak, it was just... gone. Mavikim took up a large knife, tested the edge of on his thumb and then slashed away her clothing with practiced care. Her eyes flicked to the to the corners of the room, and too her horror she saw that runes had been inlaid in the tile work, warding runes to make the area null to magic. Realization dawned and cold gathered in the pit of her stomach. Mavikim did have a Djinn whose favors he hired to others, and as he did so he defended himself from Araby's sorcerers, but living in a fortress that would repel magical attack.

Mavikim chuckled at her chagrin, though it didn't seem that he had realized that she had tried to cast a spell. Leisurely now he moved to a side table which was covered with a velvet cloth. He whipped it back theatrically to reveal, knives, pincers, whips and other implements she couldn't name.

"It is a big favor that Hakeem asks, but I think you can make it worth my while."

The gardens were uncharacteristically lush compared to what the pirate had expected. He could tell the pasha siphoned many tons of precious water from the city to this place in order to keep it as alive and vibrant as it appeared. Large hedges had buffeted into the sky, immaculately cut in the fashion of mythic beasts and great works of architecture, whilst feral wildflowers had been planted along their bases to keep anyone from getting too close. As Markus crept, he drew out a knife and hid it beneath his closed hand and wrist to keep it on hand, hearing the spring water grow louder and louder as he approached. It was good he was so cautious, for he nearly stepped out of the hedgeline and into the spring 'area' just in front of a lovely young Arabyan woman. Her bedlah pants and crochet top were indigo, hugging her dark skin as she sat bored, although she wasn't alone.

A hairless fellow stood before her, bedecked in robes that denoted he had a trusted status amongst Mavikim's court, Markus had to guess. The pirate had knelt down and watched through a small opening of one of the great walls of foliage that towers across the grounds. The man seemed to be lecturing the woman over some slight, or perhaps warning her. He unwound clothed helmet upon his head and pressed his ear to the hole, closing his eyes.

"-before you are disciplined as the others. You may be the chief wife, but he does not look kindly upon women who disobey him." The man, possibly a Eunuch of Markus had to guess, berated to the woman. He spoke like he took great pride in making demure servants scared, likely because he used to be just as powerless.

"It will not happen again. Please, lord Khazeem, I simply wish to be left alone." She explained, but it was followed by a small gasp and a brief struggle. Bits of water could be heard splashing, though he spoke before Markus would remove his ear to see with his eyes.

"That is good to hear, princess. Even now he makes a foreign whore his plaything. Once he is finished with her you will be his only means of...expunging his wickedness. I doubt today's session will not end in her life." He gloated, chortling by the end. Markus's heart skipped a beat, realizing he might have made a mistake if this pasha was particularly cruel. Once again he mused if it was not better for Emmaline to be gone from the ship, but almost immediately that thought was purged. Merely a runoff notion from back when he considered her a liability. The captain had already come to terms with their mutual feelings and desire for one another, and soon a fear gripped him when he thought of her safety. He decided it was time to move a bit quicker than usual.

As the princess began to cry, she placed her face in her hands. It came as a shock to her when the steward's chastisement suddenly ceased, and she poked her eyes up to see a rakish northman with a knife to Khazeem's throat. Her mouth opened and closed, but before she could scream for help, the northman placed a finger to his lips. "If you want to be freed of this place, keep yourself quiet." He told her. He didn't expect she was totally convinced, but it kept her silent for the moment, which was truly all he needed. Markus moved the knife from Khazeem's throat to let him speak, but he put a hand around his throat and the knife next to his fingers.

"There is a magic lamp with a Djinn inside this palace. Where is it?" Markus asked, not in the mood to mince words.

"Ha! A lone man here, chasing after rumors and legends?" Khazeem chuckled as if he were control of the entire situation. "There is no Djinn here, fool. You've resigned your fate to a lie. You'll not leave this place alive, even if you kidnap me or h-" He suddenly gave a hoarse cry of pain, luckily blocked by the gardens around him so the guards at the wall were as of yet, unalerted. Khazeem began to whimper, and the princess saw a stubby appendage fall to the ground amidst a stream of blood. It was his finger.

"Do say something I wish to hear, next time." Markus remarked simply. "Where is the magic lamp?"

The princess covered her ears and closed her eyes, counting to fifty and shaking with fear. She yelped when something poked her shoulder, the woman slowly opening her eyes to see the handsome foreigner standing before her. Behind him, Khazeem bled into the dirt, his body like an ever reddening sack of flesh.

"You want to be rid of this Mavikim, yes? ... Yes?"

She gulped and nodded, dark hair bouncing from the movement. She looked mortified, but simply for her life and not Khazeem's it seemed. Markus stepped back a bit, but offered her his hand. She hesitated like a nervous fawn, but reached out to accept it after a moment's hesitation. To her surprise, he did not begin to cut off her fingers. He merely helped her up and let her go, sheathing his knife back into its small, hidden scabbard.

"You will take me to this Mavikim's chambers. I am your guard and you are to go and see him. Do this, and I'll kill him and set you free."

Emmaline hung on the rack from the cuffs that secured her wrists and ankles. The X shape spread eagled her without impeding Mavikim's access to her. The pasha was speaking to her but in his excitement, his clearly evident excitement, now that he had shed his robe he had switched back into Araybian which Emmaline couldn't follow in her current state. She was bound physically and cut off from the winds of magic and at Mavikim's mercy. The Pasha picked up a needle, the point of which glinted in the lamplight, and stalked around her lowering the point so that it trailed across her belly and up over her breast, leaving a thin red line but not actually drawing blood. She flinched away to the extent her bonds would allow it, which wasn't far but seemed to please Mavikim.

"Interesting tatoo," the pasha commented, lifting the needle away and seizing her wrist. Emmaline glanced down and to her surprise the golden serpent bracelet was gone, replaced by a tattoo that wound from her wrist to halfway up her forearm in astonishingly lifelike detail. She was too frightened to give the matter much thought at the moment however.

"Is that why we are here? To talk about tatoos?" she asked with as much bravado as she could summon up. Mavikim recoiled as though head been struck then his eyes narrowed.

"Eager to get started are we?" he asked with an unpleasant burr in his voice. He set the pin down and picked up a whip of heavy braided leather, slapping the butt of it into his palm with an audible snap. Emmaline laughed with derision she certainly didn't feel. Mavikim's jaw tightened.

"Something amuses you whore?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

"You are just a man," she snickered, "all this talk of Mavikim, Master of the Djinn and it turns out your just an ordinary man. Very ordindary." Her glance down at his crotch was probably more insult than she should have used and he drew back his whip and cracked it down over her chest, the lash curling around sensitive flesh and making her yelp despite her best efforts to grit her teeth.

"You wan't to see what I am?" he demanded, setting the whip down and stalking over to another alcove. He returned a moment later with a battered brass lamp. He lifted the brass top slightly and Emmaline saw a swirling terrible darkness within that howeled with the hunger of a thousand winter storms. Solid darkness began to ooze from the lamp reaching for Emmaline like spectral fingers. She tried to recoil backwards but her bonds didn't allow it, terrifed and desperate to get away. Mavikim snapped the lamp shut.

"Maybe Ill give you to it when I'm done with you, hearing your screams when I open the lamp might be a pleasant amusement," he snickered with dark and evil relish. He leaned down and picked up a hooked knife.

"But not till I'm done," he crooned, moving up between her legs and leaning over her touching the tip of the knife to one breast. The tattoo exploded out of Emmaline's arm, transforming from ink to solid serpent in the space between eye blinks. The cobra sank its fangs into the Pasha's wrist with an audible snap of its jaws. Mavikim screamed and flung his arm back, losing his knife as he did so. The serpent clung on its tail whipping like a pennant flag in a gale as its jaws worried at the pasha's wrist. Finally the Arabyian managed to fling it free, sending the glittering serpent flying across the room to crash into a writing desk, overturning an inkpot and sending quills in all directions. Mavikim rounded on the serpent then on Emmaline, his eyes wide and enraged. He gripped his wrist, blood running between his fingers.

"You think a man in my position doesn't guard against poisons bitch?" he demanded.

"Honestly I hadn't give much consideration to the point of view of naked snake bitten men," Emmaline admitted with all the aplomb she could muster. Her breasts stung from the whip stroke and her wrists and ankles chafed from pulling fruitlessly at her bonds. Mavikim took a step towards her and the snake darted across the floor towards him. Mavikim had been expecting it and turned in time to seize the snake, twisting its head to prevent it from spitting in his eyes. Suddenly the snake was coiling trying to encricle the man's wrists. Mavikim hurled it away again before pulling a sword from a scabbard on the wall.

"I'm going to pour its venom sack into your eyes," he promised Emmaline, turning to search for the snake. Just in time to see its tail wrap around the lamp and drag it off the table where it had been set. Mavikim screamed in anger and charged after the rapidly slithering serpent, sword aloft.

"It is the Pasha's orders." Markus declared, face once again wrapped within the strange Arabyan helm.

The two guards, less armed and less large than the elite men outside, glanced at one another. Despite being of a lesser variant in height, they clearly were (to your average man) dangerous by the way they held themselves. The two eyed the Princess that stood before them, the lithe woman attempting to appear both subservient yet brusque in manner, at least as far as she could. She had spoken to Markus only briefly; too soon to gauge on whether he was a threat. She had to admit if he wanted her dead he could have done it far earlier, and likely to greater benefit unless there were strange circumstances about.

"Hurry and move, slave." She snapped at them, drawing both ire and confusion from how she spoke. "My love had ordered me to come and see him. Yes, I know of the foreign whore, but I still do as he bids, as you do. Hurry or your lives will be forfeit!"

He knew she was a native to the land, but Markus wished he sounded as fluent as she did. He saw their will collapsing, breathing easier once he realized they were about to let them in. Until they heard a muffled yelp and a frustrated cry through the oak and brass door, and not that of a woman. Markus couldn't help but smile at that. Only Emmaline could make a man sound like that, which meant she was still alive!

The moment passed and the two guards turned, Markus grabbing the Princess's forearm so she didn't do anything rash. He watched as the left mamluk fumbled for the leather thong around his neck where the doorkey lay. Hastily the guards went to opening the door, pushing against the heavy material and swinging it in to reveal the situation in the room. A fit, dark man wielding a sword searched high and low for something no one could guess whilst a naked Emmaline was bound and strapped across the room, a long cut and a few bruises on her fair skin. The Princess gasped, but Markus elbowed past her and ran the first guard through whilst his back was turned, his backsword blade erupting out of the man's chest. He didn't hesitate, yanking it out and slashing the next guard across the face as he turned, sending him screaming onto the floor of the room.

Markus pulled the Princess along, telling her to close the door behind them in harsh Arabyan as he saw Mavikim finally noticing them, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Jahazra?" He asked incredulously, blinking. He seemed almost too amused to be mad, but there was indeed a simmering rage beneath his visage. "You dare betray me? Is this your pathetic attempt at a coup?" The pasha held his sword in the practiced stance of a dervish, glaring at the Princess in a way that promised a slow and painful death. She shrank back behind Markus, who remained unmoved save for the quick downward thrust that ended the door guard's life.

"No, it's mine." Markus said in Reikspiel, pulling down the scarf to reveal his suntanned but clearly unArabyan face. He gave Emmaline a wink, and despite her injuries she seemed ecstatic at his sudden arrival. The look on Mavikim's face was priceless, though it was nothing compared to the look he gained when an asp slithered along the floor just before Markus's feet, an old brass lamp in the coils of its tail. Both swordsman glanced down, and then at one another.

"Jahazra," The Captain told the woman, eyes never leaving the dark man that approached. "Free my lover while I kill the pasha."

That was what set the scene in motion. Mavikim suddenly leaped with impressive grace just as Markus bent down to scoop up the oil lamp with his offhand. Mavikim thought to halt the move, but Markus merely rolled out of the way, Mavikim's scimitar slamming into the smooth floor with a 'clang!' The Captain rose up from a new position and grinned, raising his backsword up in a block from Mavikim's next attack that sent sparks flying.

Emmaline sagged with relief as Markus entered the room. The strange snake had been giving a good account of itself but it would clearly be only a moment before Mavikim got the upperhand. Now the two swordsman circled each other, blades held in guards. As she watched Mavikim launched an assault, a series of overhand cuts which drove Markus back across the floor. For a moment she thought that Markus was outmatched, but as a woman darted across the floor she saw it had been a ploy to make space for his accomplish to get past the Pasha. Mavikim adjusted his footwork as though to strike at the girl, but Markus was waiting for it and he lunged forward, nearly ending the fight right then and there. Mavakim snapped up his blade in time, recoiling back and working hard to keep the point of Markus' sword from his body.

The girl reached Emmaline's side screaming and jumping backwards as the snake wriggled back this way, avoiding the stamping and slashing combatants. The woman's dark eyes cut to the lamp and Emmaline could see she was tempted to lunge for it. The snake obviously sensed it to, coiling around the brass lamp, lifting its hood and hissing warningly. The woman hesitated for a minute and then grabbed the cuff that held Emmaline's wrist undoing it with a grace that suggested she was familiar with it. Emmaline's hand shot out and unsnapped the second cuff. She sat up and yanked at her feet one at a time freeing them. The woman shouted something to her in Arabyian which she didn't understand.

Emmaline ignored her and jumped to her feet. Without missing a beat she snatched up a vase and hurled it at the back of Mavikim's head. The pasha shouted a curse and ducked under the missile, swatting away a thrust from Markus in a shower of sparks. Emmaline picked up another missile, a brass candle stick. Faster than she believed possible Mavikim flicked a dagger from his belt and tossed it at her back handed. Emmaline yelped in panic and swatted the blade out of the air more by luck than good judgement.