Chapter 0 - A Silver Lamp

A Silver Lamp
Bromm VII
 
              On the roof of a dockside tavern sat six sailors, passing between them an emptying pitcher of wine as they watched the sun sink low in the west. Their manner was subdued, for they had long lingered in port for a lack of winds to carry them away. Not far away, their ship, the White Shepherd, sat at anchor along the quay, manned by only a skeleton crew as the others scattered themselves throughout the port of Arram to drink, whore, and gamble until the winds returned.
              The leader of the five was a black-haired young man with broad shoulders and a tall frame. He wore his hair about his shoulders and beneath a broad-brimmed black hat, and his beard was thick and wild. Green eyes glazed with the drink, he stretched in his chest and looked west toward the setting sun. 
              “Another day gone,” Bromm sighed, and one of his companions scoffed.               
              “Another day wasted,” grumbled Sahat. He wiped his mouth and poured himself another cup of wine. “Damn this wind! We should be halfway to Torvuls by now.”
              “Perhaps another sacrifice to the Anemoi?” proposed Imre, a lanky young man with fair-skin and dark hair. “Something larger this time, like a bull?”
              “A hundred sailors have already sacrificed a thousand bulls,” replied Lukodo. With one broad, dark-skinned hand, he took the pitcher of wine from a scowling Sahat and poured himself another drink. “The priests have delivered us nothing. More sacrifices will not free us from here.”
              “Perhaps we don’t need wind,” Imre went on, “The Zahiri are excellent sailors but are also renowned for their swift galleys. We might hire one to tow us out to sea and find some wind.”
              “Always with the wind,” chided the youngest member of their group. Pyet was a brash lad with a scruffy face untamed by his time in port. “Arram has plenty of wine and women. Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”
              “We are almost out of coin,” grumbled Sahat, “And the crew is restless enough as it is. We can’t keep bleeding money in port, we must find some revenues somewhere.”
              “Our coffers cannot be empty already! We found an excellent price on the Saeclarian salt.”
              “There were only seven talents of salt,” replied Tahavi, the final member of their crew. Despite his olive-skin, he was having the most difficulty handling the city’s heat and was glad of the coming night. He brushed his forehead dry with his green-checkered waistband and leaned forward against the table. “The price was good, but we will be in arrears soon enough if we are stuck in port much longer.”
              “We will find something,” Bromm reassured them. “This damnable calm cannot last forever, and we can promise the crew a larger share of the eventual profits if need be. Our hold is full of coffee and cotton that will fetch a fine price in Torvuls.”
              “The crew did not sign on to haul crates, Bromm,” Sahat cautioned, “The cargoes make fine profits in the meantime, but we have a crew of glory-hungry killers on our hands. We should forget the crates and make for the Spice Gates. Urgan and his ilk will forget their grumblings once we crack open the hull of a spice galleon.”
“A spice galleon’s cannons would crack us open before we ever got into range,” Lukodo laughed. “While it would rid us of Urgan and his grumblers, I like my head attached as it is.”
              “Bromm is an excellent captain,” Pyet replied, “And captains of half his status have achieved greater glories in lesser ships. Glory will make up for a lot of missed paydays.”
              “But it won’t make up for the lack of wind,” Sahat objected again. They had no response to that and simply stared sullenly into their cups. Bromm leaned over the edge of the roof and looked down to the streets. A cart laden with sacks of grain clatter by, followed by a man leading a goat to the slaughter. The nightlife of the city was coming alive even as the preparations for the next day began. Down the street he could see the façade of a brothel, where two topless women in sheer skirts leaned over the balcony rail to call down to potential patrons below. 
              Bromm found his mind wandering down the stairs of the tavern and to the front steps of the brothel. He began counting his coins in his head, wondering how much more expensive this establishment was than the one he had spent the previous night in. But Sahat, ever-gloomy, was once again right. They were short of coin, and in no position to spend it frivolously. 
              Pyet, however, seemed of a different mind. He leaned over the street opposite Bromm, his eyes intent on the two women and his mouth quirked up in an anticipatory smile. The young man reached for his purse and excused himself.
              “If we’re to set out to sea again, I’ll need to stock up. You know where to find me, lads!” The others shook their heads as he hastened his way downstairs.
              “I should say that boy has the right idea,” Lukodo said, draining his cup.
              “Don’t go spending your money all at once,” Bromm cautioned. “Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here.”
“You won’t care much for a woman when you’re starving in the gutter,” Sahat grumbled as Lukodo shrugged off their warnings. He pushed his chair aside and followed Pyet downstairs. 
              Sahat sighed. “It’s a wonder we can keep the crew under control when we can’t even control ourselves,” he muttered. “I should hate to see us explain the lack of coin.”
              “Don’t worry,” Bromm replied. “If things get too dire, we can fall back on my skills as a thief.”
              “It would require some real skills to sustain our crew on thievery alone,” said Imre. “This is a small port, and has only so much to steal.”
              “Besides, if you’re caught, they’re likely to cut your head off. The emir is a harsh lawmaster, and the people delight in a public spectacle.”
              “Aye, Bromm. Keep your hands to yourself when you go out. Without you, Urgan’s like to seize the captain’s helm and send the rest of us to the depths.”
              Bromm scowled. The dwarf had proven a greater threat to his captaincy than he had anticipated. 
              “We need to score a victory soon,” he said after a contemplative moment. “Nothing smooths over faults in a crew like a fresh plunder. But these winds! Damn!”
              “Perhaps another sacrifice?” Imre suggested again. “More than a bull, a mare? Or a stallion?”
              “Where would you find a stallion?” Tahavi laughed, “You’re no faris.”
              “The emir’s an avid horseman,” Imre replied, “Perhaps he might be persuaded to part with one of his stock. He must be feeling the lack of tariffs and tolls from the harbormaster.”
              “Expecting an emir to care about us common sailors is a fool’s errand,” Tahavi sighed. “We’re stuck here until the Anemoi rise from their rests once again.”
              “Or the djinni,” Imre replied. “They live in the desert, but if we could find one, we might convince it to summon the wind for us.”
              “And how are we to find a djinn? They aren’t a cobbler with a sign out front.”
              “There are sorcerers, djinnbinders, who traffic in such things. The binding and dealing of djinni is the highest form of sorcery to the Zahiri.”
              “And where are we to find one of them?” Sahat demanded. 
              “You must simply know where to look,” said a voice, and they all turned to see its source.
              Behind them stood a woman, shrouded in a cloak of midnight blue. Her face was pale, with full, inviting lips, and framed by long, lustrous hair the color of night. Her narrows eyes shone blue, a lighter, sky blue than her cloak, but no less enchanting. She looked down to them haughtily, but with thinly disguised curiosity on her beautiful face. She was gorgeous to behold, and smelled strongly of perfume and the indigo spice.
              “Who are you?” Bromm asked in awe. 
              “Carella is my name, and I am a sister of the Azure Tower.”
              “You are a long way from home,” Bromm replied, “What brings you to Arram?”
              “The djinni,” she replied simply. She pulled out one of the abandoned chairs and presumptuously seated herself before them. Her cloak swept open to reveal beneath it an embroidered dress of the same midnight blue, embroidered with stars and moons. Her lacy bodice framed a pale breast that shone white in the waning dusk and Bromm’s heart raced faster. Carella leaned forward on her elbows, ignoring the stares of all four men as she continued to speak.
              “The spirits of the land and desert are the object of my studies. In particular, I have traveled hence to learn the art of djinnbinding, by which a sorceress bargains with a djinn to gain knowledge and power, and possibly binds the djinn to serve her. The tales speak of sorcerers who used their bound servants’ powers to travel across land and sea with the speed of a rushing wind, or ward off invaders from their mountain strongholds. Of particular interest to sailors, some djinnbinders used their mastery of the winds to sail as they saw fit. When you are master of the wind, there is no ‘upwind.’ You’ve no doubt heard of Thoramar? The legends say that he bound a djinn, and then none could outrun him, for they found that, wherever they turned, they were sailing against the wind, while he bore down on them with the wind at his back.”
              Bromm nodded in time with her story, fascinated both by her beauty and her words. The others were equally interested, and he could see their interest increase as she spoke of Thoramar and his exploits. Thoughts of sailing out of this becalmed port on a wind no others could follow excited him. He could even use such powers to attack a spicer galleon, for it would be a simple matter to becalm the ship and then approach is from ahead or astern where its armament was light. I might become the terror of the spice gates and sleep atop a mountain of indigo and gold! he thought with excitement.
              But he tempered such excitement before it ran away with him. However alluring this sorceress was, she was no djinn, nor did he have the sorcerous expertise to do the things she described. But perhaps an alliance could be struck?
              “You know how to do these things?” he asked with poorly disguised eagerness. 
              “I have scrolls and grimoires that speak of such spells. I require only a djinn. And, as it so happens, I know where to find one.”
              Bromm suddenly wondered if he had the coin required to buy a horse. If they were to go charging off into the desert in pursuit of a djinn, he would want such a mount, for the desert was no place for a man on foot. Brigands and tribal warriors alike rode mounted, and without a horse of equally fine breeding, he would be mere prey for them.
              “How far away is this place where you could find a djinn? We are men of the sea, and I would not stray far from the sea if it could be avoided. Many of us have never ridden a horse before.”
              Carella smiled teasingly at him. “You do not even have to leave the city. As I overheard, you are a thief by trade?”
              Bromm bristled somewhat at her tone. “I am a ship captain. Though, yes, I have a past profession of a different color. Your djinn lives in the city?”
              “Of a sort. It is imprisoned, as I hear. Bound within a silver lamp by some past djinnbinder, long since deceased. This lamp was looted from some ruin deep in the desert and brought to Arram via a chain of interested buyers and sellers. Over some months, I have traced its route and discovered its current resting place.”
              “In the home of a rich man, no doubt,” Tahavi said, and the sorceress nodded.
              “The richest man,” she confirmed. “Emir Assan himself bought the lamp from a merchant last week. He now keeps it in his palace as a mere trophy, a curiosity to strike up conversations at banquets.”
              Bromm bit his lip. He had seen the emir’s palace looming over the city when he first arrived and nearly every day since. It was dominated by a grand, spired building with blue-tiled domes but surrounded by countless outbuildings and expansive gardens whose palm trees jutted out above the white limestone walls that ran a long circuit about the palace grounds. Every hundred feet or so, the wall was topped with a guard tower and an iron-mailed sentry who looked as if he would brook no disobedience from the commoners below him. Yet the very presence of such guards and walls implied vast wealth behind them, else why would a man spend so much money on his own security?
              “Careful, Bromm,” Tahavi cautioned. “Robbing merchants and drunken pirates is a far cry from an emir. He might as well be a king, for all his wealth and power.”
              “Aye,” Sahat nodded and reached across to give Bromm a shake, “You break into the emir’s palace and you’re likely to end up adorning a spike above the gates.”
              “It won’t be easy,” Carella agreed, though she also reached across to touch Bromm’s hand meaningfully. He quivered at her soft touch and looked up into her eyes. Even in the waning sunlight, they shone blue like the noontime sky. “But somewhere in his palace is hidden a lamp and a djinn that might make you the envy of all the world.”
              Bromm knew when he was being manipulated, but found himself unable to resist the allure of power, not to mention the beautiful woman. How hard could it be? he wondered, even an emir is just a man, and I’ve robbed men before. 
              “What do you get out of telling this little tale of yours?” he asked as he tried to summon up the courage to say no. 
              Carella smiled and leaned back in her chair. She thinks she’s got me, Bromm realized. Her price will no doubt be prohibitively high. 
              “I will teach you the secrets of the lamp and serve aboard your ship for a year. After that, I will take it and go my own way. But in that year, I will deliver to you a vast fortune the likes of which no other pirate since Thoramar has dared to dream of.”
              “Thoramar was not the only pirate to plunder vast fortunes. There was the Sapphire Lord, and the spice convoy captured at Epida by Taralan. A hoard as vast as either of those is a promise that only the gods could keep.”
              “It is said that the djinni are the children of the gods, such is their power. Certainly, they are immortal and beyond the petty concerns of mortals, even those as versed in sorcery as I am. With such an ally at our command, the world would be ours to plunder.”
              Carella extended one long, white leg from beneath her dress and touched Bromm’s leg with a slippered foot. He felt his heart pound in his chest, but at the same time the disapproving stares of his friends was burning a hole in his face.
              “And in exchange, all I need to do is deliver this lamp to you?”
              “’All’ indeed!” Tahavi scoffed. “This is a bad idea, Bromm. A sorceress is as likely to play you false as to give you your deepest desire. The winds will return on their own.”
              “Aye, trafficking with djinni and sorceresses is a treacherous road indeed,” Imre agreed.
              Bromm chewed his lip in thought. An emir’s palace would be better protected than anything else he had broken into, but the reward Carella had dangled in front of him was too tempting to refuse. He sighed.
              “Alright, I’ll bring you the lamp.”
              Carella smiled. “Very good.”
              “This is a bad idea,” Tahavi repeated glumly. “You’ll be on the headsman’s block by morning, I fear.”
              “Nonsense,” Bromm replied with an easy smile. “I’ll be in and out before they know what’s happened. Then we can be out to sea on a wind that’s all our own, heading for the Spice Gates and the plunder of a lifetime.”
              “What happens if you get caught? We’ll be out of a captain. Then it’s either to sea with Urgan or stay in port and hope to catch a new ship before the guards come after us, too.”
              “I won’t get caught,” Bromm assured them. “Have a little faith, and offer a prayer to Felitharna to hide me from sight. This will be over before you know it.”
              The others exchanged uneasy looks.       
              “You’re the captain,” Sahat said at last, giving a fatalistic shrug. “Lead on to the palace, sorceress.”
 
              Bromm crouched beside Carella in an alley across from the palace walls. The boulevard between them was wide and nearly empty; excellent ground for the sentries to spot anyone in. Carella had insisted that this was the best place to enter, and Bromm was beginning to have second thoughts about the plan. 
              “Surely you must be joking?” Sahat whispered harshly from behind them. “He’s to run across that and then, what? Just hop the wall?”
              The wall Sahat pointed toward was twelve feet high and plastered smooth, offering no handholds for a climber. Bromm found himself wishing he had brought some of the Shepherd’s rope with him. 
              “You forget,” Carella said quietly, breaking Bromm’s concentration, “that I am a sorceress. Hold still a moment.”
              From beneath her midnight blue cloak, she drew a glass bottle filled with a fine blue powder of the same hue as her garments. When she unstoppered it, the familiar scent of indigo spice filled the air and Bromm swallowed hard. Carella took a pinch of the spice between her fingers and dabbed it on her outstretched tongue. Bromm watched, enraptured. The sorceress swallowed and closed her eyes.
              She held out her arms to either side, so still that Bromm could no longer even see her white chest rise and fall with her breath. 
              Suddenly, she jolted upright, and her eyes flew open. Bromm could see now that they were a deeper shade of blue, but tiny sparks now danced within them. The air was thick with the smell of spice and Carella veritably sizzled with energy. Bromm felt a tingle run along his spine as she turned her alien gaze upon him. 
              The sorceress began to whisper in a strange tongue, and in the darkness of the alley Bromm heard Sahat whisper a prayer to Enki. Carella’s hand stretched out to touch Bromm atop his head, and he felt arcane energies run along his whole body from head to toe. Her touch was soft, but charged with unnerving sorcery at the same time.
“There,” Carella pronounced. Behind her, Tahavi and Imre stared toward Bromm with wonder. 
              “What did you do to him?” Imre asked with both awe and terror. Bromm started and looked down at his hands. To his surprise, he found that his whole form was now hidden from sight. Only faint wisps of indigo smoke dared to betray his presence. He whistled softly to himself.
              “Bromm?” Sahat asked with trepidation. “Are you there?”
              “Aye,” he replied, “Can you see me?”
              “I cannot.” Imre and Tahavi shook their heads as well.”
              “You are hidden from sight,” Carella whispered quietly, “but you might still alert the sentries by speaking or walking too loudly. You must still be careful.”
              “Fear not, sorceress, I’ve some experience in keeping quiet. This will be easy!”
              “How are you going to climb the wall?” Tahavi asked, but Carella was already casting another spell. She reached out to Bromm, groping about to find his invisible form for a moment, and he felt the tingle of sorcery in him again. His toes curled with excitement now, and he shuddered under her touch.
              “This spell will allow you to climb the walls like a spider. It should prove no more difficult than climbing a ladder.”
              “Marvelous,” Bromm whispered. He put a hand to the wall beside him and felt it cling to the mudbrick like glue. He pulled back his hand without effort, but somehow instinctively knew that it would support his weight if he had begun to climb the wall.
              “The spells will not last long,” she said. “So don’t waste time.”
              “Where will the lamp be?” Bromm asked, now struck with a sudden sense of urgency. 
              “The emir keeps it as a conversation piece, but not one of his most treasured items. I have heard it is on display in the palace, perhaps in the library or the sitting rooms. Now go, I will wait for you at the inn where we met.”
              Bromm nodded, though he was unsure if the gesture was clear enough to her. Carella pulled her blue cloak tight about her and drew up the hood, then turned down the alley.
              “See you lads soon,” Bromm called softly to the others. “This won’t take long, and then we can join Pyet and Lukodo at their fun and be off on the seas tomorrow!”
              “Keep your wits about you, Bromm!” Tahavi whispered back.
              “Aye, and don’t dawdle!” Sahat added.
              Feeling a smile creep across his face, Bromm turned and darted across the wide boulevard. Less than fifty feet from him, a cart laden with clay pots was clattering down the street toward him, but even when the drover looked straight at Bromm, he showed no sign of recognition that he looked at a man. Stifling an excited giggle, Bromm ran full bore into the wall and leapt the last few yards. He struck against the wall with a thud, his hands and feet sticking solidly to the plaster.
              He had attracted the attention of a sentry, and the soldier snatched up his bow as he stared straight at Bromm. Bromm felt his heart leap into his throat, for the sentry was no more than ten yards from him, but even as the sentry nocked an arrow to his bow, he gave no indication that he saw him. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, the sentry ran his gaze along the wall between Bromm and his post, then looked to the opposite side. At last satisfied, he lowered his bow and turned away.
              Bromm wasted no time in scrambling up the wall and down the other side. He alit softly on the earth and looked around. He was in the gardens, hidden beneath a short palm tree and behind some leafy ferns. Not far from him was a green-tiled pool filled with water that flowed from the mouth of a bronze dolphin. The pool was empty, though chairs and short tables were arranged beside it and the remnants of a meal lay atop one table. 
              Bromm crept closer and sampled the dates left behind. They were plump and juicy, true to the emir’s reputation as a man of taste. Bromm looked to the trees behind him and wondered if these dates were grown in this very garden. Beyond the pool he could see fruit trees, some laden with lemons still. 
              He felt a change coming over him and looked down to his hands with consternation. They were slowly fading back to visibility and Bromm felt exposed. He cast a hurried look at the wall behind him and was relieved to see the sentries staring dutifully out into the street instead. All the same, he hid himself in the garden’s bushes and surveyed his surroundings.
              The garden was deserted, though from the palace he could hear the distant sound of music and laughter. The doors to the main palace building were open, and sheer silk curtains blew in the wind. Through the curtains, he could just make out the sight of people sitting around a table, eating. 
              Bromm crept around the edge of the pool, looking for some sign of the library. He stopped suddenly as he heard voices coming through the doors. As two figures emerged into the garden, Bromm threw himself behind a large rose bush. He froze, listening for any change in the voices that might indicate he had been spotted. There was no such indication. 
              A man and a woman chattered away in the foreign tongue of Zahir, which Bromm had never learned to understand. He caught a few words here and there, for they were discussing the food, but the specifics of the conversation eluded him. Which suited him just fine, as he crawled away from them through the garden’s bushes. The voices faded behind him as he at last reached the wall of an outbuilding and stood up again. 
              Pressed against the wall, Bromm circled to the rear of the building and found himself facing the outer wall of the palace compound. There were no sentry posts here, for on the other side lay only a small expanse of boulders and then the open sea. Bromm relaxed and began a casual stroll along the narrow alley between the building and the outer wall. The building beside him did not even have windows, for they would have seen only the featureless white wall, at least on nights when the emir was not being robbed, and Bromm felt as safe as could be.
              He turned a corner to find a small channel had been dug across his path, carrying water from the garden through an iron grate into the harbor beyond. Bromm crouched by the opening and looked across the wide expanse of the harbor. Somewhere along the docks, he was sure he could see his ship moored along the quay. 
              This might make a fine escape route, Bromm thought to himself. He inspected the grate’s fastenings and found a heavy iron padlock was all that kept it from swinging easily open. Plucking a set of lockpicks from his belt, Bromm soon had the grate open. He tested it, and despite the exposure to salt and wind, the grate swung silently open.
              A most fortuitous find, he told himself, Surely, Apliss is looking out for me this night. I must offer thanks at the first opportunity. Closing the grate, he left the padlock open, though it might pass for locked at a casual glance. 
Smiling confidently to himself, Bromm continued his circuit of the palace grounds in search of the library. The main courtyard was filled with horses and grooms awaiting the guests that they had brought here for the emir’s banquet. Bromm smiled to himself. To think, here he was about to steal the emir’s lamp right out from under the noses of all these guests!
              A pair of guards passed by, and Bromm flattened himself against the wall. They were strolling casually and laughing with each other without concern for their surroundings, and so they did not notice Bromm pressed against the wall. They passed quickly, and Bromm resumed his search. 
              At last, Bromm stopped in his tracks, for he spied through a window a desk with an open book on it. Pens and papers were scattered across the desk, but his eyes were drawn behind it to a heavy shelf laden with books. Found it! he crowed to himself. He hurried around to the front of the room, where the library doors faced onto the garden. 
              The door was a wooden frame paneled with glass, and left open so that the night breeze could flow through it. Bromm cautiously advanced toward it, looking through the glass to the single light inside that illuminated tall shelves piled high with scrolls. Bromm padded forward with one ear cocked to the wind. The library was still and quiet. High above him, a stuffed crocodile hung from the vaulted ceiling. 
              The library was octagonal, with rows of shelves arranged in rings around a central sitting area and nooks and alcoves prepared for reading and writing in seclusion. Bromm passed a hand over the racks of scrolls as he moved, wondering what knowledge was contained in them. 
              He knew that sorcerers and the like prized libraries above almost all else. I wonder what scrolls in here might be of use to Carella? Alas, I cannot even read their script!
              In one alcove, Bromm found a suit of gleaming armor. It was made of overlapping plate and mail, jeweled and furnished with brightly colored silk. He leaned closer to inspect it. The armor showed no signs of rust or battle, but someone had spent a great deal of money on it. What wealth this emir has! Bromm thought to himself.
              He passed a half dozen painted porcelain vases, an ivory elephant statuette, and a bronze sculpture of a dragon before he at last found what he was looking for.
              The lamp sat on a marble pedestal beneath a burning lamp, though the lit one was merely made of bronze and far less impressive than the one Bromm had come for. He crept closer, watching the light shine in the silvery reflection. He could see his face in the lamp, distorted and contorted by its curves. An oversized nose loomed before him, and he put his face up close to inspect it.
              The lamp was engraved with lettering, though not in the Zahiri script. Its nature was foreign to Bromm, though he would admit he was no scholar. No matter, he thought, I’m not here to read. He gingerly picked the lamp up from its pedestal. It was cold and heavy in his hands, feeling at once both aged and unblemished like new. 
              Bromm looked around, half expecting a guard to be standing behind him. But Felitharna kept him secret this night, and so he crept back toward the library door. A light breeze drifted in from the garden, the sheer curtains billowing toward him. 
              He stole through the garden and made for the sea grate at the back of the palace. He could smell the salt in the air when suddenly, as he rounded a corner, he ran straight into a dandily dressed young man leaning against the wall. They fell to the ground in a tangle and the lamp spilled from Bromm’s hands. 
              For a moment, both men froze, looking from each other and then to the lamp. The other man’s eyes narrowed in recognition, and he cried out in the Zahiri tongue. Somewhere beyond them in the palace, someone shouted back in response. Bromm snapped to, snatching up the lamp. The dandy seized it as well, and they wrestled over it in the grass. Bromm threw his adversary off and turned to run, but the man grabbed his ankle and hauled him down again. Bromm fell to the walk, the lamp again spilling from his arms. 
              He turned over in time to see his attacker draw a dagger. It gleamed in the moonlight as it plunged down at him. Bromm caught the man by his wrist and stopped the fatal blow, but it was a near thing. Both men tangled over the blade until Bromm kneed his opponent in the gut. 
              With a loud “oof!” the dandy dropped his knife and Bromm capitalized on the opening to slug the man in his face. As his foe recoiled, Bromm grabbed the lamp from where it lay and took off running. He made for the sea grate again, but in his path a door was flung open and out burst two guardsmen with drawn scimitars. Bromm skidded to a halt and reversed course, running for his life as the guards shouted from behind him.
              The whole palace seemed to come to life around him. Doors and windows swung open and accusing fingers were pointed at him. Up above in a cupola atop the roof, he saw a guardsman readying his bow. Bromm darted into the garden brush for cover. Bells sounded further away, followed by shouts and the rattling of spears.
              If they catch me, they will surely kill me, he thought. He had witnessed a horse thief’s execution on the day the winds had died and had no desire to share that man’s fate. I must give them some reason to keep me alive, he thought. He skidded to a halt beside a tall potted plant. With the sound of armored feet clanging on the flagstones all around him, he scooped up handfuls of earth and shoved the lamp into the dirt. He just had enough time to cover the lamp in earth when the guards rounded the corner and spotted him.
              Bromm took off running and, their shouts sounding from close behind him. He turned a corner, then another, and ran along the rear of the palace toward the sea grate. But it was too late.
              As he rounded the last corner toward the sea wall, he ran straight into a trio of guards. They were as surprised to see him as he was but wasted little time in seizing him by the arms. Bromm fought and kicked, but the three guards were soon joined by four more and they overpowered him. Hands searched him, pulling at his clothes and emptying his pockets. His shirt was wrenched off, tearing a sleeve in the process. Furious faces looked down at him.
              “Where is it?!” one guardsman demanded. Bromm gave him an apologetic shrug.
              “I’ll trade it for my freedom,” he replied. The guard laughed derisively, then backhanded Bromm across the face. The mailed fist split his lip open, and Bromm felt his whole world spin. 
              “You will talk,” the man declared. His boot slammed into Bromm’s gut and he doubled over in pain. Coughing, he spit up a bit of blood on the garden path. His captors held him up, ready to receive another blow.
              But it did not come. Instead, they broke forth manacles and bound him in them. The lead guardsman signaled for a band of new arrivals to go back to their posts and, with a cruel smile, gestured for the others to carry Bromm away.
              Damn it all, he thought, I should have just gone with Pyet to buy a whore.
              Shackled by hands and feet, he was hauled away to the dungeon.
 
              Bromm hung by his aching wrists in darkness for what seemed like an eternity until at last the jailor deigned to see him. He was a short man with a close-cut beard and hard eyes, one of which stared out dully from beneath a scarred brow. The heavy door was slammed shut behind him by two spearmen in mail and the jailor crossed his arms over his chest.
              “Thief,” he spat in the Common tongue, flinging a globule of spit at Bromm’s chest. he produced a knife from his belt and pressed the tip against Bromm’s chest. All his clothes had been stripped from him and he felt the colt of the iron as keenly as its bite. “Where is the lamp?”
              Bromm retreated from the knife as far as he could, but he was suspended from the stone ceiling and rested only on his tiptoes so he could only retreat so far. He tried his best to summon some confidence.
              “I have hidden it away. I will return it to you in exchange for my freedom.”
              The jailor scowled. “I don’t think you understand your predicament. There is no escape for you. You will either surrender the lamp and die a quick death at dawn, or I will dismember you slowly and painfully until I get it, or you die. Either way, you will die within the walls of Arram, thief.”
              “If you don’t free me, you will never see the lamp again. What will the emir think of that?” Bromm raised a taunting eyebrow, hoping that the emir was not the understanding type. But the jailor snorted.
              “That is a problem for the captain of the guards. It was his failure, not mine, that allowed you to rob my master. My duty is only to these cells, and the prisoners within them.” He stepped closer and grabbed Bromm by the beard. The knife crept up Bromm’s flank from his hip, drawing a thin white line through his skin as it did. As it went over each rib, it broke his skin and small droplets of blood welled up at its point.
              “What do you say, thief?” the jailor hissed. Bromm could feel and smell his breath hot on his face. “A quick death at the hands of the headsman, or must I make you beg?”
              Bromm clenched his teeth. Without that lamp, he was as good as dead. “Do your worst,” he hissed. “You’ll never see that—aaaah!!!”
              The knife dug into his armpit and Bromm felt white hot pain lance through his whole body. He clenched his fists around the chains that suspended him and raised himself up off the floor as he tried to get away, but the jailor had him firm by the beard. Bromm gasped as the knife at least retreated. His captor smiled.
              “Had enough yet? I’ve barely gotten started.”
              Bromm summoned a laugh. “You think that would make me talk? Poor, foolish landlubber. I’m a sailor of the Devouring Sea. I’ve faced a hundred things worse than that. I’ve battled krakens and been wrapped in their coils, I’ve felt the sting of the Nan-Ami, who coat their arrows in black lotus extract. Your little knife is nothing to me. You’ll never find the lamp like that.”
              Bromm was panting as his toes touched the stone floor again. He hoped that this jailor was as provincial as he had assumed, for Bromm was not even sure that the Nan-Ami were a people, or if they lived anywhere near the lotus’ homes. The jailor regarded him carefully for a moment, then he stepped back.
              “Indeed,” he said quietly. “I’ve heard much about sailors like you. I know what you’re like. Months at sea, followed by days at port drinking and whoring. I’ve always wondered, do you like the wine or the women more? I bet it’s the women. So what do you say this?”
              He grabbed Bromm’s cock in his hand and stretched it out. Bromm started in fear, but tried to collect himself and think of a witty retort. The jailor brought his knife to the base of his cock. “If I were to cut this off, what would you do the next time you make port, even if you got your freedom? I almost think that letting you live a eunuch would be a crueler fate that lopping off your head.”
              “Well,” Bromm gulped as he struggled to regain his composure, “I can tell you one thing; if you cut if off, I’ll never tell you where I hid the lamp.”
              “Hmm,” the jailor replied. “What if I just cut it partway off? Would you be willing to talk then?”
              “I---” Bromm stammered, searching for a way out. But the jailor had him, with his most precious item in his hand, and no way out. He thought back to the garden. Which pot had he stashed the lamp in? Could he guide them to it?
              “I have money,” he blurted, unable to think of another angle. “I could pay you, with some of my pirate’s treasure. I’ve plundered many ships, many towns, just think of the treasure that could be yours! All in exchange for letting me go.”
              The man cocked his head to one side and rubbed his chin.
              “Perhaps…” he thought. “But what will a whoremongering sea rat like you pay to save his cock?”
              “A ship!” Bromm cried, “My ship, I’m the captain. It’s down in the harbor and we’ve been unable to sail because of the winds.”
              “What do I want with a ship?” the jailor sneered. “I’m no sailor. And besides, I like it here at the palace. The emir brings me plenty of prisoners to work with, and some nights I can sneak over to the big palm and watch the harem girls play. Your ship is worth nothing to me.”
              “Ah, but it’s worth quite a bit to someone else. Sell it, to the next captain who comes through. Or to the emir! Lords like him are always looking to expand their fleets, especially with so many pirates about.”
              “His highness has enough ships,” the jailor snapped. He grabbed Bromm’s cock again and Bromm felt his heart leap to a gallop. “What he does not have is a djinn’s lamp. Perhaps you know where he might find one again?”
              “Sell the ship! Sell it, or the cannons, or just the provisions! Just take the money and leave me whole, please!”
              “Give me the lamp!” the jailor roared. Bromm felt cold beads of sweat running down his brow. The knife was pressing up at the base of Bromm’s cock, enough to terrify him but not yet enough to draw blood. But the man was running out of patience.
              “My freedom for the lamp! That’s my offer!”
              The jailor sneered. “Enjoy life as a eunuch, thief!”
              There came a noise from the hall outside. The jailor stopped and turned toward the door. Bromm followed his gaze in desperation. The door swung open and in stepped Tahavi, a pistol in his hand. Behind him, Sahat held the two guards at pistolpoint while Imre disarmed and shackled them.
              “What’s this?” demanded the jailor.
              “My friend here seems to have gotten lost,” replied Tahavi. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take him home now.”
              “I very much do mind,” the jailor snapped. He started forward but stopped when Tahavi shoved a pistol underneath his chin. The jailor sneered.
              “Fire that pistol and you’ll have the whole palace down around you in an instant.”
              “Aye,” Tahavi answered, “it’ll be small solace for you, though, what with your brains all over the ceiling. The key, please.”
              The jailor was trembling with rage but did as ordered all the same. Tahavi handed the key to Imre, who first shackled the jailor to the wall before freeing Bromm. Sahat led the two guards into the cell and chained them up as well.
              “Gods be good, I’m glad to see you three,” Bromm gasped as he fell free of his chains. Tahavi caught him before he could hit the floor and checked his wound. 
              “Looks like he got you a bit there.”
              “Not as badly as he was going to when you burst in. Thank you for coming back.”
              “We couldn’t leave you behind,” Imre said with a smile. The shackles clanked in his hands while the guards stared furious hatred at them.
              “Aye, you’re the captain,” Sahat added. His demeanor was casual, but he kept his weapon trained on the guards and his free hand on the butt of another pistol thrust through his belt. “Who’s to sail us out of here once the winds return?”
              “Urgan would jump at the chance, I’m sure,” Bromm grumbled as he settled onto his feet on the cold floor. 
“The chance to sail out, yes, but not with us.”
              “Aye, we’ll be at the bottom of the harbor if we come back without you.”
              “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have the lamp.”
              “Your effects are in the office outside, but we need this man’s,” Tahavi jerked a thumb at the scowling jailor, “key to get to it.”
              “Nay, you misunderstand. It’s still in the palace.”
              “They caught you before you stole it?” Imre asked in surprise, turning his head to face them even as his hands worked gags into their prisoners’ mouths.
              “No, I stole it, but they caught me on the way out. I hid it in the palace so I would have something to bargain with.”
              “This isn’t over, thief!” the jailor snarled as Imre stuffed a gag into his mouth. He spat it out again and glared at Bromm. “You won’t make it out of the city alive! I’m going to enjoy peeling the flesh from your bones!”
              “Quiet,” Imre retorted with a shushing noise. “It’s the middle of the night and people are trying to sleep.” He worked the gag in at last and secured it. The jailor’s muffled threats continued as the four of them made their way from the room. 
              “So what are you going to do about the lamp?” Tahavi asked, locking the cell door behind them.
              “What would you have me do? I’m going back in to get it.”
              “Back in?” Imre asked incredulously.
              “To the place where they just caught you?” Sahat added. “And threw you in the dungeon to await a grisly execution.”
              “You saw what they did to that horse thief!” Imre exclaimed. 
              “Aye, I did. Who holds an execution outside a brothel?” Bromm muttered. They entered the jailor’s office as Bromm continued. “Lost a whole hour of quality time from that sight. But that ‘sides the point. Those men won’t stay locked up forever. Someone will come looking for them. And once they find them, they’ll turn this whole town upside down until they have all of us facing the headsman. Gods, they’re likely to mark Pyet and Lukodo as associates and throw them up there, too! No, the only thing to do is flee the city, and to do that we need winds or horses. Any of you have five horses shoved up your ass?”
              “Bromm’s right,” Sahat said after a grim silence. “We’ve little choice. We need to be ten miles out to sea by the time those guards are found, and the only way to assure that is to get the lamp.”
              He took the key from Tahavi and unlocked the jailor’s chest. Bromm retrieved his things and dressed himself and his wound, using for the latter a scarf he took from the jailor’s desk. 
              “I’m going back in,” Bromm declared when he was finished. “I left an entry point, though I expected it to be an escape route. In any case, I will bring the lamp to Carella and unlocks its secrets, then meet you at the ship. Prepare it to cast off at first light, or possibly sooner.”
              “Alright,” Sahat sighed, “but you cannot dawdle. If there’s wind, we’ll be off at dawn and not a moment later, so don’t waste time.”
              “Don’t worry, I won’t get caught this time.”
              “So you say, but I think you owe a sacrifice to Apliss when we are safe and out of here.”
              “Aye, and an expensive one.”
 
              Doing his best to imitate the cats that he now found prowling the late-night streets, Bromm stole back to the palace and regained entry via the sea grate. The palace was almost silent now; there was no music or laughter on the night breeze and even the servants had gone to sleep. Yet there were still sentries atop the walls, though fortunately they did not spy Bromm as he made his way along the rocky shore and through the grate.
              Once within the walls, Bromm retraced his steps to the pot where he had stashed the lamp. The walk was shorter than he had remembered. I was so close to escaping, he thought bitterly. If that dandy has not come out for a breath of fresh air or whatever he was looking for, I’d be out to sea by now. 
              He pulled clumps of soft earth from the pot until he felt his fingers brush cold metal. The silver gleamed in the moonlight as he pulled it from the earth. Bromm smiled in the darkness and clutched the lamp to his chest. It then went into his belt where he wrapped it in a scarf to better conceal it and guard it against flying out of his hands again. 
              His prize stowed away, he could not help but chuckle to himself. From the palace courtyard to the jail to the palace courtyard again, he thought with great mirth. The emir’s guards can’t keep me! Stifling a laugh, Bromm began making his way back toward the grate. He could not keep from pulling the lamp out again and admiring it. The engraving on it fascinated him, its long, flowing script spiralling around the whole lamp in a mesmerizing pattern. The lamp was cold to the touch, but Bromm sensed a deep and powerful energy coursing through its depths.
              A sense of triumph overcame him suddenly, even though he was still behind the emir’s walls. Bromm tossed the lamp into the air and caught it again, laughter rumbling in his belly. He threw it again, higher this time, and ran to catch it with a great leap. He sailed over a low hedge and snatched the lamp out of the air before skidding to a halt at the thick trunk of a tall palm tree. His sense of caution returning, he stowed the lamp  away and looked up and down the brick walk for guards. 
              There was no one looking, not even from the many windowed windows and balconies that surrounded the courtyard he was in. The whole palace seemed fast asleep. Bromm cracked another giddy smile and hurried toward the sea grate. The night sky above him was cold and clear, littered with brightly shining stars.
              Upon reaching the sea grate, his good mood faded for he saw it was propped open. Creeping closer, he could hear the sound of waves breaking on the rocks beyond the walls, but also the sounds of people. People fucking, to be specific. He crouched down on his knees and peered into the culvert. 
              Just beyond the wall, Bromm saw the same dandy who had spoiled his earlier intrusion laying on his back on a large boulder overlooking the sea. He was naked, with his clothes piled at the base of the boulder, along with those of the woman who was riding his cock. Bromm knew he should leave before he was spotted, but could not resist sneaking a look at her. 
              The woman was tall and willowy, with long black hair cascading over her shoulders and all the way to her slender waist. She wore heavy golden earrings and a silver chain in her hair. The hands that clutched at the man’s chest were encrusted with jewelled rings that sparkled in the moonlight, and her dark nipples were pierced with golden rods. The dandy sat up and kissed her buxom breasts, taking the golden rods in his mouth and flicking them with his tongue. The woman moaned with pleasure and wound her fingers through his curly hair. Bromm could not stop staring at the voluptuous breasts that rose and fell with her every movement.
              He felt his cock hardening in his trousers. Bromm grabbed a hold of himself and slowly retreating from the opening before he was spotted. He leaned back against the outer wall of the palace and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. The way out was blocked, at least for as long as it took the couple to finish, but he disliked the idea of spending more time within the walls in the hopes that they would move on soon. Gritting his teeth, Bromm turned away from the grate and prowled back into the palace grounds. 
              His earlier walk around in search of the lamp had given him an idea of the layout. He crossed to the side that bordered the city and examined the walls for a weak point. The sentries were still in their posts, though they looked somewhat drowsier than his first time crossing the wall. He spied two with bows in hand, however, and feared that if he simply jumped the wall and ran for it, he would sprout feathers before reaching the safety of the alleys on the far side. And they would surely send men to search for him. 
              Frowning, he crept along the edge of the courtyard until he reached the safety of another garden and leaned against a palm tree in deep thought. He had not thought that escaping the palace would prove more difficult than getting in. 
              Voices sounded suddenly, and not far away. He heard approaching footsteps and the distinctive clink of mail. Hurriedly he cast about for a place to hide, but the foliage here was thin and short. Some thought of his drew his attention skyward and he hit upon an idea. 
              With a sailor’s hands, he scrambled up the trunk of the palm until he clung to it some fifteen feet from the ground. Down below, a trio of guards in armor were lazily making their way along the footpath toward the main courtyard. They stopped at the garden entrance and exchanged friendly jabs, pointing into the garden in a gesture that set Bromm’s heart pounding. How could they know I am here? he wondered, but his panic was quickly soothed as the guards resumed their walk toward the courtyard without incident.
              Bromm breathed a sigh of relief as he watched them go. With his arms and legs wrapped around the palm, he took a moment to thank the gods that he had not been caught a second time. 
              Yet he had not finished his prayer of thanks when he heard a whisper from behind him. Bromm started and nearly lost his grip on the tree. Slowly, he turned around and saw, on the balcony beside him, a young woman in a sheer silk dress. She was olive-skinned with the classical look of the Zahiri and a long, aquiline nose. Her long, dark hair fell to her waist in waves and her wide collar showed a broad silver necklace on her breast. Beneath her pale green silk, Bromm could make out the dark outlines of her nipples. 
              He swallowed hard, but the woman regarded him with curiosity, not fear. She leaned forward with her elbows on the balcony rail and pursed her lips.
              “Who are you?” she whispered softly in a heavy Zahiri accent. Bromm did not quite know how to respond.
              “I am Bromm, a sailor,” he said at last. The woman smiled and rocked back and forth on her elbows. 
              “What’s a sailor doing in a tree?” she asked. “Are you lost, Bromm?”
              Bromm chuckled a bit. She had not started screaming for the guards, so he felt somewhat at ease despite the ridiculousness of being quite literally up a tree. “In a manner of speaking,” he replied. “I’m looking for the gate.”
              “Well, perhaps I can help you with that,” she said and extended a hand. “Come into my chambers, why don’t you?”
              Bromm needed no further encouragement. Steadying himself with her delicate hand, he reached out with his foot and planted it on her railing, then pushed off the tree to stand on the balcony rail. She raised her other hand and helped him hop down to the floor, though in truth he needed no help, but simply liked the touch of her hand.
              “My name is Ysmat,” she said as she put an arm around his waist. With her other hand, she brushed aside the sheer curtains in the doorway and ushered Bromm inside. He met her deep brown eyes and she smiled at him. 
              But once he was past the threshold, his eyes were torn away. For he now saw that he was in a luxurious salon befitting a king. At the center of the room was a ring of cushioned couches, their rich silks gleaming in the soft candlelight. An ornate hookah sat on the floor between the couches and seated beside it was another woman in sheer silks. She was tall and dark-skinned, accentuating the whites of her curious eyes as she looked up to Bromm with the hookah in her mouth. She sat back and exhaled with amusement, curls of white smoke drifting up past her shaven head toward the vaulted ceiling which was painted with scenes of a divine orgy. 
              Bromm looked about in amazement at the room, from the brass candelabra near the walls to the sleeping alcoves, each curtained with the same deep blue silk curtains fringed with gold that he had passed through to enter the room. The walls were polished marble and decorated with long flowing verses of the Zahiri script, interspersed with frescoes showing naked dancing women, bathers, and lovemaking. 
              “Who is this, Ysmat?” a sultry voice asked, and Bromm saw to his amazement that the speaker was not the dark-skinned woman in the center of the room, but another Zahiri woman who emerged from the darkness of a sleeping alcove. She was slender where her companion was full-bodied, with small, lively breasts and shoulder-length hair of dark brown. Unlike the others, this one was naked entirely, affording Bromm a clear view of her breasts and the trimmed hair between her legs. Her green eyes danced in the candlelight as she regarded Bromm with great interest.
              “I found him climbing a tree outside,” Ysmat answered, “I thought we could use some entertainment.”
              Bromm gulped as the dark-skinned girl stood up and he could see her naked body beneath the silk. She was tall and slender, with long, powerful legs and an imperious bearing. Setting the hookah down, she casually stepped over one of the low couches to approach Bromm.
              “This is Amuna,” Ysmat whispered, “one of his lordship’s favorites. She was brought here from far away, beyond the Ivory Straits, by a slaver.”
              “Lordship?” Bromm repeated dumbly, entranced by Amuna’s approach. The dark-skinned woman touched his chest and ran a hand down his side.
       “Lordship,” the third girl confirmed, stepping down from her bed. “We are the emir’s harem girls, but he is old and spends so little time with us now.”
              “His slaves,” Bromm murmured as Amuna ran her hands down his chest to his belt. But Ysmat shook her head.
              “Amuna, yes. But Lira and I are wives. My father is a sheikh of the coastal hills, her father is wali of the desert fortresses. And then there is Arbanna.” 
              On cue, the curtains swept aside in another alcove and a fourth woman stepped through. She was pale and slender, with round little breasts that shone white in the dim candlelight and perfectly circular pink nipples upon them. She wore her red hair in a short bob, and a golden chain about her neck. Except for her chain she was naked, and water droplets glistened on her white skin, for Bromm saw that the alcove she emerged from was a bathing chamber rather than a bed. She was shaven between her legs and her narrow green eyes regarded Bromm with a mischievous curiosity that he found exhilarating.
              “Arbanna is from the far north, I do not know where. The slaver called it Wilderland, and the emir called it the Great Forest. She is his favorite, and his son’s favorite as well.”
              Arbanna crossed the floor toward Bromm, dripping water across the tile as she did. Bromm stood still on the floor as the four women closed in about him, their hands searching insistently. He tried to muster up a response to them, but stopped as Amuna’s hand touched the lamp.
              “What’s this?” she wondered aloud. Her hands pulled at his belt until they revealed the silver lamp. Candlelight danced across it as it was pulled into the open and Bromm stammered in protest.
              “His lordship’s lamp,” Ysmat murmured. 
              “You are the thief they found earlier,” Lira mused. She ran a hand through Bromm’s hair, pressing her naked body against him and robbing him of speech.
              “You escaped?” Ysmat asked, “and then came back for it?”
              “You’re very brave,” Arbanna said. She met Bromm’s eyes with her own and set her lips in a pout. He felt if he was about to come. All four of them wore powerful perfumes, and the assault on his nostrils was but one of the many overpowering sensations he felt at the time.
              “Brave or stupid,” Lira laughed softly. “If they find you, they will surely cut off your head.”
              “Aye,” Bromm stammered, “Which is why I’m looking for the way out of here.”
              “I can show it to you,” Ysmat offered, but then raised a hand to her dress’ collar and slid it off. “But are you sure you want to leave so soon?”
              “You just got here,” Arbanna added, slipping a hand down Bromm’s trousers to grab his cock. He was hard already and the touch of her soft hands nearly caused him to soak his pants. But Bromm clenched his muscles and steadied his breathing. His cock remained under control.
              “And we’re so bored and lonely,” Amuna continued. “Won’t you stay and entertain us for just a little while?”
              Bromm struggled with a response. He was still all too aware that palace guards might come knocking at any moment, and if the punishment for stealing was harsh, he would hate to know the punishment for fucking the emir’s wives. Yet all his life he had never been able to say no to a beautiful woman who was naked and willing, let alone four of them. Against his better judgment, he pulled his shirt over his head.
              The women cooed and gasped at his chest. Amuna plucked at the bandage applied to the wound the jailor had dealt him. Ysmat ran her hand down his toned stomach and into his trousers to join Arbanna’s. 
              “This looks fresh,” Amuna whispered, her fingers gently exploring the wound beneath the bandage. Bromm winced in pain and pushed her hand away. 
              “Aye, that’s courtesy of your master’s jailor,” Bromm replied.
              “He’s a wicked one,” Lira replied. “He loves his prisoners like other men love women, for nothing excites him like inflicting pain and suffering.”
              “Put him out of your mind,” Ysmat soothed. She took Bromm’s chin in one hand and held him steady as she leaned in for a kiss. Bromm kissed back with great fervor, the heat of the five bodies inciting him to strip off the rest of his clothes and the women followed. They all stood naked in the center of the room, Ysmat and Arbanna stroking his cock while Amuna kissed his chest and Lira nibbled at his neck. 
              “Your sailor is already hard,” Arbanna whispered to Ysmat and both women smiled. “But it seems a shame to leave such a nice cock unkissed.” She bent down and swallowed Bromm’s cock between her soft, pink lips. Ysmat knelt beside her and together the women sucked his cock. Bromm leaned his head back in ecstasy, his hands grabbing delicious handfuls of Amuna and Lira’s womanly flesh. He stared up to the ceiling, where directly above him was painted an image of a Zahiri emir reclining on a couch and attended by a dozen naked women of all colors and origins. Bromm smiled.
              He looked down to his cock, hidden within Arbanna’s mouth as she sucked. Presently, she withdrew it and held it forward for Ysmat, who promptly swallowed it to its base, her tongue darting forth to caress Bromm’s balls. He moaned in pleasure, and Lira pulled his head around to kiss him from behind. He felt her naked body press against his, her soft little breasts pushing against his bare back. 
              Amuna knelt to share in sucking his cock, and Lira smiled as she took sole dominion of his mouth. Three deft tongues worked on his cock and another in his mouth and it was all Bromm could do to keep from coming right there. Ysmat stroked his cock with both hands, holding it forth for the other two girls in succession, then taking it in her own mouth once again.
              “You are too good at that,” Bromm gasped, “I fear I’m about to come.”
              “That won’t do,” she replied, “We’re just getting started with you. Come, girls.” She rose and lifted Arbanna to her feet and then did the same with Amuna. “To the bed,” she commanded and all three of them obeyed. Lira remained behind Bromm, her arms wrapped around his waist as she pressed herself against him. Ysmat knelt on all fours at the edge of a bed and Arbanna and Amuna did the same on either side of her, all three presenting their wet, pink purses to Bromm. His hard cock throbbing in front of him, he took it in both hands and slowly stroked it in preparation for entry. 
              Lira pushed him forward gently, closely matching his own steps with hers to stay pressed together.
              “Which one will you take first?” Ysmat teased, shaking her hips back and forth slowly. Arbanna looked back over her shoulder and blew a kiss at Bromm. 
              Bromm weighed the decision in his mind. He found himself most desiring the pale, redheaded Arbanna, but felt he should savor her and take her last. On the other hand, he would never forgive himself if he accidentally finished before he could enjoy her delightful body. 
              The women grew impatient as he deliberated, and at last he decided that the gods favored those who gambled. He stepped forward to Ysmat and thrust his cock deep into her wet and welcoming sex. She moaned with delight and intertwined her fingers with Amuna’s, staring deep into the other woman’s eyes as Bromm fucked her from behind. He grabbed her by the waist, thrusting deep into her as Lira groped at him from behind. She nibbled at his neck still, softly kissing him from his ear to his collarbone and timing the movement of her hips with her own. 
              Arbanna laid a white arm over Ysmat’s olive shoulders and rested her chin on an upraised palm, contentedly watching Ysmat’s big breasts swing beneath her in time with Bromm’s fucking. Amuna turned over and slid herself under Ysmat, playing with the other woman’s breasts with one hand as the other spread open her sex beneath Bromm’s thrusting cock. 
              Bromm withdrew his cock from Ysmat, much to her vocal dislike, and thrust it into the woman beneath her. The dark-skinned girl moaned in delight, loud enough that Bromm momentarily feared someone outside might overhear. But Lira kissed his neck again as Amuna wrapped her legs around his waist and all thoughts of the outside world vanished. 
              Her purse welcomed him with its wetness and Bromm had to steady his breathing to keep from coming inside her. He reached down past Ysmat and grabbed hold of Amuna’s hips, holding her steady for him to thrust into. Ysmat cradled Amuna’s head and held it to her breasts, which the other woman seized in both hands and began to kiss and suck. Lira ran a soft hand down Bromm’s chest and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He gasped loudly, groaning and curling his toes against the carpeted floor as he felt himself grow near to climaxing. 
              “Hold on,” he gasped and slowed his thrusting, “I’m going to come if you keep going like that. Let me rest a moment.”
              Lira tsked from behind him, while Arbanna turned over on her back and spread the lips of her sex with two fingers. With her free hand she cupped one breast and lifted it to her lips.
              Bromm laughed breathlessly. “That’s not helping!”
              Arbanna climbed to her knees again and locked eyes with him. Her deep green eyes entranced him, so much that he forgot he had his cock in another woman. Lira tightened her grip around his cock and pushed it into Amuna, who reached down and slapped Bromm’s thighs.
              “Come on, sailor!” she ordered, and Bromm resumed his thrusting. Ysmat turned her head back to look into his eyes and smiled at his breathlessness. 
              Steadying herself with two hands on Ysmat’s buttocks, Arbanna leaned forward on her knees and kissed Bromm. Her red lips were tender and her breath hot on his cheeks. Lira added her own kisses, and they shared a three-way kiss for a long, hot, passionate moment.
              Lira pulled away and kissed his shoulder again, leaving him with Arbanna alone. The redheaded girl bit his lip and pulled it teasingly away from his teeth. He stared into her green eyes and his thrusting into Amuna slowed involuntarily. Amuna took Ysmat’s nipples out of her mouth and raised her head from beneath the woman atop her.
              “Still breathless, sailor?” she teased, her shaven head glistening with sweat in the candlelight. Bromm looked away from Arbanna even as the girl continued kissing his cheek undeterred. Amuna looked at him wryly, Ysmat’s breasts pressed against her face as the woman on top cradled her head against her chest. 
              “Sorry,” Bromm sputtered as Lira nibbled at his ear. “I was distracted.”
              “The redhead kisses good, doesn’t she?” Amuna laughed. “She’s good at kissing down below as well.”
              Arbanna paid the compliments no mind, and took Bromm’s head in her hands again. Both hands on his jaw, she pressed her soft, warm lips to his again and slipped her tongue inside his mouth. Bromm felt as if he were kissing the goddess Nystra herself. He groaned again, his cock dangerously near to bursting. Desperate, he wrapped his hands around Lira’s and pulled himself out of Amuna. Panting, he held his throbbing cock in the cool night air for another respite.
              The redhead offered him no such relief. At the sight of his cock, she bent down and swallowed it in her mouth. Her tongue worked even greater miracles on his cock than his lips, and Bromm feared his night was about to come to an end.
              But Arbanna knew her craft, and teased him just to the edge of coming before backing away again, leaving him convulsing in pleasure. 
              “Look how she likes the taste of me on your cock!” Amuna cried, and Lira giggled behind him. 
              “My turn,” Lira whispered, and shoved Bromm forward. He fell into the other three women in surprise, becoming entangled in their arms and bodies. They wrestled him onto his back, though he was too overwhelmed and bewildered to resist much. 
              Lira climbed onto the bed atop his thighs and took his cock in her hands, stroking it vigorously. She slipped two fingers inside herself and checked for wetness.
              “I can help,” Ysmat offered, “if this sailor has not excited you enough.”
              “Oh, no need for that,” Lira replied, her brown eyes fixed on Bromm, “I am wet for him.”
              She mounted him eagerly. Bromm’s eyes went wide as she slid her tight purse about his cock. Planting her hands on his chest, she began to ride. Ysmat and Amuna lay beside him, hands caressing his chest as they nibbled at his neck. Arbanna was reclining on her hands behind Lira, her long white legs stretched out across the bed. 
              Bromm draped one arm over either woman on his sides, grabbing at their ample asses as he looked into Lira’s eyes. Her little breasts bounced as she rode, mesmerizing him with their motions. She clutched at his chest, digging her nails into his flesh, and bit her lip as she rode harder. She began to moan, softly at first and then louder as her bouncing on his cock increased in pace. Ysmat grabbed her by one wrist and held her, while Amuna buried her face in Bromm’s shoulder. Arbanna watched with a smile, playing with herself with one hand.
              Lira cried out in pleasure, a high-pitched moan that Bromm was sure would bring the guards down on him, and then spasmed in release. She quivered atop his cock, clutching hard at him with her hands as her face contorted in a suppressed scream. It escaped her throat, strangled by the need for secrecy, but audible and exhilarating all the same. Bromm lay beneath her, panting in time with Lira’s rising and falling chest.
              Arbanna had had enough waiting. She rose to her knees and shoved the still-quivering Lira aside. Lira fell to the bed and lay there, shaking and panting on the blue silk. Arbanna grabbed Bromm’s cock in one hand and stroked it long and hard. With her other hand, she spread the pink lips of her sex and slowly teased Bromm’s throbbing cock in. 
              Bromm slid his hands over the naked bodies of Amuna and Ysmat to grab Arbanna’s pale hips between them. She leaned back on her palms, knees in the air as she bounced her nubile sex on his cock. Bromm stared in amazement at the sight of his cock thrusting into her pink, shaven sex. He found his attention torn away by Ysmat, who turned his head aside to kiss him, but no sooner had she broken the kiss than his eyes returned to Arbanna’s purse and the beautiful pair of bouncing breasts above it. On her chest, her golden necklace swung back and forth with her motion, gleaming in the candlelight. Her whole body was smooth, alabaster, and beaded with sweat. 
The five of them fucked beneath a silken canopy for what seemed like hours. Bromm could hardly believe his own stamina. At last, their harem expertise could sustain his stamina no longer.
              “Nystra’s Tits!” he cried, “I’m about to come!” Arbanna expertly dismounted, and clenched his cock in one hand. The other women gathered round, presenting their faces to his cock in delighted wonder. The redheaded girl released her hold, and Bromm spurted a fountain of cum into the air. It rained down on all their eager faces in equal measure and the women giggled and squealed with joy. 
              Bromm felt his body convulse and he ejaculated again. More hot, sticky cum fell into the waiting mouths. Lira lay herself atop Arbanna to lick the cum from her face and chest, while Amuna scraped it up with her finger and spooned it into her mouth. Ysmat lay by herself, staring up at the ceiling.
              “If the emir caught us, I’d be a dead man for sure,” Bromm said aloud to no one in particular.
              “Does that not make it all the more exciting?” Ysmat asked after a moment.
              “I suppose it does,” conceded Bromm, “though it would do little for me if his guards were to burst in, nor would it be good for you.”
              Amuna laughed. “Do you think you’re the first man to sneak in here for some fun?”
              “Sometimes we sneak out,” Arbanna added. “The emir is an old man and has a senior wife to think of as well.”
              “How could anyone stay away from this?” Bromm wondered. He thought of Torvuls, and the pirate lords’ harem. Could he someday become one of them, with a harem to surpass the emir’s?
              “Come,” Ysmat said suddenly and rose from the bed. “We should wash you off.”
              They led him to the bathing alcove that Arbanna had emerged from and submerged him in the hot waters. They took turns washing him, paying special attention to his cock, with soap and scented oils. Ysmat undressed his wound and washed it with rosewater. Bromm came again when Amuna dove beneath the water to suck his cock underwater. Lira climbed up onto the rim of the bath and spread her legs, showing off her pink flower to him as Arbanna and Ysmat scrubbed away. 
              At last, they pronounced him clean and ushered him out of the tub to dress. Ysmat replaced his bandage and sealed it with a kiss. Bromm smiled with bashful thanks, somehow more shy about the kiss than the vigorous fucking he had given her. He pulled his shirt of his head and looped up his belt. Checking that the lamp was still securely concealed in it, he turned to the women with a heavy sigh.
              “I am sad to say, ladies, but I should be going. Every time I hear a noise outside, I fear it’s your master’s guards coming to haul me away.”
              Ysmat gathered the others to her, standing shoulder to shoulder. They were all wet, naked and pouting before him, dripping bathwater from their breasts to their bare feet.
              “We’re sad to see you go,” Ysmat said teasingly, and the others nodded in affirmation.
              “And I am sad to leave. But you’ve given me a night to please Nystra Herself, so I offer my most humble and hearty thanks.”
              “Come again soon,” Lira purred, “and we’ll make sure you come again soon.”
              Bromm laughed again, unsure of what to say. He would likely be a hunted man come the morning, but this was perhaps an experience to die for.
              “I must first leave before I can return. But I’m afraid that my attempt to find an escape was what brought me here and I have still not solved that problem.”
              “Here,” Ysmat said, “we’ll show you a way out. We use it sometimes when the emir is occupied and we still want a bit of fun.” 
              “You’re still naked,” Bromm protested as she made for the door, leaving wet footprints behind her. Ysmat turned and laughed. 
              “Who is going to see us at this hour of the night?”
              Bromm followed her through the door and into an antechamber where she unlocked another door and led him out into a hallway. The other three followed behind him, giggling quietly between themselves. The hallway they travelled through led between two buildings and through the windows on either side, Bromm could see down into even more gardens below. 
              Ysmat opened the door at the far end of the hallway and Bromm stepped through into an office. Writing desks piled high with letters and other effects lined the room, but what drew his attention most were the windows on the far wall that looked down out over the city. Ysmat unlatched one such window and opened it. Lira appeared then with a rope of knotted sheets and cast it out through the window after securing it around the leg of a heavy desk.
              “Climb down,” Ysmat told him, “The bottom lies in a little nook where you will be shielded from sight. Lira will distract the sentry and when I signal you, run.”
              Bromm nodded. He hated to go, but still heard the palace guards behind every door. Better to be away and leave the beauties behind than to be caught and executed. Besides, the lamp represented a life of plunder and the beauties he could buy with it. Bromm looked out the window to where he would climb to and saw nothing objectionable about the plan. 
              “Alright,” he said at last. “Goodbye then, and thank you.”
              Ysmat stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing him deeply. Bromm took the last opportunity to squeeze her delightful ass in his hands. After a long kiss, Ysmat withdrew.
              “Come by again sometime,” she whispered, biting her lip with desire once again.”
              Arbanna stepped forward next and kissed him again. Bromm squeezed her little breasts in his hands and felt his cock harden again. I could throw them each over one of these writing desks and pound out a quick one, he thought, but the fear of sentries suppressed his desire. 
              Amuna was next, and she kissed him coolly on the cheek. Bromm stood disappointed, hoping for more, but she retreated toward the door with her nose turned up. At the threshold, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him, standing there silhouetted by the window. With one delicate hand on the door frame and her naked ass facing him, she smiled slyly to herself and left. 
              Lira was last to kiss him goodbye, then she flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned away. “Now I must seduce the guard,” she proclaimed over her shoulder and disappeared through a door to the parapet.
              “Go,” Ysmat commanded with a little push. “And be ready for my signal.”
              Bromm climbed through the window and down the rope. It was crude but sturdy all the same, as accustomed to holding his weight as it was to the lighter women who had made it. He alit in the street beside the palace and sighed. He hated to leave the harem behind, but he had other responsibilities. The fucking fresh in his mind, his thought wandered to Carella and her beautiful face. He thought of what might be hidden beneath the blue robe she wore. The thought brought a smile to his face. 
              He pulled himself back into the moment and looked around. The spot that Ysmat had brought him to was secluded and largely out of sight, but he still had to make it across the street to the concealment of the alleys beyond. He waited at the bottom of the rope for Ysmat’s signal. The wait dragged on, and he began to grow anxious. Could they be double-crossing him? Would they turn him in for their own amusement? Surely, the emir would not take to their tryst lightly, but what could be the wait.
              At last, Ysmat leaned over the balcony and whispered “Now’s your chance!” Bromm bolted across the street without looking, only stopping when he reached the far side. He turned to look back at her, and saw Ysmat leaning out of the window, her bare breasts in view, waving silently to him. Bromm returned her wave and blew a kiss that she reciprocated, then turned and headed down the alley. He checked the lamp twice before he reached the end of the alley and both times found that it was securely in its place. 
              The full appreciation for what he had done at last began to dawn on him. I’ve stolen from the emir and fucked his wives and concubines, too! This will be a tale for the ages, to be sure! Chuckling to himself, he stole through the darkened streets in the dead of night with a smile on his face. 
 
              He was perhaps three blocks from the inn when he realized he was being followed. Lurking in the shadows, darting from alley mouth to alley mouth, two figures were trailing him through the streets. Bromm’s hand went to the knife in his belt, better suited to a street fight than his sword. Still, his best chance for escape was hurrying on to the inn, so he pressed his pace and dispensed with the stealth. 
              The inn at last came into view, a single lantern burning out front and illuminating its sign for any other late-night arrivals. The brothel across the street was still lit up, though Bromm could hear no voices from it. He had just dared to think he was safe when a man stepped out from the alley in front of him. He was tall and bearded, with a bared chest that was tattooed with geometric designs.
              “These streets are dangerous at night,” the man rumbled, his fists planted on his hips, just next to a pair of curved daggers. “You should be careful.
              “I am careful,” retorted Bromm. “And I’m almost back to my inn anyway.” Bromm moved to step past him, but the man blocked him again.
              “We do good work keeping these streets safe. How about a charitable donation for our troubles?”
              Bromm cast a look over his shoulder at the two men approaching from behind. “These streets don’t seem very safe to me,” he replied. “I see three thugs accosting me for my hard-earned coin.”
              The big man scowled. “Better a cutpurse than a cutthroat,” he rumbled, gripping the hilts of his daggers.
              “Well, you had better be a cutthroat because I’ve got nothing to give you.”
              “They all say that,” a man rasped from behind. 
              “What about that?” the big man demanded. Bromm followed his outstretched finger to the silver lamp in his belt pocket. Bromm cursed silently to himself. He withdrew the lamp and held it before him.
              “This?” he asked. The big man nodded.
              “It looks valuable,” the other man behind him mumbled stupidly. “I bet we could sell it for a bit of coin.”
              “Aye, you could,” Bromm replied, “if you could master it first. This is a djinn’s lamp, you see, and it will only answer to its master.”
              “Who’s its master?” the big man demanded. He took a step closer, hands on his daggers again, and Bromm had to steady himself for he was now in easy striking range. 
              “I am,” he bluffed. “And my servant here dislikes ruffians.”
              “You’re a sorcerer?” the stupid one mumbled. “I don’t like sorcerers.”
              “Sorcerers don’t like street thugs,” Bromm shot back. “Now get out of here.”
              The big man hesitated, though his two companions backed off a step each. The mumbling one back off even further, his hooded head lowered as he continued talking to himself.
              “Well?” Bromm demanded of the big man. “Am I going to have to call out the djinn?”
              “Hmph,” the man replied. “And what if you do?”
              Bromm had to think fast. What do I know about djinnbinding? he thought. “You’ve probably heard that no ships have been sailing the last several days,” he began, stalling for time. “Well, that’s because of me. I had my djinn becalm the port so I could negotiate a better price from a captain. If I unleash the djinn now, or if you kill me, it will unleash all the last few days’ winds at once. It’d be like a hurricane, and you would be at the center of it.”
              The rasping man backed off another step, but the big man seemed unconvinced. “You’re a sorcerer then?” he growled, and Bromm nodded confidently. “What’s a sorcerer doing walking around the streets at night like a common thief?”
              “It’s about a woman,” Bromm replied. The big man scowled but took his hands off his daggers. Bromm pressed his point. “All the sorcery in the world cannot change a man’s inner nature, and my inner nature is to love women.”
              The man scowled more deeply and nodded to his companions. Slowly and sullenly, they melted away into the shadows and Bromm, trying to hide his utter relief, hurried on toward the inn. 
              The common room was dark but for the fire burning low in the hearth, and Bromm took great care to avoid stepping on any of the guests sleeping before the fire. He picked his way across the floor and made his way upstairs to Carella’s room. The door swung open expectantly on the first knock and Bromm stepped eagerly inside.
              The sorceress had made herself right at home. A crystal ball lay on its stand by the window, and she had splayed her divination cards about. They were arranged as if she had taken a reading, but Bromm had not the expertise to determine their meaning. A solitary candle burned by the window, casting the room in a soft, warm glow. The scent of incense was strong in the air. Carella was seated in the chair by the window, her eyes closed as if in a trance.  
              “Sorceress?” Bromm whispered cautiously. Her blue eyes popped open and she fixed him with a penetrating stare. Bromm stopped in his tracks.
              “You return,” she said, and Bromm swore he detected a hint of relief in her voice.
              “I do, and I have brought the lamp.”
              Carella rose from her chair and crossed to him in a flurry. He barely had it out of its wrapping when she snatched it from his hands.
              “You did,” she whispered in awe. She ran her hands over the lamp and shuddered, then whispered something to herself in a tongue Bromm did not understand or recognize.
              “Now will you teach me its secrets?” he asked, but she did not reply. Instead, her attention was fixed on the lamp as she scrutinized the flowing script around its exterior.
              “Will you teach me to master it?” he demanded, more forcefully this time. She lifted her gaze from the lamp at last, her cool blue eyes passing impassively over his face.
              “I have not forgotten our bargain, Captain,” she replied haughtily. “I merely require a moment to study my prize.”
              “We should seal our pact before we go,” Bromm said. “Swear an oath to serve me.”
              Carella turned a raised eyebrow on him. “An oath?” she demanded haughtily. “You are no lord.”
              “I am not, but you are a sorceress and now possessed of great power. Before you unlock the powers of a djinn, I would have you bound by an oath.”
              Carella laughed, silver bells mocking him with their sweetness. He flushed with embarrassed impotence. “And what will you do if I refuse? Take this lamp from me?”
              Bromm said nothing, for she was right. He wore a sword at his hip, but against the powers of a sorceress it was likely to count for little. Carella stepped closer to him, a crooked smile on her face. She sniffed about his neck like a dog, and Bromm stiffened.
              “I smell something about you. Not the stench of a dungeon, but the perfume of a woman.”
His gaze fell to the floor, and he sheepishly rubbed one arm. “I had to escape the palace through the… women’s quarters,” he said. 
              “Indeed,” the sorceress replied with amusement. “Perhaps we should seal our pact with a kiss instead of an oath? It would seem to be more to your liking.”
              Bromm swallowed hard as she leaned in, her lips so pink and inviting in the room’s candlelight. The scent of spice was overpowering and crowded out the incense sticks that she had burned. Carella touched his arm and set the lamp aside on the table. 
              “Is this not to your liking?” she asked in a sultry voice. “I was so sure from the moment you saw me that you desired me. Or has your other tryst this night sated your desire for flesh?” Without waiting for a response, she pulled open her bodice to reveal her breasts. They were of a size that Bromm would never call large, but he hesitated to think of them as small. Like the rest of her, they were soft and pale, and her pink nipples called to him. He felt his trousers grow tighter about his nethers.
              Bromm started to protest, half-forming something about an oath, but Carella grabbed his hands and slapped them to her breasts. Surrendering to her seduction, he squeezed them between his fingers and Carella pressed herself close to him in a deep kiss. She cupped his buttocks with her delicate hands, standing up on tiptoes to press her warm, wet mouth against his lips. She gave his ass a playful slap, then reached up to her shoulders and pulled her dress down to her waist. 
              Bromm tore away from the sorceress’ lips and gulped down a look at her naked torso. She was a sight to behold in the dim candlelight, and he hastily yanked his shirt over his head. The sorceress went to her knees in front of him and pulled his hard cock from his trousers. Bromm fumbled with his clothes as he tried to strip himself while she ran her tongue along the shaft of his cock. Her blue dress pooled around her, framing her white face as she looked up to him and slapped his cock against her outstretched tongue.
              He threw aside his clothes with abandon and his swordbelt clattered against the far wall of the room. Bromm paid it no mind, for Carella’s pursed lips slid onto the tip of his cock and began their slow, delightful progress to the base. He met her steely blue eyes and she stared long and hard into his eyes as his cock penetrated deeper into her. Her tongue worked sorcerous wonders on him. With one hand steadying his cock, she used the other to caress his balls. Bromm’s breath came hard to him and he wound his fingers through her hair, guiding her head back and forth along his cock.
              At last, he could resist no longer. He bent down and lifted her to her feet with his hands beneath her armpits. She looked down at his cock as she left it, her pink lips in a petulant pout. Without waiting for her, he yanked her dress down from her waist to the floor. She now wore only her silken slippers, with which she stepped out of the dress to stand nearly nude on the floor.
              Carella bit the tip of one finger and covered her sex with feigned modesty. She turned half away from him so that he might admire her profile, then stuck her ass out. She cut a stunning figure, a full-figured woman with ample ass to her and breasts to match. Bromm took his wet cock in one hand and stroked in vigorous anticipation. Carella backed away and steadied herself against the wall with both hands, spreading her legs to uncover her sex and the coarse brown hair above it.
              “Come and get it,” she hissed, her fingers splayed against the wood behind her, and Bromm came on. He thrust himself into her in one hungry motion, sinking himself up to the base of his cock before he could stop himself. Carella gasped, her eyes and mouth going wide as she was penetrated. Bromm put one hand against the wall to steady himself but used the other to raise her leg up so that he might fuck her more deeply. Carella smiled with glee, biting her lip as she began to work her hips on his cock.
              “Is that all you got?” she taunted. Bromm grunted and doubled his efforts.
              “You’re not the first woman I’ve fucked tonight,” he growled back, his eyes watching her swaying breasts and one hand squeezing her thick thighs. Carella laughed, and Bromm scowled in reply. “Or even the fourth.”
              “Left all your stamina in those whores?” she teased. She turned partly sideways to him, one hand against the wall and the other holding onto his neck while she balanced on one foot. Bromm fucked with all the passion he could muster and was rewarded by the sound of her banging against the wall. He looked up and slowed his movements, concerned for her, but she shook her head and settled her long hair about her shoulders before looking back into his eyes.
              “That’s what I’m after! Fuck me through the wall!” Bromm did his best to comply. The sound of his hips clapping against hers filled the room, and between it and the slamming against the wall, he feared he would wake the whole inn. Carella’s eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth hung open in a silent scream. 
              Then her scream became audible. Bromm halted mid-thrust, so startled was he by the noise, but Carella turned a wild gaze on him and growled for him to continue. Somewhat frightened by the ravenous look she fixed on him, he obeyed. She begged for his cock, pleading for more.
              “Don’t stop, Bromm, keep fucking me, keep fucking!” She pivoted on her foot, putting her shoulders against the wall and pulling him closer. She clutched him to her body, the wild motion of her breasts stilled as they pressed together. Carella wound her fingers through his hair and beard and embraced him with a wet, sloppy kiss.
Bromm felt the warmth of her sex on his cock and his lips on his own and knew he was about to come. ”Oh, Nystra’s Tits, I’m going to come!” he cried, and to his surprise, Carella shoved him away. 
              He stumbled backwards in the room, catching himself against the edge of the bed. His cock waving lamely in front of him, he stared at Carella with confusion. She looked like a woman possessed. Her dark hair fell over her naked body in wild waves, and she dripped with sweat from all the exertion. But her face was a mask of primal desire.
“You’re not coming yet,” she growled and advanced on Bromm with her teeth bared. She seized him by the shoulders and threw him bodily onto the bed. He landed face-up on the soft mattress and bounced, hands raised to either side in confusion. No sooner had he settled than the sorceress mounted his cock and wrapped both hands around his throat. Bromm’s instinct was to struggle, but he quickly found that he loved the hungry look on her face as she squeezed his throat in her hands and his flanks with her knees. His cock throbbed inside her, but he fought down the climax with considerable effort.
              The sorceress rode him in a fury, her hips grinding back and forth, up and down, on him as she began to growl, then scream again. Bromm grabbed her breasts in his hands squeezed hard. He pinched her delicious nipples between his finger,s and she growled a guttural roar of delight at him. Bromm, unaccustomed to such savage lust from a woman, merely tried to hang on.
              Bromm was quite taken aback. He had taken many a wench in such a manner, unleashing the frustrations of a long voyage on a ship empty of women on the purse of some poor dockside girl who found herself in need of coin, but the be on the receiving end of it from a sorceress was something for which he was entirely unprepared. Carella assailed his hard cock with an animal fury he had not seen before in a woman, and he had seen his share of drunken wantons on the hunt for manflesh. 
              Her grinding began to build to a crescendo and her knees wore away at the bedsheets until Bromm swore he could see the mattress beneath them. Carella released his throat and clawed at his chest, moaning in ecstasy, then threw her head back and screamed at the wooden ceiling. She quivered and gushed atop his cock and in that moment he unleashed himself within her. His cum mingled with her own wetness and he felt them both leak out of her and run down his cock to the bedsheets below.
              Carella’s quivering slowed to a halt, and she turned her gaze down to him. 
              “You’ve still some stamina left,” she whispered, and the sudden quiet made Bromm all the more aware of how loud she had been just before.
              “Never underestimate a sailor’s desire to come,” he replied with an exhausted smile. “We save it up for weeks at a time.”
              “Yes, yes,” she replied dismissively, clapping him on the cheeks with one hand, “You’re very manly and good in bed. Now go to sleep, Bromm. You have an important day tomorrow and you must be well-rested for it.”
              “Aye,” he murmured, suddenly dreamy. “My first day as the terror of the seas. Our first day.”
              Carella smiled as she dismounted his cock. “Whatever you say. Sleep now, shush…”
              Bromm settled himself onto the pillows and reached up to pull her close. With a bemused look, she lay beside him, her breasts brushing against his lips as she caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. He kissed her chest again, his eyes half-closed.
              “You are so beautiful,” he mumbled as sleep overtook him, and she chuckled in reply. 
              “Thank you, Captain. You poor thing, you must be exhausted. Time for a well-earned rest.”
              She stroked his hair and pulled the sheets up over his body. Bromm curled up against the warmth of her naked form and closed his eyes. The scent of spice was strong.
 
              Bromm awoke to find the bed empty. The spot where Carella had lain was nearly cold, and the sheets thrown aside as if in haste. He sat up, the sheets falling away from his naked body as he cast confused looks about the room. Carella’s things had disappeared as well. Her crystal ball was gone, as were her grimoires and divination cards. The smell of incense had nearly faded.
              Bromm rose from the bed and set his bare feet on the wooden floor. The beams, cold in the pre-dawn dark, creaked slightly under his weight as he gathered up his clothes. He had a sudden thought and turned to where he had left the lamp.
              It was gone.
              Panicked, he tore open the room’s cabinets and chests. They were empty. Bromm felt his heart pound in his chest once again. Without even dressing, he darted out into the hall and looked for the sorceress. Looking over the railing into the common room, he saw only the same sleepers that had been there when he returned from the palace. Returning to his room, he flung open the windows in desperation and looked out into the street. 
              Nothing moved in the street, save for a gray cat prowling the gutters. Carella was gone. Bromm clenched the windowsill in a white-knuckled grip, cursing his own stupidity. What was I thinking, trusting a sorceress?! She seduced me, tricked me into stealing the lamp for her and then made off with it while I was asleep! Sleep! Ha! She likely had a sorcerous hand in that, as well. He slammed his fists against the wall in frustration. The building creaked and he spared a moment’s thought for the sleep of anyone he might have disturbed, but could not overcome his own frustration in the moment.
              Now we’re stuck here in port, with no winds to carry us away and surely the palace guards will be looking for us soon. And they don’t even know to suspect Carella. She will be able to walk out the city gates right under their noses!
              Even as he tried to banish the image of himself and his friends summitting the scaffold before a cheering crowd, he had to admire her cunning. At the same time, he cursed himself for falling for it. Nothing was like to rob him of wisdom than the sight of a beautiful woman. He paced the room in a helpless fury, clenching and unclenching his fists as he muttered curses to himself.
              Outside, the first rays of dawn reached out across the city. Bromm swore again. His friends were awaiting him on the Shepherd, but there was no wind to carry them. Still becalmed, they were doomed to sit in the harbor until the emir’s men stormed aboard to take them away for execution. And since he had escaped the dungeon last time, they would surely carry out the sentence immediately once they recaptured him.     
              Throwing up his hands, Bromm sat on the bed to dress himself. I might as well die with a bit of dignity, he thought sourly as he pulled on his trousers.
              The awning outside ruffled and snapped in a sudden wind. Bromm started, halfway through putting a boot on, and ran to the window. From the east came a rush of wind that tore through town. Palm fronds and awnings shook the wind and out in the harbor he could see sails filling. 
              “Eldrin be praised!” Bromm cried into the street. “Carella must have mastered the djinn.”
              But his joy was strangled in his throat for no sooner did the wind rush through the city than he saw the sails of the White Shepherd unfurl in the harbor. She was making for the sea without him. 
              Bromm ran from the room, hopping comically into the hall as he struggled to put on his boot at a dead run. He fell against the far wall with a bang, drawing a groggy shout from the room on the other side. With a mumbled apology, Bromm continued his hopping down the hall. He leapt over the railing into the common room, landing on the table with a crash that startled many of the sleepers before the hearth to wake. Behind the bar, the middle-aged innkeeper turned on him with fury.
              “Just what in the gods’ names do you think you’re doing?!” she demanded, shaking a ladle at him.
              “Sorry, have to go!” Bromm cried back as he jumped to the floor and bolted out the door. The woman continued shouting obscenities after him until the door banged shut behind him. 
              Bromm found the streets only a little more accommodating. He nearly bowled over a woman carrying bolts of cloth, then crashed through a cart laden with dates. The drover wheeled on him in a fury, riding crop raised high. He brought the crop down on Bromm’s back, bare as he had not found the time to put on his shirt, and Bromm cried out in pain. But he wasted little time in leaping to his feet. The drover swung again, but Bromm caught the weapon and threw it aside before sprinting away down the street.
              Windows flew open and fingers pointed at him as he ran, his breath coming fast and heavy in the twisting, narrow streets. He knew he would be the subject of the day’s gossip whether he ended up on the block or made it out to sea. 
              Bromm rounded a corner and saw four of the palace guards ahead of him not five paces away. One he recognized as one of the guards they had locked up in his cell. The guardsman turned at the sound of Bromm’s hurried approach and his eyes widened in recognition. He pointed an accusing finger and shouted, drawing the gazes of his three companions. Bromm turned on his heel and sped away, followed by the shouts and footsteps of the guards. 
              He was fortunate to have his boots on, for he splashed through a muddy alley that he hoped was too narrow for the guards to follow. He ran up the side of a mudbrick wall and over a pile of crates in the narrow alley, then out the opposite end of the alley. On the far side, he skidded to a halt and made a right-angle course change just as an arrow streaked past him from the alley and thudded into a wooden beam on the opposite side of the street. He cast a look back down the alley and saw the guards aiming a second shot at him.
              Bromm fled their sight before the arrow left the bowstring and ran for the open expanse of the harbor ahead of him. White Shepherd had cast off from the quay already, no doubt making for the open sea under the same expectation of pursuit and execution that Bromm held. With one look Bromm knew it was too far from the shoreline for him to jump, and they were not like to turn around, even if they could maneuver against this wind blowing them out to sea. His eyes searched desperately along the wharf for a way aboard. 
              At the mouth of the harbor, the brig would pass between the emir’s palace on one side and a tall guard tower on the other side. If he jumped from the shore out there, he might be able to make it aboard. It’s the best plan I’ve got, he told himself as somewhere behind him the shouts of the guards drew nearer and more numerous. He took off running as fast as his legs would carry him. The Shepherd was drawing agonizingly close to the tower as his opportunity narrowed with each passing moment.
              The tower sat at the end of a long breakwater topped by a narrow path, leaving him silhouetted against the early morning sky. Another arrow whistled by, falling just short of him as it skipped off the breakwater’s rocks. It skittered across his path, however, the wildly spinning arrowhead nearly cutting his shins. 
              Bromm pressed his pace as best he could, the tower drawing near. Aboard the Shepherd, he could see his friends standing at the rail, shouting and encouraging him onward. Lukodo hung onto the ratlines with one hand, waving desperately at Bromm to run faster. 
              On the tower’s parapet, a sentry emerged with a bow in hand. He leaned over the rail to regard Bromm with suspicious curiosity. Bromm waved to him and pointed to the Shepherd, hoping it would convey that he was not a threat. He had to concede that, even without the palace guards chasing him with murderous intent, a lone man running toward a watchtower was likely to be killed without a second thought. The sentry slowly nocked an arrow, his eyes narrow with suspicion as Bromm neared the base of the tower. He shouted up at the man, pointing again to the brig, but the sentry only seemed to grow more hostile.
              There was a boom and a crack, and a cannonball whipped past the tower. The sentry scrambled from the parapet for the safety of the tower’s interior, and Bromm looked with relief toward the crowd of smoke pouring from the White Shepherd’s gunport. Through the smoke, he could see Pyet waving with elation. Bromm smiled back.
He pressed himself to his absolute limit as he neared the edge of the breakwater. The White Shepherd was just ahead of him, passing through the narrowest point of the harbor mouth. Another arrow streaked over his shoulder and splashed into the water. Bromm could feel himself about to give out. Drawing on his last bit of stamina, he leapt up a tall boulder at the water’s edge and pushed off it with as much strength as he could muster. Arms flailing in the air, he soared over the expanse of open water and crashed against the brig’s hull. 
              For a moment he hung there, clinging to the hull. Then he slipped and bounced off the tumblehome on his water to the cold depths below. But someone caught his hand. Looking up, he found that his savior was Sahat. 
              “We thought you had gone off with the sorceress,” he said as he and Imre pulled Bromm up to the deck. 
              “What a jump!” Imre cried. Bromm pulled himself over the gunwale and sprawled out on the deck. His friends and the other crewmen crowded around him, Pyet still holding the burning linstock in front of him.
              “Welcome back, Captain,” he said. Bromm sat up, his breath coming hard. He nodded in acknowledgement and tried to steady his breathing with one hand.
              “The wind,” he gasped, “the sorceress freed the wind.”
              “Aye, and what of the sorceress?” Sahat demanded.
              “Fucked her,” Bromm panted, and the crew cheered in delight, “but she tricked me. Ensorcelled me to sleep. That’s why I missed the dawn.” The crew groaned, some muttering curses against all sorcerers, others against all women. “And,” Bromm continued, “she took the lamp.”
              “Damn it all!” Sahat cried. “So this was all for nothing?”
              “Where did she go?” Pyet demanded. Bromm could only shrug.
              “Doesn’t matter now,” grumbled Sahat. “She’s gone and there’s no finding a sorceress who wants to hide.” 
              “We’ve got other problems,” Lukodo called. Behind them, the gunports at the tower’s base were opening. Dark squares threatened them with terrible repercussions for their flight, and the frustrated guards who had pursued Bromm still stood on the breakwater with bows ready.
              “Hard to starboard,” Bromm cried to the helm, “this wind’s blowing from the east, head north at broad reach, it’s the fastest way to get out of range of their guns!” 
              The crew leapt into action, scattering from the deck to man the sails or the guns. Bromm barked further orders and the White Shepherd’s guns rolled into firing position before the first of the tower’s guns fired.
              The Shepherd’s guns roared back, setting the whole ship heeling to port, and the cannonballs skipped off the tower’s stone walls. The brig carried only light six-pounders that could not hope to bring down the tower, but as long as cannonballs were striking off it, it might interfere with the gunners’ sighting. The guardsmen on the breakwater dove for cover on the far side.
              “Good shots!” Bromm shouted as the roar of the guns faded. “Keep their heads down! We don’t need to kill them, just keep them occupied long enough to make it out to sea!”
              The tower’s guns boomed in reply, and three heavy cannonballs tore just over the deck to splash into the sea on the far side. A handful of rigging lines were snapped by their passage, but the hull escaped damage. Bromm ran to the bow and steadied the gun crew as they finished reloading. 
              “Hold, one at a time!” Bromm cried. At his command, the first gun fired. The cannonball struck off the tower and he imagined he could hear the tower’s guards scrambling about within. As the smoke cleared and the guards likely regained their composure, Bromm moved to the next gun and ordered it to fire. So he went down the deck, firing the guns in sequence to keep continuous pressure on the enemy. Some shots sailed wide, but one went straight in through the gunport, much to the crew’s delight. They could not see the damage done, but when the tower’s guns boomed again, only two cannons fired.
              The shots streaked well overhead, one passing nearly twenty yards behind the brig as well. 
              “It’s working!” Bromm cried as he ran back to the bow. They were nearly out of range, passing too far to an extreme angle for the tower to engage, for it was sited to rain shot down on ships entering the harbor unbidden, rather than those ranging up the coast. As such, they only had to endure one final volley before escaping, and it flew well overhead once again. The tower fell silent and now nothing lay between the White Shepherd and the lightening horizon.
              “We’ve done it!” Sahat cried, and the crew broke into cheers. Bromm stood up at the helm as the crew feted him, but soon enough the contemptible dwarf Urgan appeared and calmed the crew.
              “We’ve escaped yes,” the dwarf growled, “but you promised us a bound djinn.”
              “I promised you nothing,” Bromm retorted, “a sorceress promised me a bound djinn, and then abandoned us. I have done you no wrong.”
              “You’ve done me no good, either,” the dwarf spat. “What are we to do now?”
              Bromm sighed. There was no winning with the dwarf. “We will find something. There’s always opportunity to be had on the seas. For now, make for Devil’s Rock! While we sail, gather round and hear the story of how my night went…”
 