with a finger. Khaled and Anmar stood behind her, their hands on their weapons and their eyes watchful. The druchii slave-master examined the line of shivering, weeping people, occasionally lifting a chin with the butt of a coiled whip.
‘They are pathetic,’ the white-haired elf woman lying on the divan across from Neferata said.
‘But serviceable enough for the mines,’ Neferata said, setting aside her goblet.
The elf glanced at it. ‘Are the night-grapes of Hag Graef not to your liking?’
‘I have little taste for grapes of any vintage,’ Neferata said. ‘You are satisfied, I trust, Megara?’
‘Never, Neferata,’ Megara said. The druchii corsair was as vicious and as treacherous a creature as Neferata had ever had the misfortune to meet. Clad in her armour and silks and dragon-hide cloak, the elf presented a lethal picture, much more so than Neferata herself, who reclined languidly. ‘But I suppose it must do,’ she continued in strongly accented Sartosan. Lavender eyes gazed unblinkingly at Neferata, who met the gaze without flinching.
‘And you will raid elsewhere?’ she said.
‘My word of honour,’ Megara said.
Neferata laughed. One of Megara’s guards hissed something in their own tongue and drew his curved, serrated blade and made to threaten Neferata. Khaled drew his own scimitar, but before he could move forwards, Neferata waved him still. Megara did the same to her guard. ‘Careful, Neferata,’ she said mildly. ‘My people take offence easily.’
‘But you don’t. And it was you I was laughing at, Megara,’ Neferata said pointedly. ‘Though perhaps I shouldn’t have. You do have honour of a sort. After all, you have kept faith with me ever since I rescued you from my greedy-gut servants that day in Sartosa.’ Neferata had pulled the mauled corsair from the jaws of her ghouls on a whim, an action which had since paid great dividends.
Megara frowned. She did not like being reminded of her debt. ‘We will concentrate our efforts on the far southern coasts. The Arabyans make terrible slaves, but they’re better than this rabble.’ She gestured to the quivering fishermen. Neferata gazed at them dismissively. She gave little thought to their eventual fate; such things were beyond her concern.
The slave-master was still going down the line. He stopped in front of a young woman, broad-shouldered and big-hipped. Honey-blonde hair tumbled down, hiding her face. The slave-master forced her chin up and she spat full in his face. The elf stumbled back, his narrow features twisting in a snarl. The woman lunged, snatching the hook dagger from the elf’s belt. With a screech, she swept it across his belly, spilling his guts onto the deck.
The guards glided forwards, heading off the potential revolt before it could begin. They stepped over the twitching slave-master and herded the woman towards the deck rail. Neferata sat up straighter. ‘What are you going to do with her?’ she said.
‘We’ll toss her overboard. The spirited ones are great fun, but that one will be more trouble than she’s worth,’ Megara said. She looked at Neferata. ‘Why?’
‘I would like her,’ Neferata said, tapping her lip. ‘I can use a woman with spirit.’
‘Better to kill her,’ Megara said. She raised a hand.
Neferata leaned back. ‘Kill her, then.’
Megara looked at her. ‘I thought you wanted her.’
‘I can get twenty such, should I wish. It was a whim.’ Neferata examined her fingernails. Megara did as well, remembering how those delicate-seeming fingers had ripped great gouges in the armour of her fellow corsairs and torn out throats. She did not know exactly what Neferata was, but she knew that she was no mere human, whatever she looked like.
‘Take her,’ she said, waving the guards back. Neferata rose smoothly to her feet and swayed towards the frightened woman. The guards fell back as she approached, their dark eyes watching her warily. The knife came up, but Neferata placed a fingertip on the bloody tip and pushed it gently aside.
‘What is your name?’ Neferata said softly, leaning close. The woman’s chest heaved and her face was dripping with sweat as she backed against the rail.
‘I... Lu-Lupa Stregga,’ she said, her eyes going unfocused as Neferata gazed deeply into them.
Lupa was the local word for she-wolf. ‘Appropriate,’ Neferata murmured. ‘Sleep, Lupa. You will be safe with me.’ Her will crashed over the woman’s, easily battering it down. She snatched the dagger from her slack grip as she slumped. Neferata caught her easily and motioned for Khaled to come and take her. The vampire did, wrinkling his nose as he did so.