Death on the Serpent’s Head

Writer’s note: What can I say, I like a mystery story. Also a note on names: I’m using ‘of’ for certain cultures’ names the way Arabic would use ‘ibn/bint’, i.e. to mean son/daughter of. Many other real cultures have an equivalent of this, which forms an integral part of the name (e.g. the Russian ‘-ovich/-ovna’). In this world, the Lydesi use a patronym and a family name, while the Prochadi use a lot of double-barrelled given names (inspired by Pashto conventions) and only rarely use family names. (Update: I’ve changed how I construct these names now; I may go back and retcon it in this story some day). Anyway, this one is about 5,000 words, 15-20 minutes of reading.

Death on the Serpent’s Head

When Aorang had dreamt of becoming a merchant captain, sailing up and down the Sea of Serpents or wherever else he wished to go, he had not considered the arithmetic. Pages of it, endlessly – sums going in and going out, food and water stores, canvas and lumber for mid-voyage repairs, powder and shot that they would need in the event of an attack, it gave him a headache behind his eyes that only a few hours on deck could clear. The numbers swam before him, flailing like drowning sailors, and he did his best to give them the attention they needed.

The door to his cabin burst open and he gave a sigh of relief. He didn’t care what the problem was – they could be sinking and it would be preferable to going through the books for a moment longer.

‘Captain.’ Kawai spoke the title with the thick accent of his native Southern Archipelago. Lydesi was a late addition to his repertoire of tongues.

‘Yes?’ Aorang asked his first officer. The man’s accent was of the least importance. What mattered was his origins. The Kalrau were the greatest sailors in the world. They knew the stars like their lover’s face and could coax an extra knot out of a ship that anyone else would say was running as fast as she ever could. Rarely did they leave their own fleet of ships so, when one did, you snatched him up and carefully failed to ask what he might have done to be dumped out.

‘Captain, a man is dead.’

‘Overboard?’

‘No. Killed, I mean. A man is killed.’

Aorang snapped up out of his chair. The thing fell to the floor behind him.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Who? How?’

‘One of the passengers.’

That, he had not been expecting. A fight between crewmen maybe – he had seen those escalate a few times in his career. But a passenger? He had room for about half a dozen of them on the Gadwall to make a little extra money on his voyages up and down the Sea of Serpents, from its head to its tail, and a habit of promptly forgetting about them as soon as the ship left port.

‘An older man from Prochadis we picked up at our last port,’ Kawai continued. He was a large man and covered with the tattoos that would tell other Kalrau of his sailing record but which Aorang had never learnt to interpret. Imposing but soft spoken and slow to anger. The kind of man you wanted with you when things went wrong.

‘Who killed him?’

Kawai – the Kalrau had but the one name – shrugged his broad shoulders.

‘We don’t know. He came with a servant. We can’t find the man. So him, probably.’

‘Show me.’

The smell was horrific.

‘That’s what alerted them,’ Kawai said when Aorang conveyed the sentiment. ‘A group of crewmen. They were passing, smelt it, and called to whoever was inside. No-one replied. They broke in and found this.’

The corpse lay on the bed. It had clearly been there a while. Its skin was discoloured and its torso bloated. An oozing rot had permeated the blankets. The stench engulfed the cabin. It was all too small, too constricting. Aorang had to get out.

In the corridor outside the cabin, he breathed in salt and sweat and all the familiar aromas of his ship. His stomach slowly settled.

‘What was his name?’ Aorang asked. It shamed him that he did not know it.

‘Mirzal Ghul of Homayoun Dushtani. Rich man, he seemed. Didn’t ask how. He was travelling to Lydesis with his servant. Didn’t ask why. Can’t remember the servant’s name, but I’d recognise him. And there’s another thing. They came with a trunk. It’s still in the cabin. I looked through it. Seems a lot lighter than when they arrived.’

‘The servant stole from his master, you think?’

‘Might explain it.’ Kawai thought for a moment. ‘One of the passengers is a physician. A proper one. Do I send for him?’

Aorang nodded and kept breathing. In and out. Slowly. He had once seen a whale beached in Midghalar. It had been dead a couple of weeks. As you got closer, it had seemed to be alive once more. Then you noticed that the movement was just colonies of magots and birds slowly devouring the putrid corpse. Even the smell of whale oil lamps had set his stomach off for weeks after that. He got his breathing under control. By the time Kawai returned with one of the passengers in tow, the nausea had subsided.

‘Captain Aorang of Hardar Horenah,’ the passenger said, bowing his head. He spoke in his native Nabkai. Aorang acknowledged him.

‘Mshindi Uhuru, Captain. The physician,’ said Kawai.

He was a short man with beady eyes. His beard was neat and his head shaved. In one hand he held a bag full of – presumably – the tools of his trade.

‘I don’t know what my first officer has told you but prepare yourself. It is a dead body. Not recently dead. I need you to tell me more.’ Aorang spoke to the man in his own language. He was well familiar with it as one of the trading languages on the Sea of Serpents.

The physician chuckled mirthlessly.

‘I am used to cadavers, Captain Horenah.’

Aorang shrugged. He had tried to warn the man. He pushed open the door and let the physician enter. With no desire to experience the full effect of the body once again, Aorang stayed by the doorframe. Kawai, he sent to organise the search for the servant.

Mshindi seemed entirely unbothered by the cabin. He marched straight up to his subject and opened his bag. He prodded at the body with a few instruments and then with his hands, talking to himself as he worked.

‘How goes it?’ Aorang asked.

‘Fascinating. It is fascinating. The sea air seems to have done things to this corpse subtly different from what we would see on land. I’ve never seen it before.’

‘A man has died, might I remind you. Can you tell me how and when?’

‘Yes, yes. Strangulation, I would guess. Some of the discolouration around the neck is too intense to be from a natural, post-mortis pooling of the blood. And a little more than week ago, I would hazard to guess, judging by the state of it. It was in here the whole time undiscovered?’

‘So it seems,’ Aorang called from the door. ‘But it cannot have been more than a week ago. He only embarked when we docked in Prochadis. That was but six days ago.’

‘Then, in my professional opinion, he died that very day. Do you know, I believe I saw him once, when he first embarked. Not after that, though. His servant brought meals to his cabin. Said he was seasick. I suppose he must be to blame, and covering up the murder the whole time.’

‘So it would seem. Thank you for your help.’

‘Might I stay with the body, Captain? Merely to write down my observations.’

The idea of someone willingly staying in that room made Aorang shiver. The physical abhorrence of the decomposition and the moral abhorrence of the crime were too much.

‘I think not. I shall call upon you again if I have any further need.’

The physician wrinkled his nose but said nothing in protest. He collected his instruments and vacated the cabin.

Kawai returned.

‘Have you found the servant?’ Aorang asked.

Kawai shook his head. ‘Found out his name, though. Cook remembered it. Qayum of Hukam Bacha. Shouldn’t be hard to spot – only man on the ship dressed poor who is not a sailor.’

‘Well he didn’t jump ship. He’s here somewhere. Order a full search. Check he’s not hiding amongst the watches or down in the stores. Find him.’

‘Yes Captain.’

‘And Kawai, do I remember correctly that another Prochadi boarded at the same time as of Homayoun Dushtani and his servant?’

‘Malang Selab of Ahmed Wali. A clerk. Only booked passage to our next port.’

‘He might have seen something. I’ll talk to him and the other passengers while you keep searching.’

Having asked one of his crewmen which of the guest cabins the man had been placed in, Aorang stood before Malang Selab of Ahmed Wali’s door. He knocked. There was silence. He knocked again.

‘Yes?’ came the muffled reply.

‘of Ahmed Wali? It’s the captain. Might I speak with you?’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’

Aorang heard the man rise and fumble with the door’s bolt. Then the thing was open and he was in the cabin, being offered a seat by the writing desk while of Ahmed Wali took the bed.

He was a skinny man with a trimmed beard and close-cropped hair – the style so common across both Prochadis and its larger neighbour Lydesis. He was sweating a little in the below-deck heat, the beads dotting a face that was pale for either of their countries but typical for a clerk, as Aorang had been told he was, given how little they got to see the sun. His clothes were those of a man of usually little means who had recently come into some money – most of them worn and oft repaired but a few items of obviously more recent purchase and greater expense.

‘What can I do for you, Captain?’ he asked. He spoke Lydesi well. Their two languages were like brothers, after all.

‘I suppose I need to start by telling you that one of your fellow passengers has been killed.’ of Ahmed Wali’s eyes turned white. ‘But please, do not be alarmed. I assure you that you are safe. Do you remember of Homayoun Dushtani? Or his servant, of Hukam Bacha?’

‘I embarked on the same day as them. But of Homayoun Dushtani kept to his cabin. Sick, I believe. He ate all his meals there. I did hear you correctly, Captain? You said “has been killed”, not “died”?’

‘Yes. of Homayoun Dushtani was murdered. A few days ago, it seems. Perhaps even the same day you all embarked. I was hoping you could tell me anything about them. We cannot find the servant, you see. Nor can we understand how it all went undetected, or even why it happened, though thievery has been suggested. Perhaps if we learnt a little about him, we could answer some of those questions.’

of Ahmed Wali stood up and paced the room. He rubbed his hands together as he spoke.

‘I don’t think I ever saw of Homayoun, truth be told. He had taken to his cabin before I boarded and, as I understand it, never left after the door closed that first time. I have seen the servant, of course, taking his meals to him. I cannot say I spoke more than a few words to the man.’

‘And did you notice anything suspicious about him? It appears he was covering up the murder the entire trip. Did he seem nervous? Mention anything to you?’

‘No, no I can’t remember anything of the sort.’ He stopped pacing and stared at the wall. ‘Truly I cannot. As I say, never more than a few words. He kept himself to himself. Do you think he swam? Or took a boat?’

‘No. I think he is hiding. But please, do not worry. He shall be found. Do you remember anything of your few words?’

‘Only pleasantries. He mentioned they were going to Lydesis. I myself get off at the next port and shall be thankful not to have to share a ship with a killer any longer. We arrive tomorrow, do we not? I am sorry to say it to you Captain, but right now I wish to be off as fast as I can.’

‘Early tomorrow, yes. But I am sure we will have found the man by then. Your cabins are not too far apart – yours and of Homayoun’s. Did you never hear anything? Or, and here I must turn towards the morbid, smell anything?’

‘Not that I recall,’ of Ahmed Wali said, sitting back on the bed, half turned towards Aorang.

‘And you never saw the servant enter or leave? Never got a look – or a whiff – while he did so?’

‘Again I must claim ignorance. Perhaps I saw the servant open or close the door but I never paid attention enough to remember. Forgive me, he was but a servant, going on errands. Who would care to notice?’

Aorang did not think a clerk so far above a servant but had the tact not to say so. People always liked to imagine a short step between them and those above them and a chasm separating them from those below.

‘Thank you for your time, of Ahmed Wali. As I said, the servant shall be found shortly.’ Aorang rose to leave but paused by the door. ‘One final thing. Did you ever see of Hukam Bacha carrying anything besides meals? Theft has been suggested as a motive but I can’t think of where he would have stashed any items he took.’

of Ahmed Wali’s eyes shot to his closed trunk, pressed against one wall.

‘You don’t think he stole from anyone else, do you?’

‘I cannot say either way. But so long as you made sure to lock your door, I am sure your own possessions are safe.’

‘Yes, they had better be. But, to answer your question, perhaps. I could not always make out what he was carrying. Have you checked your own hold? Surely that is a likely location – one where precious items would not be too out of place.’

‘It is being searched as we speak. Thank you again for your time.’

The younger man smiled weakly as Aorang shut the door. He would go back to his cabin – back to his dreaded sums – and await Kawai and their would-be stowaway. As he set off in that direction, a head poked out of the door to a guest cabin.

It was a woman’s head, her cheeks full and her hair tied up in some intricate arrangement. Aorang tried to recall his final passengers. A husband and wife, merchants, from Binayr.

‘Captain Horenah?’ she asked in flawless Lydesi. She opened the door the rest of the way and stood in the threshold. She was a large woman in a lilac sari typical of her nationality and class.

‘Yes, madam?’

‘Oh I do apologise, Captain. We were only introduced the once. Kavita Aanjaneya Vhakti. My husband, Aanjaneya Siddharth Vhakti, is inside with his beloved sums. I am sorry that he cannot speak to you – remarkably few tongues for a merchant.’ She said something into the room in her own language. It was one that Aorang had never picked up.

A man came to the doors. Slim with one of the thickest sets of moustaches Aorang had ever seen. His hair disappeared into a scarlet turban.

‘Hello Captain,’ he said in broken Lydesi. ‘Good weather. Death not good.’

He smiled amiably. His wife said a few words to him in a tone of exasperated affection and he disappeared back into the cabin.

‘As you heard,’ Kavita Vhakti said, ‘he learnt of the murder. Well, I did. Overheard a sailor. Do we… do we have anything to fear?’

‘No, madam, not at all. We will soon have found of Homayoun Dushtani’s servant.’

‘It was the servant, then? I never learnt the man’s name – hardly ever saw him at all – except as he hurried away with his master’s meals. Can’t say I could pick him out of a crowd even if he was standing as close to me as you are now. And, of course, we never saw the master more than once.’

‘He didn’t speak to you at all? of Ahmed Wali said he at least exchanged a few words with the servant.’

‘He did, did he? Well of Ahmed Wali was hardly good society either. I did attempt a conversation a few times but he never let me keep it going past the greeting. If I had seen them speaking, perhaps I would have gotten jealous.

Aorang flashed her a smile.

‘When we find the man, I shall send someone to let you know. Until then, perhaps it would be best to keep your door locked.’

Back in his cabin, Aorang looked at his books and their tables with disgust. He closed them and hid them in his cavernous desk. Out of sight. Less in mind. Kawai returned, his face flushed.

‘And?’ Aorang asked him. Kawai shook his head. ‘How? He has not just disappeared into the sea – keep searching. Take out everything. Break out the cutlasses and post sailors below decks. Find him!’ Aorang stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Please, Kawai. This is getting ridiculous.’

Without a word, the implacable first officer nodded and left.

They searched all through the night. Aorang oversaw for a while, but finally retired to bed. Before going, he explained to his remaining four passengers – the physician, the clerk, and the merchants – that of Hukam Bacha had yet to be found but it was only a matter of time. It was embarrassing but there was nothing else he could do.

Mshindi Uhuru had seemed entirely disinterested, except to enquire after the body. of Ahmed Wali had demanded extra furniture to barricade his door; Aorang had relented to keep the man happy. The one Vhakti he could communicate with had kept him chatting for half an hour, very little of it about the dead body and stowaway on board his ship, which had done him the world of good.

When dawn broke, Aorang hoped to be awoken by Kawai, his new prisoner tied hand and foot. But he still had not been found. The captain broke his fast in stormy silence, snapping at anyone with ears that the whole thing was ridiculous and the man had to be somewhere. He started to really think he might have thrown himself overboard. But then what of the missing items? And why had he not been seen?

With little else to do but run the ship as normal, he went up on deck and chatted to his pilot, a gnarled older man who haled, like most of the crew and their captain, from Lydesis. of Farhad, the deftest hands at the wheel that Aorang had ever been able to employ. He had already guided them into the bay and they were mere minutes from docking. The second officer was at the prow hastily arranging it all with the port authorities.

‘He’s a ghost is what he is, Captain. Or some kind of demon,’ said of Farhad.

Aorang blinked at him for a second. He had been so submerged in the discussion of ports and wind that he had almost forgotten.

‘The servant, you mean?’

‘Aye. And I’ll tell you how I know. I was on deck when they arrived, master all high and mighty and servant struggling under the weight of that trunk. I saw them go below decks. And I saw the servant come back up and disembark. I saw it – clear as day. I was on deck the whole time Captain and I swear before the serpents horned and hooded that he never got back on.’

The captain gave his pilot a disparaging look.

‘Yes he did. He’s been seen numerous times over the past days. About the only thing I can confirm about the man is he was on the ship. Didn’t speak to anyone. Didn’t get seen doing anything but carrying meals. But he was – is – definitely here.’

‘Well aye, I know that. But as I say, I never saw him get back on. Thought he’d run away from his master. The way the old bastard spoke to him, I didn’t blame him. But then I saw him running his little errands. A couple times I saw him. So I thought I must’ve been mistaken. Must have gotten back on when I wasn’t looking. But now? Not so sure. Reckon a man – or maybe not a man – who didn’t need to board in order to get on the ship also don’t need to deboard to get off it. Demon, I swear to you Captain.’

A superstitious bunch, sailors. It came from being so often at the mercy of Fate, Aorang thought. People couldn’t live with the thought that the difference between storm and clear was naught but luck. It had to be a curse or blessing. The work of demons or nymphs. A good captain was aware of his crew’s idiosyncrasies, and cautious of them, without dismissing them. The sailors took it all so seriously, after all. It didn’t do to mock them.

‘How else do you explain it, Captain? I mean, no-one’s seen him. All this moving things and searching Kawai has us doing, we’ve found every rat on the ship by now. But not him. I mean, I thought I saw him, thought the demon was about to get me too, but that was just my imagination.’

‘What do you mean you thought you saw him?’

‘Hm? Oh, this morning, just as I got up. I was all groggy from sleep but I swear he was coming towards me. About to attack him, I was, until I was held back by Hoshang. Turns out it was just that clerk. I hadn’t seen him before so all I saw was a poor looking man who weren’t part of the crew. Easy mistake. Glad I got stopped before I gutted him, though.’

‘Well let that be a lesson. No demons and don’t stab someone on a hunch.’

‘As you say, Captain.’

Aorang paced the circumference of the ship a couple of times, waiting for them to get the all-clear to dock. Something about what of Farhad had said was bothering him. Kawai came up on deck and Aorang beckoned him over.

‘It is stupid,’ the captain began, ‘but can you pass a question round the crew. Can you ask them if anyone saw the servant embark the ship a second time.’

‘Captain?’

‘It’s stupid, I know, but just do it. You ask the crew. I’ll ask of Ahmed Wali. He embarked after them but apparently the servant got off so maybe he saw him get back on.’

He thought all the way down to the cabin of Ahmed Wali occupied. Nothing about the situation added up. A murderer and thief who disappeared, along with whatever he stole, but had also possibly never gotten on the ship in the first place? Or at least not stayed there – but had then been seen multiple times afterwards. The whole thing stank worse than the corpse.

The second time Aorang knocked on of Ahmed Wali’s door, he was even slower to open it. He had to pull away the table pressed against it first, then fiddle with the bolt. But it did open, eventually.

‘Apologies, Captain. I am in the middle of packing up. Are you here to tell me that we have docked?’

‘In a couple of minutes. I will send down some sailors to help you with your trunk.’

‘Oh, no, that’s not necessary. I am perfectly capable.’

‘To cross a gangplank with a trunk all to yourself? I doubt it. No, I’ll send people down. But that is not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘It is not?’

‘I just had another question. A silly one really. You embarked after of Homayoun Dushtani and his servant, yes?’ of Ahmed Wali answered in the affirmative. ‘Well, the servant seems to have disembarked. Did you happen to see him reboard? He must have, of course, I’m just asking everyone who might have seen for confirmation.’

of Ahmed Wali cocked his head to the side and looked passed Aorang.

‘I’m not… Yes. Yes, I think I did. No, certainly I did. In fact I even recall thinking it odd that he wasn’t yet on board.’

‘Was he carrying anything? Anything that might explain why he left and came back?’

‘Not that I recall. Perhaps. I couldn’t say, really.’

Aorang felt deflated. Nothing after all, it seemed.

‘Thank you for your time, of Ahmed Wali. I shall send those crewmen momentarily. Come up to the deck at your leisure.’

On the deck, Kawai had taken control. They were just tying up and lowering the gangplank. Aorang would have to go and talk to the port authorities in a few moments. He sent down those two crewmen he had promised. Docked, and still they had not found the man. Kawai approached him.

‘Everything in order, Captain,’ he said. ‘I did as you asked, too. No, was the answer. No-one saw him get back on.’

Aorang looked at him, confused.

‘Yes they did. of Ahmed Wali saw him.’

‘He was the only one, then.’ Kawai shrugged at the look his captain gave him.

‘But how?’

As he was finishing the thought, of Ahmed Wali emerged, two crewmen struggling with his trunk behind them.

‘Careful!’ of Ahmed Wali snapped at them. They were visibly straining under the weight.

‘Captain?’ Kawai said. ‘I helped get his trunk on when he boarded. It was only clothes, I thought. I could carry it alone, no difficulty at all.’

‘Stop!’ Aorang shouted. Scores of crewmen paused mid-task, none knowing which had been addressed but all fearing for him. ‘With the trunk, stop! Put it down. Get it open.’

of Ahmed Wali went pale.

‘I must protest, Captain Horenah. You have no right. I am your passenger, nothing more. All paid up and ready to depart.’

‘of Ahmed Wali, I must insist you open the trunk or I shall have its key seized from you. I am sorry but there is a mystery aboard my ship and I’m not going to let part of it disembark before I have thoroughly attacked it from every angle. Open it.’

‘I shan’t.’

Kawai didn’t even need a verbal instruction. He crossed the deck between them in a matter of moments and grabbed of Ahmed Wali with both hands. Others came to help. The Prochadi wrestled and wriggled but soon Kawai had located the key and removed it from his person. Without ceremony, he unlocked the trunk.

Clothes. Kawai threw them aside. He stared at the trunk in shock. Aorang strode over to look inside. of Ahmed Wali kept struggling. Sitting snug within the trunk were two necklaces and some heavy bags that, when opened, revealed good cold silver and gold. It was more money together than Aorang had ever seen. Quite why anyone would travel with it he had no idea – banks existed, after all.

‘Stolen from the dead man, yes?’ Kawai asked. His voice was quiet in that way that meant further violence was on the horizon. ‘After he died? You found the body and stole from him rather than reporting? Maybe killed the murderer too? Or before? Accomplice, are you?’

of Ahmed Wali protested all the harder, physically and verbally. Aorang tried to make sense of it – of what could have happened and why anyone, legitimately or otherwise, would travel with such a hoard. And of how it could have happened. No-one had seen of Hukam Bacha embark the second time, except of Ahmed Wali who had just been proven a liar. He said he had only spoken to the man a little. Had someone contradicted that? No. In fact, Kavita Vhakti had never seen them together at all. An idea struck him.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Who saw of Hukam Bacha more than anyone?’

The scene was bringing other crewmen up. The passengers too. His audience was growing.

‘Cook, no?’ asked Aorang. ‘After all, the only thing Hukam Bacha seemed to do was ferry meals. Find Cook.’

‘Here, Captain,’ said Cook from somewhere in the crowd. He had a name, but he had been making food on the ship for years and no-one called him by it anymore.

‘Cook, I want you to listen to me very carefully. That man they’re holding – who is he.’

Cook squinted at of Ahmed Wali.

‘I mean, it’s that passenger. The clerk. I know that, Captain. But I never saw him full in the face. And – this’ll sound crazy but I swear it Captain – it’s the servant. of Hukam Bacha. Him I’ve seen loads. Him I’d recognise.’

‘Does anyone else recognise this man as of Hukam Bacha?’ Aorang asked his crew.

The replies came in thick and fast. Most, it seemed, had never seen either of them except at a distance or in the dark. More had seen the clerk than the servant. No-one could say they would recognise both. But of those who had seen the servant more than a few times, enough to know his face, all backed up Cook.

‘That’s of Hukam Bacha?’ said Kawai. ‘He killed of Ahmed Wali? Posed as him?’

‘No,’ Aorang replied. He looked of Hukam Bacha dead in the face. He wasn’t struggling anymore. ‘I don’t think there is a Malang Selab of Ahmed Wali. Qayum of Hukam Bacha here disembarked and returned disguised as a passenger. Maybe he had already killed his master when he left, maybe after he returned. Then he posed as both the entire trip. Kept to one cabin or the other as much as he could, only leaving for meals, and hiding his face as much as he could when he did. Do I have that right?’

of Hukam Bacha said nothing, so Aorang continued.

‘I think the plan was for him to leave now, with all his master’s treasures stowed away, before the murder was even found. We’d discover it soon after – probably when he stopped coming to collect his master’s meals. Then we would find the body. By then he would be long gone from here and we on the way to Lydesis. But the plan failed. The body was found early and of Hukam Bacha here had to sit tight and hope no-one discovered his ploy before he could leave. Got close, too.

‘It was well planned. Far in advance. I cannot say why he did it – maybe he got wind of all the treasures his master would be travelling with, or maybe he arranged that too. Judging by his clothes, he had also filched a little in advance. Maybe his master caught wind of it. But whatever the why of it, this man is a murderer. Kawai, inform the port authorities we’ll be transferring a criminal.’

The restrained man went limp. The sailors holding him let him fall to the floor. He made a small whimpering sound and smashed his fist against the deck like a juvenile. Aorang almost felt pity for the pathetic little form lying across his deck. The thought of what the man had done – how much planning would have gone into it and how close he got to succeeding – chased those emotions away. Disgusted and nothing else, Aorang made his way to the gangplank.