The Dragon Round by Stephen S. Power

escort.
    â€œHave you come to your senses?” Jeryon asks.
    Livion says, “We’ve decided to give you the captain’s chance.”
    Jeryon tsks. “ We’ve , Captain? There is no we in captain. Only I .”
    The poth says, “What’s the captain’s chance?”
    â€œA practice old as pirates,” Jeryon says without turning around. “The judgment of cowards.”
    Livion says, “You will be set adrift without food or water, sail or oar, and the waves will decide your fate.”
    The poth says, “That’s monstrous.”
    â€œThat’s prerogative,” Livion says.
    â€œHe could have me executed,” Jeryon says, “but he’s too weak.” He looks at Solet. “Pliable.”
    â€œAnd you’re too rigid,” Livion says. “Four hours. That’s how long it took to render the dragon. The rowers needed the rest, too. Four hours. And a fortune. That’s what you traded for this.”
    The poth pushes past the escort to stand between the mates and their captain. “And what have you traded?” She looks at them in turn.“Four hours. How many more got sick in Hanosh? How many more are dead? A body must seem awfully light when it’s weighed against a full purse.”
    â€œI wanted to explain things earlier,” Livion says. “This isn’t your business.”
    She shoots a look at Tuse. “It became mine when I signed on, but not for this. I won’t be a party to it. I’ve got enough blood on my hands.”
    â€œThen you can take the same chance we’re giving him,” Livion says.
    Jeryon says, “I didn’t want some Aydeni landlubber on this ship. I don’t want one in the dinghy either.”
    â€œThink of her as provisions then,” Solet says. Several sailors, still armed with their gory tools, laugh.
    â€œStay with us,” Tuse tells the poth. “The men need you. Hanosh needs you. And you’ll get your share. You’ve earned it.”
    â€œI don’t heal for money,” she says. “I won’t kill for it either. I’ll take the chance.”
    Jeryon says to Tuse, “You don’t like this, do you?”
    â€œIt’s not the choice I would have made,” Tuse said.
    â€œDid make, Tuse,” Jeryon says. “Putting me in a boat is one thing. Putting her in one is another. You didn’t think of that, but you can’t stop, can you?” Jeryon shakes off the escort and stands beside the poth. “She’ll be the one you see at night, not me. As for you two, if anyone cracks, if anyone lets slip what he’s done while he’s drunk in a bar, it’ll be Tuse. Then I won’t need to tell the Trust my side of the story.”
    Livion and Solet give Tuse a warning look. He returns it.
    The poth says, “I’d like to put on a fresh smock.”
    â€œNo,” Solet says. “And let’s check those pockets.”
    â€œI’m going freely,” Everlyn says. “I will not be searched.”
    â€œI could take the whole dress,” Solet says, “and give you to the sea in whatever’s under there.”
    She tightens her lips and pulls from the deep hip pockets several bottles of lotion and powders. From those in the folds around her legs emerge bandages, small tools, and, improbably, two limes. From the pockets inside her sleeves come bandage ties, a pot of unguent, and packets of medicinal herbs. She drops it all in a clatter.
    Solet says, “Is that it?”
    â€œYes,” the poth says.
    â€œLet’s check one more place,” Solet says, “just in case.” He reaches for the thick floral brocade that extends from the deep vee of her collar. She covers her breasts. He taps her wrists. Resigned, she lowers her arms. He reaches behind the brocade and pulls from a pocket there a flat knife with a bone handle. He admires it. It’s like the full-size version of his