The _Tamira_ shifted in the current. I reconnoitered, as I could, moving the side of my head slightly. I peered into the cabin. I saw a table, and charts. I could not see his berth. I could not see the entire cabin. I assumed the cabin was empty. Surely Reginald himself, captain of the _Tamira_, would be above decks and forward, presumably on the stem castle taking note of the course of the battle. On the other hand if he should be in the cabin, or if it should be otherwise occupied, I must enter swiftly and without warning, that I might, if necessary, strike before being struck. I wiped the knife on my thigh. The preservation of the life of Reginald, or of another within, was not essential to the pursuit of my objectives.
With a shattering of glass and wood I crashed into the cabin.
She screamed, suddenly rising to a kneeling position in the berth, clutching the scarlet sheet about her throat.
I stood between her and the door, half-naked, the knife in my hand.
"Who are you?" she cried.
I backed from her and then, turning, tried the door. She had been locked within, as I had speculated. From the inside, then, scarcely taking my eyes from her, I dropped the heavy bar into place, in its brackets, securing the door from the inside. I then, with its chain, and ship's lock, secured the bar in place.
"Who are you?" she demanded, holding the sheet high about her.
"Lower the sheet to your shoulders," I told her.
She looked at me, angrily. Then she obeyed. There was a close-fitting steel collar on her neck.
Seeing that she was a slave, no longer did I fear to compromise the modesty of a free woman. "Discard the sheet," I told her. She, kneeling in the berth, dropped it to her knees. "Completely," I told her.
She cast the sheet aside.
She was voluptuous, and blond, and blue-eyed. I saw that she would bring a high price in a slave market.
"I shall scream," she said.
"Do so, and I shall cut your pretty throat from ear to ear," I said.
"Who are you!" she demanded.
"Your master," I told her.
"I am the slave of Reginald," she said. "Captain of the _Tamira_."
"Are you aware that there is a battle going on outside?" I inquired.
"Yes," she said, uneasily, squirming, naked, in the berth.
I grinned. Gorean men sometimes order their women to await them, thus. Indeed, that sort of thing is done even on Earth, by men who own their women. Perhaps a telephone call instructs the woman to be waiting naked in bed for them when they arrive. She lies there alone, unclothed, under the sheets, awaiting her master. When he arrives, she is well ready to be touched.
"Reginald, I take it," I said, "anticipates victory."
She tossed her head. "Of course," she said.
"This is the scout ship of Ragnar Voskjard," I said.
"Perhaps," she said.
"Why are you aboard?" I asked.
"It pleased my master to bring me," she said.
"Are you a Luck Girl?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I am a female slave," she said.
I smiled. Many Goreans regard the sight of a female slave as good luck. Certainly, at the very least, they are joys to look upon. The presence of a free woman on a ship, incidentally, causes some Gorean sailors uneasiness. Indeed, some, superstitiously, and mistakenly, in my opinion, regard them as harbingers of ill fortune. This is probably, from the objective point of view, a function of the dissension such a woman may produce, particularly on long voyages, and of the alterations in seamanship and conduct which can be attendant upon her presence on shipboard. For example, knowing that a free woman is on board, and must be accommodated and protected, can adversely, whether it should or not, affect the decisions of a captain. He might put into shore when it would be best to remain at sea; he might run when he should fight; when he should be firm, he might vacillate; when he should be strong, he might be conciliatory and weak.
There have been occasions recorded when a free woman, usually one who has been haughty and troublesome, has been, by order of the captain, who is supreme on the vessel, simply stripped and enslaved on board. The reservations of Gorean seamen pertaining to the presence of free women on board, incidentally, do not apply to the presence of slave girls. Such girls are under effective discipline, and must be pleasing and obedient. If they are not, they know they may be simply thrown overboard. Similarly, they are commonly available to the crew, to content and please them. Their presence on board is a delight and convenience. The men are fond of them, regarding them with affection. They are, in effect, pets and mascots. A round of paga and a girl is a pleasant way to relax after one's watch on deck. Incidentally the reservations held by some Gorean seamen pertaining to free women on board, also, interestingly, do not hold of free women who are captives. Even the pirates of Earth found uses to which such women could be put.
"Are you available to the crew?" I asked.
"Only if I do not sufficiently please Reginald, my master," she said.
"Do you strive to please him?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, shuddering. "I do."
"This ship," I said, "in league with the _Telia_, captained by Simak, of the holding of Policrates, took recently upon the river a merchantman, the _Flower of Siba_." I had learned this in the court of Kliomenes, in the holding of Policrates. The loot had been divided. Part of that loot had been Florence, a curvaceous, auburn-haired slave, who had belonged to Miles of Vonda.
"Perhaps," she said.
"Prisoners, then, from the _Flower of Siba_," I said, "are still on board."
"Perhaps," she said. I gathered from the nature of her response that this was, indeed, true. More importantly, I gathered from her response what I had been truly after, that the _Tamira_ had made her rendezvous with the Voskjard's fleet in the western Vosk, and not at his holding. Had the rendezvous been made at the holding the prisoners, presumably, would no longer be on board.
"The captain of the _Tamira_," I said, "is an important man, and much trusted by Ragnar Voskjard."
"Yes," she said, proudly.
"The rendezvous of the _Tamira_ with the fleet of the Voskjard," I said, "took place then not at his holding, but in the river." I recalled that in open battle the _Tamira_ had been supported, and, indeed, convoyed, by two heavy galleys. This had further confirmed my suspicion that she carried a cargo more precious than many understood.
"Perhaps," said the girl.
"Has Reginald boarded the flagship of Ragnar Voskjard since the return from the holding of Policrates?" I asked.
"No," she said, "though signals were exchanged. Why?"
"Then what I seek," I said, "must still be on board."
"I do not understand," she said.
"Doubtless it is in this very cabin," I said.
"I do not understand," she said, uneasily.
"When Reginald returned from the holding of Policrates, doubtless you met him, either on deck, or in the cabin, as a naked, kneeling slave, licking and kissing at his sea boots, begging to serve him."
"Yes," she said, shrinking back.
"He would have been carrying an object, so precious that it would have been in his hands alone."
"No," she said.
"Then it would have been papers, in his tunic," I said. "You, in his cabin, undressing him, bathing him, serving him, would have seen what he did with the."
"No!" she said.
"Do not look to the place where he concealed them," I said.
I saw her glance wildly to my right, to the side of the cabin.
I smiled.
Then, knowing she had betrayed herself, she slipped, frightened, half crouching, from the berth.
"Were you not to remain in the berth until Reginald came for you?" I asked.