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Prin stopped breathing. The descriptions Marcus gave were as if he’d seen them last night. She searched his face for a tell; a twitch, or anything else that might say he had seen the confrontation, but he took another massive bite and continued eating.

This man is a consummate liar or very good at guessing. Prin chanced a glance at Sara and found her face pale, her lower lip trembling slightly. Inviting Marcus to dine with them may have not been such a good idea. Or, maybe it was.

Prin reached for a bread roll while thinking. If at least some, if not most, of the others that were hunting her saw them eating together they might be more inclined to look elsewhere. She couldn’t be so stupid that she would invite her enemy to her table, could she?

Turning to Marcus, she asked in a pleasant voice, “What is it that you sell?”

“Weapons. I deal with knives, swords, axes, spear points, and most anything related to metal weapons.” He spoke with his mouth full, and a few grains of the coarse bread stuck in his beard, while others managed to find the front of his shirt.

With the red jam on his mustache adding to the sight, Prin had a hard time imagining him as a viable enemy. Then a stray thought came to her. What better way to hide while seeking a victim? In a way, it was what she had done when she invited him to join their table.

Prin said, “Do you have samples for buyers to examine?”

“Indeed. Who would buy without looking or sampling? Are you in the market for a weapon?”

Sara flashed a warning glance that Prin ignored. She said, “A dull knife for spreading butter on my bread is a weapon in my hands. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cut myself—even with the dullest knives.”

He shoved more bread into his mouth as the steward brought two more plates piled high. He washed it down with half of his watered wine then muttered, “Dull knives can be hazardous, too. But sharp ones hidden in scabbards below your neckline are worse.”

There. He’d tipped his hand. Prin calmly, or as calmly as possible, said, “You noticed? Most don’t.”

“My business. May I assume you know how to use it?” he asked.

“I do. It was a gift. Traveling can be dangerous,” Prin said. “A woman must be prepared to protect herself.”

He paused in his continuous eating. “Not my place to say, but since we are friends, adjusting the knife to ride lower will slightly spoil a reflexive reach, should you need to use it and not the best solution. A taller collar on your clothing might help hide the hilt from curious passengers.”

The tone of the conversation had taken an odd turn. Sara and Brice said almost nothing, allowing Prin to talk for them. Prin was almost convinced Marcus knew who she was, but she didn’t know if he was an enemy. He almost seemed the opposite.

A tall man with shoulders so wide he had to turn slightly to fit through the narrow doorways on the ship, approached. His eyes locked on Sara. Without permission from a nearby table, or from Sara, he pulled a chair from the other table and sat beside her.

“That’s rude,” Sara said, placing a hand on Brice’s arm to restrain him.

“Who are you?”

Sara smiled, “I am the one who is about to scream at the top of my lungs that you attacked me inappropriately in this public dining room when you placed your hand high on my thigh. I will throw myself backward over my chair and wail so loud the Captain will come running. The three people with me will verify everything I accuse you of. Does that answer your question as to who I am?”

He slowly drew back as she spoke with confidence and scorn, then finally scooted his chair a foot away, but his eyes remained locked on Sara. Prin noticed Marcus’ hand had moved to his ample waist. Are they working together?

Marcus’ expression said he was scared, but his actions were the reverse. A small, but deadly blade appeared in his hand, held under the edge of the table where the stranger couldn’t see it, but Sara could, and did. Brice rested his left hand on the hilt of his knife, and Prin itched to reach for the throwing knife at her neck, but he was too close. Instead, she reached for the short blade hidden behind the belt at her waist. That made three deadly knives the man didn’t know about.

“I’m searching for a woman,” the man growled. Even while sitting he towered over the others. The muscles in his hairy forearms rippled as he clenched a fist.

Sara remained calm and collected as her voice sounded as smooth as that of any matron in control of a conversation. “This is not the way to find a woman for yourself. While I appreciate your attention, you are too young for me, and my husband would object.”

“No, I want a woman,” he corrected.

“I also understand the urges a man has, but I am not your answer. There are whores in Indore if you have the coin to afford them. Now, leave us.”

He stood, again towering over her, his face flushed, the anger building.

Sara called to the steward with a wave of her arm, “This man is bothering me and making sexual advances. Would you please send for the Captain right away?”

The steward placed the plates he carried on an empty table and raced away.

The tall man stood even taller, his chest puffed out as he said, “I didn’t do that.”

Sara had turned away from him to call to another steward. Without looking back at the mountain of a man, she said loudly enough for all to hear, “you sat uninvited at our table and said to me, as you leered at my breast, I want a woman.”

“I did not leer at your breast.”

Running footsteps approached. A stern voice asked, “What’s going on, here? You say you were looking at her breast?”

It was a stout man followed by two husky crewmen who hurried to the table. He wore the cap of a captain, the small brim and gold braid identifying him as a ship’s master.

“I didn’t…”

“Damn you, man. I heard you say that when I entered.” The captain spun and snapped to the crewmen, “Take him to the brig. I’ll speak with him later and determine what to do.”

“Wait a minute, you have it all wrong,” the huge man protested, his fists balling.

Prin believed that if he decided to fight, he’d easily defeat the two sailors, but he didn’t want that kind of trouble. He might win against those two, but not the next dozen sailors who would race to defend their ship.

The Captain apologized profusely after the man was escorted away, and then took his leave. Marcus stood and retrieved the forgotten plates the steward had abandoned on the empty table and carried them back and placed one in front of each of them. His eyes met Sara’s. “Nicely done. More bread and jam?”

Prin said bluntly, “I noticed you pulled a knife.”

“I am a dealer in arms. Would you have expected less?”

“I wondered if you worked in conjunction with that man, or if you were going to defend Sara?”

The edges of Marcus’ lips twitched in amusement. “I am not such a fool to say anything other than that I was prepared to defend her. But, if I worked with him, would I now admit it? You must be careful in providing a ready excuse for me.”

“Do you intend to eat all that food in front of you?” Prin asked, with a sweet smile of her own.

“Sharing is part of my culture. Speaking of that, where were the three of you raised?”

“Gallium,” Sara said before any of the others could answer.

Marcus said, “A beautiful city, if I may say so. The blue-white clay reflects the setting sun like no other place I’ve traveled, yet the Gallium accent of yours does not remove a lingering trace of a more rural area. Say, upriver from Indore, for example.”