In Cape Triumph proper, I had to ask for directions a few times before locating the Dancing Bull Tavern. Inside, I found it just as packed as the tavern Grant and I had hid in, but it didn’t have the same sleazy edge. It was more brightly lit too. Sure, there were made-up women there—women whose intentions were obvious. But they moved about discreetly, with no vulgar public displays. Only two women were roughly dressed, like me. They sat at their tables and drank with hardened eyes, giving the impression that anyone who harassed them would soon regret it.

   The rest of the patrons were men. Many wore masks. Some huddled in corners, furtive expressions on their faces. Others, more boisterous, played cards and dice in large groups. Attire ran the full range of common work clothes to the showier looks of the pirates. Some of that pirate attire appeared well-worn, but a number of men displayed the excessively flamboyant, impractical look of pirate pretenders. A man in a white apron scurried around to keep everyone’s ale filled, and a woman working the bar made sure there was plenty on hand.

   I didn’t see Tom anywhere.

   Suddenly doubting myself, I lingered just inside the door and contemplated my next move. Tom hadn’t provided detailed instructions. A few men eyed me curiously, and I realized I needed to do something decisive before I attracted unwanted attention. I walked over to the bartender.

   “Excuse me,” I told her in the Belsian accent, “I need to see Tom Shortsleeves.”

   She was an older woman and didn’t look up until she’d finished pouring ale into a wooden mug. When she spoke, her voice was harsh. “You and everyone else. Get in line.”

   I pulled his coin from my pocket and held it up. “Will this get me to the front of it?”

   She grimaced as she studied it and then gave a swift nod. “Jenks,” she yelled across the room. “Get over here.”

   A giant of a man rose from a card table. He wore a mask and had haphazardly shoved it up over his forehead. “Whatcha need?”

   “This one’s looking for Tom,” she said.

   A lopsided grin filled his face as he took me in. “Aw, you don’t need him, sweetheart. Let me buy you a drink.”

   The woman gestured impatiently. “Show Jenks what you have.”

   When I took out the coin, his smiled diminished but not his good humor. “Oh, well, aren’t you lucky.”

   “I need a favor,” I explained.

   Jenks’s eyes glowed. “I always love those favors. Lemme cash out, and I’ll track him down.”

   He disappeared in the crowd, leaving me to wait awkwardly at the bar while the woman continued her work. Casks of ale and bottles of wine filled the shelves behind her, and I noted a gun lying on a lower one. At one point, the man delivering drinks hurried up to her.

   “The ones in the corner want a bottle of the Harkford red.”

   Her displeasure deepened. “That’s all the way in the back of the cellar.”

   He placed a handful of silver and gold coins on the counter. “They’re serious about it. I’d go get it, but you know how he is . . .”

   “I know, I know.” She set down a mug with such force that its contents sloshed out. “I’ll take care of it.”

   The server returned to his work, and I watched as she bent down out of view behind the bar. When she straightened up, she held a key ring. She lifted up a section of the bar that allowed her to step out and walked away without comment to a small, nondescript door in the back. She unlocked it with the key and disappeared. I stared at the closed door, fascinated.

   “Well, well, as I live and breathe. My angel has decided to grace me with her presence.”

   I turned at the sound of the theatrical voice and found Tom striding toward me, Jenks at his side. Here, in the light, I had a better sense of Tom’s features. He was older than me, by at least five years or so. His hair was a honeyed blond, pulled back into a tail, though much of it had loosened. The black mask emphasized green eyes. And once his cloak was pushed back, I could see peacock feathers trimming the edges of his elbow-length shirtsleeves.

   “Well, I know you hate unpaid debts.” I pointed at one of his arms. “Which came first: the sleeves or the name?”

   He grinned back. “Does it matter? The one can’t exist without the other anymore. It’s part of my image.”

   “It’s still pretty cold outside. Is image worth that?”

   “Image is everything,” he assured me. “Now, Jenks claims you came flashing the coin around. Tell me he’s wrong and that you just wanted to see me.”

   Adelaide’s advice from the ship suddenly struck me with perfect clarity. If you’re ever in some situation that needs a crazy solution, just be confident. If you act completely convinced about something, people will go along with it. This situation was unquestionably crazy, and I knew I had to play up my persona to stay afloat. I smiled slyly.

   “Why can’t it be both?” I proffered the coin again and lowered my voice. “But it is mostly business, I’m afraid. I have some friends who are in trouble—friends currently being held in the militia’s jail. They’re going to be moved out tomorrow.”

   “Ah,” said Tom. “Those prisoners. I never took you for a worshipper. I figured an angel would have her own circle of devotees.”

   “I’m not Alanzan. But I don’t want them held there—or transferred to a worse place. I thought you were someone who could help.” I paused, as if reconsidering my decision. “But maybe you can’t.”

   Jenks had been standing a respectful distance away, pretending not to listen, but he let out a great bellow. “She’s calling your bluff,” he told Tom.

   Tom snatched the coin from me. “Nothing to bluff about. Mostly I’m disappointed she didn’t ask for something more challenging. How many men do you think they’ve got on watch there?”