A silence built up in the echoing day-room. Before it could break, he spoke again to them:
"I need a ship!" he said boldly. "A fighting ship, fast enough to break through the Federation's own cordon. And"—he paused—"that ship must have a crew that fears neither man nor devil."
The silence echoed louder.
He said: "The Knife is the fastest ship in the raider fleet—and a crew that will raid with Tas Karrel would spit in rey Gundre's own eye!"
Still, for a moment, the silence hung upon them. Then, slowly at first, but rising, a ripple of wry, bleak laughter ran through the crowd.
He knew that he had them, then. He leaned forward ... let his voice drop to a confidential note. "What does a raider want most, my comrades? Loot? Kabat? Women—?"
He grinned again, as he said 'women', and lifted a hand to dark Sais' velvet shoulder.
She twisted. The laughter rippled louder.
Jarl planted his foot on a chair; rested elbow on knee. "Yes, we all want them, my comrades. But"—he dropped his voice still lower—"so do other men."
The raiders crowded closer, craning and straining to hear him.