Ah Sing's brow ridged with anger. He was not accustomed to being crossed. "He is mine, I tell you, woman," he snarled. "His name is written in my book, and his nails shall rest in my cabinet."
The Dyak blood mounted to Koyala's face.
"He is not yours; he is mine!" she cried. "He was mine long before you marked him yours, Datu."
Wobanguli hastened to avoid a rupture. "If it is a question of who claimed him first, we can lay it before the council," he suggested.
"The council has nothing to do with it," Koyala retorted. There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "I marked him as mine more than a year ago, when he was still a humble sailor with no thought of becoming resident. His ship came to the mouth of the Abbas River, to Wolang's village, and traded for rattan with Wolang. I saw him then, and swore that one day he would be mine."
"You desire him?" Ah Sing bellowed. The great purple veins stood out on his forehead, and his features were distorted with malignancy.
Koyala threw back her head haughtily.
"If I do, who is going to deny me?"
Ah Sing choked in inarticulate fury. His face was black with rage.
"I will, woman!" he bawled. "You are mine—Ah Sing's—"