A man's head rose over the hatch coaming. "Somebody's astir up there," chattered the sentry.
"We'll go see," said the man. His burst-off chains swung from his wrists; it was the last mutiny all over again. How the gods must be laughing! Another followed him. Phryne recognized Quintus' ferret body.
"Ummmm," said Tjorr and resumed his snoring.
Phryne put her dagger point on a buttock and pushed.
"Draush-ni-tchaka-belog!" The Sarmatian came to his feet with a howl. "What muck-swilling misbegotten son of—Oh!" His gaze wobbled to rest on the man running toward him. The hammer seemed to leap into his hand.
"Up!" he bawled. "Up and fight!"
Phryne dashed past him. Eodan still slept, she thought wildly; they could fall upon him unawares and kill him in his wife's arms. Behind her she heard a sound like a melon splitting open. "Yuk-hai-saa-saa!" chanted Tjorr. "You're next, Quintus!"
The youth ran back, almost parallel to Phryne. Men were coming from the hatch, one after the other. He saw her and shrilled: "Get that one too! It's—" He broke off, swerved and plunged toward her in silence.
Phryne put her foot on the gangway between the ships. It jerked back and forth as they rolled, and she heard ropes rubbing together. She must go all-fours over it or risk being thrown into the water between the hulls. She crouched.
A hand closed on her ankle. She felt herself being yanked back on deck. Moonlight speared through darkness as she sat up. Quintus stood over her, grasping his saw. "Lie there," he said. "Lie there or I'll take your head off!"