They went aboard. "The Sea of Demons lies due north," said Shorzon. "Is that the right way to sail?"
"For the time being," nodded Corun. "When we get closer, I'll be able to tell you more exactly."
"Then you may as well wash and rest," said Chryseis. "You need both." Her smile was soft in the flickering red light.
Corun entered the cabin. It was divided into three compartments—apparently Imazu slept with his men, or perhaps on deck as many men preferred. His own tiny room was clean, sparsely furnished with a bunk and a washbowl. He cleaned himself eagerly and put on the fresh tunic laid out for him.
When he came back on deck the ship was already under way. A strong south wind was blowing, filling the dark sail, and the Briseia surged forward under its thrust. The phosphorescence shone around her hull and out on the rolling waters. Behind, the land faded into the night.
He'd certainly been given no chance to escape, he thought. Barring miracles, he had to go through with it now—at least until they reached the Sea of Demons, after which anything might happen.
He shivered a little, wondering darkly whether he had done right, wondering what their mission was and what the world's fate was to be as a result of it.
Chryseis slipped quietly up to stand beside him. The erinye crouched down nearby, his baleful eyes never leaving the man.
"Outward bound," she said, and laughter was gay in her voice.
He said nothing, but stared ahead into the night.