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stux in my fist to swat away the last one — that hurled by the bleg who came from a race of diffs not noted for their hurling ability — some of them — and then I was able to roar on and get to handstrokes.
    The tinker-hammer stuff could not be allowed to last. It was all charge, knee-up, dirty stuff, bash and tromple on. And, as I’d guessed, the bleg with his four legs arranged rather like the legs of a chair took the most knocking over. That he was half-dead when at last he slumped had little to do with it.
    As he hit the floor a raspy voice at my back said: “Hai, Jikai!” and a bulky body crashed past, diving for the fallen weapons. Others of the Vallians crowded up. The singing, which had faltered, now resumed.
    Dayra joined us. It was all very quick, like gears meshing smoothly. No time for lahals; we had to fight our way out.
    There was only one place for us to go, of course.
    With Dayra and myself in the lead we raced off. The slave flunkey lay in the angle of the corridor; he was not dead, he had fainted clean away. I commended him to his patron spirit as we dashed past.
    Dayra spat out as we ran: “The Pandaheem have been cruel to them! Young Paline Vinfine has been killed. I do not think the crew of Vol Defender will have much mercy.”
    “Can they all keep up?”
    “Yes. The worst wounded are being carried.”
    “Good. Is Jiktar Nath Fremerhavn alive and with us?”
    We skidded out onto the verge of the parade ground where the forlorn lump of wreckage that was a proud flying ship of Vallia lay abandoned. We stared calculatingly out across the open we must cross to reach our goal.
    “Jiktar Fremerhavn was posted into command of Val Neemusjid ,” said a firmly built woman who halted at my side and stared keenly out, not looking at me. “Jiktar Vanli Cwopanifer was posted to command Val Defender . He — is not with us.”
    “Guards,” rasped the bulky fellow who’d been the first to scoop a weapon. On the rags of his uniform he wore the rank badges of the Ship-Deldar. “By Vox! I am going to enjoy blattering the rasts!”
    “Hold, Edivon! Do not let your rage blind you. We hit them when they reach the shadows.”
    “Quidang, Hik!” rasped this Deldar Edivon.
    So the woman was the Ship-Hikdar, her first lieutenant. I gave her a single searching look. Her face was taut, naturally, hard and lean, with a prominent nose and cheekbones. Her eyes and hair were good Vallian brown. There was about her a calm competence and yet an eager blaze. If I say that one could easily visualize her with a whistle on a cord about her neck, calling: “Now, come along, girls!” I indicate the admirable qualities. If anyone is foolish enough to regard the comparison as in some way derogatory, even sexist, then all I can say is, let ’em rot in their own effluvium.
    The guards reached the shadows. The people of Vallia pounced. Then we were up and racing across the open toward their ship.
    I felt the fierce leap within me as Dayra was first up and onto the deck.
    Magnificent, she looked, wild and free, the silly skirt thing ripped away, her legs long and lithe as she clambered up. The crew followed her and they went raging over the bulwarks and the shattered watch of Pandaheem were overwhelmed. Dayra’s Claw slashed and her rapier twinkled, and there were no more enemies holding a ship of Vallia.
     
    Without even thinking about it, the Ship-Hikdar took command. Her orders cracked out. Deldar Edivon attempted to moderate his bellow. Folk dived below to assess damage, and an urchin wearing a rag around her waist came up and slapped up a cracking salute and said: “The silver boxes are unharmed, hikdar.”
    “Very good, Pansi. Get to your station.”
    “Quidang!”
    That young ragamuffin, that grimy urchin, was probably a high-born-noble lady of Vallia learning her craft as an aerial sailor. This woman, this Ship-Hikdar, knew her business. I watched as everything that should be done was done. Walking slowly across