The women line up facing us, their backs to the deck railing. There're eight of them, all dressed in the Lotinen fashion—long gowns with sleeveless tunics and lace-up bodices, their colors ranging from dark green to red to brown.

A couple of them are rather young, with faces puffy from crying, which makes me wonder if they're indeed whores taken from brothels or just regular city dwellers snatched from the streets. Others look hardened and defiant, their dresses revealing enough to leave no doubt about their occupation. One of them even goes as far as smiling at me, but her smile dies off quickly under my heavy gaze.

They stand side by side, looking down, the breeze playing with their skirts and their hair that they haven't had a chance to brush since yesterday.

"Cute, aren't they," says Techo. He's smiling a little, along with some of the others around the table.

"The blonde is sweet," says Sagaristio. "Very...fresh. The second from the right."

"A little chubby to my taste. That one, on the other hand --"

"Looks like a witch."

"Needs some washing."

Among the chuckles and the comments, I look at Emilio, trying to determine which one of the women has sparked the look of recognition that passed on his face. It's hard to tell now. He sits silently, his eyes traveling from one exhibit to another.

"Which one you'd pick?" I ask him, and the banter around the table dies down.

He looks at me with a frown.

"I would never take advantage of these poor, kidnapped creatures."

"Is that so?" I look at the women again. "How noble. Would you want me to free them?"

"Of course."

I pretend to think about it. "Well, I wouldn't throw away eight good servants. But as a wedding gift, I could allow you to pick one of them, and I promise to let her go."

He looks at me suspiciously, and so do my companions. It's not something I've done before, so they're curious where I'm taking this.

"Seriously?" Emilio says. "You'd let one of them go?"

"The one of your choosing, sure. As a show of my good will."

He blinks, then looks again at the lineup of the eight women.

"All right," he says, and points at the woman on the right. "That one."

I hum with surprise. That one is perhaps the least attractive of the eight, with her square jaw and prominent cheekbones. She's also the oldest, probably in her late thirties. Her hair, although already tinged with grey, is the only attractive feature of her. The dark, long curls fall on her bare shoulders, with no attempt at a hairdo. She's a whore, for sure, judging by how confidently she meets my eyes. No shyness there. She's heard what we were saying and is now waiting for what's to come.

"Interesting choice," I mutter. "Why her?"

Emilio shrugs. "She's old. Probably has children left behind."

An unconvincing excuse, and he knows it, judging by the way he wouldn't meet my gaze.

"All right. As you wish."

I gesture at the two soldiers who have brought the women, and they move to stand behind the one Emilio has indicated. All the while, her eyes rest heavily on me. There's no hope or excitement there, only suppressed hatred, as if she's already figured out what's about to happen.

"Take that woman," I say, "and throw her overboard."

Everything bursts into noise and motion. My friends laugh and talk at once, the women gasp and cry out in shock—except for the one in question, who keeps staring at me.

Emilio jumps to his feet.

"What?" he cries, his fists clenched. "What did you say?"

The soldiers take the woman by the arms. She looks at her feet, silent, her jaw set.

"Let her go!" Emilio shouts at the soldiers, but they ignore him, so he turns to me again. "Tell them to free her! You've promised!"

"I promised to let her go," I say. "That's what I'm doing. She's about to leave the ship. Where else did you expect for her to go in the middle of the sea?"

"I thought you'd send her back when we reach the island! That you'd send a boat to return her! Not...this!"

The soldiers usher the woman towards the steps leading down the deck. Some of the other women begin to weep, but this one doesn't, nor does she put up a fight. Her face is emotionless - unlike that of Emilio, whose eyes, unbelievably, fill with tears. Who is she to him? A lover? Could he have that poor a taste?

"Liar!" he cries. "You fooled me!"

I shrug. "I'm just doing what you asked me to."

"I didn't ask for this! Let her go!"

"Why would I?" I look him square in the eye. "What would I get in exchange?"

That makes him freeze, staring at me, his jaw slack with the realization of the trap he's gotten himself into.

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