Chapter Thirteen

Far down the coast, aboard the Djinn, Magiere had soon realized her initial instincts about Captain Amjad had been right—after it was too late to act. With no stops between Soráno and il’Dha’ab Najuum, she and her companions were trapped. When they’d boarded, her doubts had been only whispers in her mind. When supper was served the first night aboard, her worries had grown. She, Leesil, Chap, Wayfarer, and Brot’an were given four small pieces of flat bread and what appeared to be dried fish to share.

The flat breads were about three bites each and tasted stale. When Wayfarer tried to chew the fish, she paled. Magiere tasted it herself and found it overly salted, old, and almost leathery. Chap spit it out, and he would eat almost anything. All of them went to bed hungry that night.

Magiere mentioned that the cook was probably busy setting up stores and hadn’t had time to make a proper meal. But she suspected that no one believed her, and the next morning they’d been given four pieces of flat bread and dried fish for breakfast. When they ended up with the same for supper that second night, Leesil privately expressed concern. Wayfarer already wasn’t looking well. Her people lived on fresh fish and fresh or dried fruits and vegetables.

They never saw the cook, for all meals were delivered by a skeletal boy who didn’t speak any Numanese and always looked at the floor. Complaining to him would be pointless if not cruel.

And now, a good number of days into the long run down the desert coast, the ship’s cook hadn’t provided anything better. They were all beginning to weaken, especially Wayfarer.

More than once Magiere had considered finding the captain, but he’d made it clear that any complaints would fall on deaf ears.

However, sitting on his bunk and looking down at another “breakfast,” Leesil finally shook his head.

“That’s enough. I’m having a word with the captain.”

Chap lay beside him on the bunk. Wayfarer and Brot’an were still in their own cabin. The girl had emerged looking hopeful at each meal, and Magiere could barely stand the thought of seeing her disappointed again.

Leesil was right, warnings or not.

In the small, shabby cabin, Magiere had to slouch when she stood up. “I’m coming with you.”

Both Leesil and Chap eyed her, and even the dog appeared to frown. Their anxious worry that in a heated moment she might lose herself . . . to her other half only made her feel worse. She both needed and resented them for this.

“I’m fine,” she said coldly. “And if I throw the cook over the side, it’ll be a conscious choice.”

One corner of Leesil’s mouth twitched, and he nodded at the bad joke. Chap rumbled, though he didn’t lift his head from his paws.

“All right, since you speak Numanese better,” Leesil agreed, and he flipped his hand toward the flat bread, showing traces of mold, on the bunk. “There have to be other food stores on board, as I doubt the captain eats this refuse. Chap, stay here, and when Wayfarer comes, tell her that we’ll be back shortly.”

Chap’s crystalline blue eyes rolled toward Leesil, and Magiere wondered what the dog had to say about this. When Leesil only shook his head and stepped toward the door, Magiere followed.

They’d all spent much of their time below deck, going up for fresh air only when necessary. The crew was as bad as the bread, hard and filthy, and Magiere didn’t want any more to do with them than necessary. The only good luck they’d had on this voyage was Leesil’s usual seasickness passing more quickly than ever before, likely because he’d been stuck on some ship for so long.

Magiere followed him up on deck, and they emerged into a bright morning. Several unwashed sailors looked over, but she ignored them. Of the entire crew, only one had struck her as worth the bother. He was young, with dark, curling hair, and seemed determined to keep the ship a bit cleaner, or at least try. She’d spoken to him a few times, and he was polite enough. A few days ago she’d learned that his name was Saeed.

Looking around, she spotted him once again scrubbing the faded deck with a bucket of dipped seawater. He actually smiled as she and Leesil approached, but his smile faded when he saw her expression.

“Where’s the captain?” she demanded.

“Magiere!” Leesil whispered.

She took a long breath to calm herself, but she was too angry. Back in Soráno, Leesil had had to go out gambling to pay the very high passage fee, and now Wayfarer was slowly starving.

Saeed rose from his knees with his breeches soaked, and studied Magiere’s face with his dark eyes before pointing toward the prow. “There . . . but he will not hear you.”

“Oh, yes, he will,” Magiere answered, turning away toward the prow.

As she rounded the front mast, there was Captain Amjad sitting on a barrel and stuffing his face with a handful of plump dried figs. Two large, equally well-fed men stood nearby with curved blades tucked in their ragged sashes.

Magiere’s breathing started to quicken and deepen.

Amjad was repulsive from his looks to his odor, from his greasy hair to his round face of sparse patchy, straggly strands in place of a real beard. Several of his front teeth were blackened.

Magiere closed on him so quickly that she left Leesil a few steps behind.

“You need to do something about those meals your cook sends us.” She started right in. “Even our dog can’t eat that swill!”

Amjad didn’t flinch or react, and only spat a fig pit out across the deck. “You eat what the crew eats, as I told you before we left port.”

Glancing around, Magiere noticed the crew didn’t look any better than she and hers felt. Were they all living on nothing but molding bread and hardened dried fish? Then she felt Leesil’s grip latch on to the back of her belt.

“Girl with us ill,” he cut in, attempting his best Numanese as he pointed to the bowl of figs on the barrel beside the captain. “She needs fruits . . . vegetables.”

Amjad turned away. “All foodstuffs in the hold go to market in il’Dha’ab Najuum. If you wanted better, you should have bought your own back in port. You paid for passage . . . only.”

Magiere realized further talk was pointless, as this wretch wouldn’t do anything to help Wayfarer. The day grew suddenly too bright in Magiere’s eyes. Her irises must have turned black as she felt her teeth begin to change, pressing against the clench of her jaw.

And she didn’t care.

Her left hand shot toward Amjad’s throat . . . and didn’t connect as Leesil jerked on her belt.

Amjad came off the barrel in a spin. When he came around to face her, there was a small knife in his right hand as both of his guards pulled their curved blades. But when he looked her in the eyes, his own widened a fraction and then narrowed.

Leesil kept a tight grip on Magiere’s belt and held out his other hand. “No trouble.”

Magiere stiffened, stopping herself from striking back to break Leesil’s hold. She felt tears running down her cheeks from sunlight burning her widened irises, and she fought to pull herself under control.

Most people cringed in fear at first seeing her like this. Amjad did not, though the two men behind him stalled, perhaps waiting on their captain.

“No docks, no ports for many days to come,” Amjad said, still gripping his knife. “If you wish, you can swim for shore and walk the rest of the way. Maybe you will survive long enough to see il’Dha’ab Najuum from somewhere in the distance before you perish.”

Magiere wanted to take his knife and ram it down his throat. He hadn’t even mentioned before leaving Soráno that they should bring their own food. He’d only warned them not to complain about the food, and she’d had no idea what that had really meant. She slid one foot back, easing the tension of Leesil’s grip, before she turned her head just a little toward him.

Leesil looked calm on the outside, but his amber eyes were hard. And when facing a threat, he was at his most dangerous when he was silent, still, and apparently at ease. Magiere clung to that, and it helped her regain more control.

“Thank you for time—we make do,” Leesil said quietly, turning away and pulling Magiere along.

Once they reached their cabin, and the sunlight no longer burned her eyes, Magiere became herself again. When she entered the cabin behind Leesil, both of them ducking to get through the door, they found Wayfarer on the bunk with Chap. Brot’an wasn’t there, and the girl looked pale and tired, even though she’d been sleeping a good deal.

“Did you speak with the captain?” Wayfarer asked.

Obviously Chap had somehow told the girl, and Magiere’s anger was smothered under desperation. “It didn’t do any good.”

Wayfarer dropped her eyes and swallowed with effort.

“Chap,” Leesil said, soft but sharp, “take Wayfarer up on deck for some air.”

As the dog lifted his head and stared, so did the girl, and old fears rose on her face.

“Must I?” Wayfarer asked.

“Yes,” he answered flatly. “You need the air. Chap will watch over you.”

Chap studied Leesil for a long moment and then hopped off the bunk.

Magiere wasn’t certain why Leesil was sending them both away, though likely it had something to do with her near loss of control with the captain.

Wayfarer struggled up and followed Chap, and Leesil closed the door behind them. When he turned around, he didn’t mention the scene with Amjad and only tilted his head toward the nearest bunk.

Magiere settled there, watching as he came to join her and pull off his old head scarf to let his white-blond hair hang loose. She could feel the warmth of his thigh against hers.

“Some of this is our fault,” he said. “I had a bad feeling about this ship the moment we stepped on board.”

Perhaps he just wanted to talk, and part of her was relieved. She couldn’t stand for him to express any “concerns” about her nearly grabbing the captain by the throat.

“So did I,” she agreed. “When he said not to complain about the food, I thought it meant meals would be simple.”

Meals on the Cloud Queen hadn’t been fancy, but the cook often served freshly boiled oats in the morning, and fish stews—with vegetables—late in the day. They had traveled on many ships over the past two years. Adequate though simple meals had always been part of passage.

“We’re trapped . . . and Wayfarer is growing weaker each day,” Leesil said, grabbing her hand without looking at her. “For the rest of the voyage, you’ll have to trust me.”

Magiere tensed at this, for she didn’t know what he really meant. Then he turned on her almost too quickly, released her hand, and took her face with both of his hands.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered.

She trusted him in all things except for his seeing to his own safety.

“Leesil—” she began, and he stopped her with the press of his mouth on hers.

She knew what he was doing—trying to distract her. At first she almost pushed him off for such a weak ploy . . . until his mouth slowly moved against hers.

He pulled away slightly, brushing his lips along her cheek.

“That’s a cheap trick,” she growled at him.

“Is it working?”

With a rumble in her throat, Magiere grabbed Leesil by the shirt and pinned him on the bunk.

• • •

Wayfarer did not remain on deck for long. She felt dizzy and weak all of the time now and did not think Chap would force her to stay out longer than she wished. Neither she nor Chap was a fool, and Léshil obviously wished to speak alone with Magiere.

The fresh air did feel good, but this vessel’s crew was more frightening than any she had encountered. By the way Chap watched every movement, he did not care for most of them, either.

“Can we go below?” she asked. “To my cabin . . . if you can tolerate Brot’ân’duivé.”

—Better than being up here—

With relief she followed him to the aftcastle and down the steep steps, but when she reached the lower narrow passage . . .

“Wayfarer.”

Turning in alarm, she looked up to find Saeed leaning through the short doorway above, and he quickly climbed down. Of all sailors on this ship, he was different.

There had been a time when being trapped in a narrow space with any human male would have frightened her speechless. But Saeed was always polite and well mannered and had been the one to inadvertently warn her in Soráno that the team of anmaglâhk had arrived, though he had not known who and what they were. Chap was familiar enough with him not to snarl or snap in warning.

As Saeed stepped down into the passage, he reached into his loose shirt. “I snuck these down for you.”

Wayfarer’s breath caught. In his hands were two large red apples, and the thought of fresh fruit made her want to snatch one and bite it. She looked up at him. From what she had seen on this ship, he had probably not eaten any better than she had. The captain fulfilled all of the lesser evils she had been taught about humans.

“It is all right,” he said, holding them out as if he guessed her thoughts. “Sailors who make this run with Captain Amjad learn the hard way to buy—and hide—food before leaving a port.”

“Hide it?” she questioned.

“Or it will be stolen halfway through the journey. Some making their first voyage on this ship are unprepared. Fights—and even some deaths—have occurred.”

She cringed at the last of that, but he only shrugged.

“Most do not make more than one voyage on the Djinn. The captain hires new sailors often when in Suman ports. No one is paid until he returns to il’Dha’ab Najuum, so most have no coin for food along the way. You must be careful.”

Wayfarer glanced once at Chap, who appeared to listen closely, but Saeed’s words confused her. He seemed so much better than the other men here.

“Why have you stayed?” she asked.

For an instant any kindness in his face faded.

“It is a good place to hide.” And he held out the apples again. “Take them. Eat one today and hide the other. I do not have much to share, but I am homebound. You need these more than even your companions.”

She hesitated only a breath before taking the apples. “Thank you.”

“Eat one quick,” he said. “And do not let anyone see the other.”

In a flash he was up the stairs again.

More grateful than she could express, Wayfarer looked down at the apples. But she had no intention of eating one by herself and hiding the other. Stepping down the passage past Chap, she was about to open the door to her cabin.

—Wait—

She jumped slightly at that memory-word popping into her head, and, when she turned, Chap still stood farther up the passage.

—We must . . . talk . . . about . . . Soráno—

“What do you—”

—On the docks . . . when we went . . . to find passage . . . for this ship—

More and more of his memory-words in her head were becoming clearer over time—perhaps because he had been sneaking a peek at her memories far too often. She did not like that, but here and now she was still at a loss for . . .

—When you touched . . . me . . . and pulled . . . away—

Wayfarer backed down the passage, away from the cabin door—away from Chap.

What she thought she had seen in her head had been a mistake, only a flash of imagination. Perhaps he did not even know about the second time, when the anmaglâhk had tried to take her and he had stopped them.

In all the times she had thought about him—how different he was inside compared to the way he looked—she had tried to see through his eyes and imagine the world of a majay-hì like no other. That was all it had been . . . that one flash of something on the docks of Soráno.

She did not want it to be anything more.

—There has been no proper time . . . since then . . . when we were alone— . . . —I need to know—

Everything that had happened to her had started after learning of those watchful eyes in her people’s forest. Even when she did not catch them staring from the brush, it was as if they were always there, looking at her . . . as he did now.

Chap stepped closer, and Wayfarer—once called Leanâlhâm—flattened her back against the passage’s wall.

—Touch me . . . now—

“Please . . . stop.”

—Now—

Even standing, she was short enough that he could have shoved his head into her stomach and knocked her down. But he simply stood there, looking up at her . . . looking at her as so many others of his kind had once done.

Wayfarer took a shaky breath as she shifted the apples and clutched them to her chest with one arm. As she reached out, she flinched once before her fingertips touched his head between his ears.

At first nothing happened as she stared into his crystalline eyes, as blue as clear sky. And then she smelled . . . something . . . like a forest floor after a light rain. A flash of white appeared in her thoughts.

The white majay-hì stood in a space between tall trees in Wayfarer’s homeland. Sunlight caught in a coat of pure white fur, making the female hard to look upon as she padded ahead through the brush. It was not until the female paused, turning her head to look back, that Wayfarer realized . . .

Flecks in the female’s eyes appeared to turn those blue irises green like her own. She was looking directly into those eyes as if she sat on the forest floor, but she was standing. And when she looked down . . .

At the sight of paws where her hands should be, Wayfarer’s breaths stopped.

This had never happened when she had followed the white majay-hì.

The ship’s corridor reappeared, along with Chap, staring up at her. With a gasp, as if drowning, she pulled her hand back from his head. Then she turned too quickly, trying to get away, and bounced off the passage wall.

Wayfarer hit the floor. One apple fell from her grip and went tumbling farther down the passage. She rolled over, scooting backward in fright away from Chap . . . and again when he took a step, still staring at her.

—What did you see?—

She looked at her hands to make sure they were not paws. Why was he doing this to her?

—Answer . . . now—

“A forest . . . my people’s,” she began. “But something . . . someone else who—”

—Lily . . . You saw Lily?—

Wayfarer lost her voice. It was not that he put a name on another sacred being; she had come to tolerate that through him. But she had heard that name before in reference to the white female . . . Chap’s own mate, on the other side of the world.

“What did you do to me?” Wayfarer finally whispered.

This time he was the one to back away.

—No . . . not me— . . . —Only you . . . somehow—

That was even worse.

“Well, what do we have here?” said a male with a thick accent.

Wayfarer twisted on the floor to look toward that voice down the passage.

A spindly and tall Suman sailor stood where the passage’s far end turned to another set of stairs down to the ship’s cargo hold. He grinned, half-toothless, as he tossed the apple she had dropped up in the air and caught it again. His eyes closed halfway in a hardened glare.

Still gripping the apple, he jerked his head to one side and took a threatening step. “Get out of my way!”

Wayfarer was too shaken and did not know what to do. A rumble, followed by a snarl, rose behind her.

Chap lunged forward. Before she could throw herself aside, he pushed off, leaping over her. She twisted back again to see him land and charge.

The sailor with the apple back-stepped to the corner. Chap cut him off before he could run, so instead he pulled a knife that Wayfarer had not noticed before from his belt.

Chap, all of his fur on end and his ears flattened, lunged in anyway. He snapped once toward the hand holding the apple.

Wayfarer thought she heard a door open behind her, but all of her fear was wrapped around the apple in the hand of the thief. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed in behind Chap. She shouted at the sailor, and, amid fearful anger, it came out in her own tongue.

“Give it to him!”

The man just stared at her until she pointed at the apple and then Chap. For an instant the sailor might have thought to hold out the apple, but he simply dropped it.

Chap snatched it in his jaws before it hit the floor. He backed up, still growling, and the man raced off, heading down for the cargo hold.

“What in the seven hells is all the noise?”

Wayfarer turned at the foul words normally used by Léshil, but it was Magiere who stood, with her falchion in hand, halfway out of the nearer cabin’s door—and she was naked.

Wayfarer flushed in staring.

Magiere swallowed and then almost toppled against the doorframe.

Léshil, one winged blade in hand, shoved past her, and . . . he was naked as well.

Wayfarer’s breath caught in her throat as she spun away, scrunching her eyes closed. She heard scuffling and more awful language behind her, until . . .

“What happened?” Magiere barked.

“Nothing . . . nothing,” Wayfarer answered, though she did not know why she had lied. She hesitated before turning, barely opening one eye to peek.

“I . . . I dropped an apple,” she added, “but Chap retrieved it.”

Magiere was now half-covered with a blanket, and the greimasg’äh must have come out of the other cabin, as he was standing closer with a stiletto still in hand. Both looked beyond Wayfarer and likely at Chap, with the other apple in his jaws. Wayfarer was thankful that Léshil was no longer in sight, though she still heard him muttering angrily inside the nearer cabin.

“An apple?” Magiere asked, and then she saw the other one, which Wayfarer still held. “It looks like you two have something to tell us.”

Wayfarer was uncertain what that referred to, the apples or her lie, but Chap came up beside her with a snort muffled by the apple he had in his jaws.

Magiere’s brow furrowed. “Wait. We’ll be ready . . . in a few moments.”

Ducking into the cabin, she slammed the door shut. The last to turn away was Brot’ân’duivé, but he eyed both Wayfarer and then Chap before returning to his own cabin. Wayfarer was again alone with Chap, but another long moment passed before she could look down to find him watching her.

—We will learn . . . why . . . this is happening to you. . . . I promise—

Those memory-words did not comfort her as she took the second apple from him. Still, she believed that he had not done this to her. It was not Chap’s fault that she had seen—been forced to see—a memory he had chosen for her.

It was something further wrong with her.

Chap scooted closer, and Wayfarer numbly watched as he stuck his nose out toward her hand holding the second apple. It was he this time, and not she, who flinched once before he touched her hand.

She saw nothing in her head and only heard his words called up from her own memories.

—Say nothing . . . of . . . what you did . . . with me . . . to Brot’ân’duivé—

• • •

Brot’ân’duivé was still puzzled by whatever had happened in the passage. It could not be something as simple as the attempted theft of an ill-gotten apple.

When he had returned briefly to his cabin, it was only because he knew nothing would be said by the girl or the majay-hì while he remained. Certainly Brot’ân’duivé would hear nothing Chap said unless someone else repeated it. At that, he wondered. . . .

Leanâlhâm, “Child of Sorrow” . . . Sheli’câlhad, “To a Lost Way” . . . and now Wayfarer might not even tell him what had truly transpired in the passageway.

It was clear to Brot’ân’duivé that, in whatever had happened, the majay-hì had adequately seen to the girl’s safety. In that, he trusted Chap.

For a while he waited in his cabin and listened until he heard a door open. It did not surprise him that the girl and majay-hì had gone to Magiere and Léshil first. When he heard that door close again, he stepped out for the same destination.

At his knock it was Léshil who opened the door, scowled, and turned away.

Brot’ân’duivé ducked in, closed the door himself, and the room was so quiet that it was obvious that he had interrupted a conversation.

The left-side bunk where Magiere sat, now hastily dressed, was in disarray: the altercation in the passage had interrupted something else. But any leftover anger was gone from Magiere’s face and posture. Instead she appeared . . . shaken.

Léshil as well looked shocked and distracted where he stood beyond Magiere in the small cabin’s left rear corner. However, Chap lay on the right-side bunk with his head hanging on his forepaws over the bunk’s edge. His eyes were half-closed as he stared at the floor, as did Wayfarer beside him.

The apples were still untouched in the girl’s lap.

“Where did you get those?” Brot’ân’duivé asked.

Wayfarer blinked twice before looking up at him, as if the question was out of context for whatever was on everyone’s mind.

“A sailor gave them to me,” she said.

At that, some of the ire and suspicion returned in Magiere’s expression.

Wayfarer immediately noticed this as well. “It was Saeed. You know he is very polite . . . and kind.”

Magiere straightened on the bunk, and Léshil turned to look at the girl. Even Brot’ân’duivé was somewhat surprised at this, considering the way the girl had always reacted to unknown humans, especially males. Only Chap did not move or look up.

“Léshil,” Wayfarer said calmly, “let me borrow your knife.”

Brot’ân’duivé watched as she took the knife and began cutting the fruit into slices to be passed out.

Wayfarer fed a slice to Chap, who wolfed it down in two bites. “Saeed told me that sailors on this ship buy their own food in ports and then hide it,” she continued. “He said that men sometimes fight, even kill, over food.”

She offered Brot’ân’duivé a piece, which he consumed rapidly, and then passed slices to Magiere and Léshil before biting a piece of her own. Whatever heavy thought had preoccupied her and the others melted in their relief. But a few bites of an apple would not solve the current problem.

Brot’ân’duivé noted the angry hardness that filled Léshil’s face as he watched the girl sag in exhaustion once the last of the apples was consumed.

He had joined with Magiere and Léshil—against their wishes—for several reasons, one of which was to learn more about these orbs and why the Ancient Enemy had gone to such great lengths to have them guarded. What he needed most was to learn more of the power the orbs held . . . and whether they could truly be used as a weapon.

And as to whatever had transpired in this room in the moments before he had entered, that was a more immediate problem to solve. Secrets were a matter of life to Brot’ân’duivé, and he had always been patient in their acquisition and use.

• • •

Leesil was still edgy, even after the old shadow-gripper left on some excuse about looking into “purchasing” more food from the crew. When Magiere’s lips parted to say something, Leesil quickly shook his head. Before she could even frown, he stepped in front of Chap and crouched down.

“Is he really gone?” he whispered.

Wayfarer looked up in puzzlement.

With a grumbling huff, Chap climbed off the bunk and stalked over to the cabin door. He sniffed the space between the door’s bottom and the floor and then pricked up his ears as he stood there a moment longer.

Chap turned back and huffed once for yes.

And now that they were certain Brot’an was gone . . .

“Are you sure?” Leesil asked with a quick glance at Wayfarer before he eyed Chap again. “Could it have just been—”

—No— . . . —Not memory-words . . . I called up— . . . —And not as . . . Wynn hears . . . my thoughts spoken to her—

“Maybe you did something that—”

—No— . . . —She saw . . . my chosen memory . . . of my Lily . . . through her own touch— . . . —She . . . relived . . . a moment . . . she could not have had—

Leesil eyed Wayfarer, and the girl dropped her gaze.

“How . . . Why?” Magiere demanded.

This time Chap spoke aloud with three huffs for uncertain or unknown.

Leesil shook his head and sat down on the floor as Magiere sighed while watching Wayfarer. Still the girl wouldn’t look at anyone.

Did this have something to do with Wayfarer’s visiting the spirits of her people in name-taking? Had they done something to her, or was it something else about her?

Leesil, and Magiere, had already tested that the girl couldn’t catch a memory from them through a touch. So was this something that only worked with Chap because he was . . . Chap? They didn’t have any other majay-hì around, such as Chap’s daughter, Shade, so they couldn’t test whether it worked with other majay-hì.

Some might have thought such a thing quite wonderful, but those people would be idiots. The girl had been through enough—too much—and now she was a potential tool, from what Leesil saw of what she could do.

Chap had been right to keep this from Brot’ân’duivé, for if he had not, Leesil could only imagine how the old assassin might have tried to use the girl. Chap knew things that no one else did—could—including Leesil himself and Magiere.

Such as where two orbs were hidden far up north.

If Chap ever let such a memory slip out while Wayfarer was touching him . . .

Leesil exchanged a worried glance with Magiere, and then he reached out to poke Wayfarer’s leg. Startled by that, she finally looked at him.

“Well, it could be a good thing,” he said wryly. “Chap can show you some things better than he can describe them with broken words pulled up from our memories. At least in that, the bothersome mutt has less reason to prattle in my head.”

Chap curled his jowls, and Wayfarer cast Leesil a reproving look—probably over what she considered to be his disrespect to a sacred majay-hì.

“I’m just saying,” Leesil added quickly, raising both hands in surrender.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 732