Three hours later...

I'm in a sorry state by the time we finally arrive at the docks. I'm splattered with red paint, honey, eggs, tomatoes, ale, blueberry syrup, wedding cake and a cold pink slime that the alchemists of the alchemist's quarter insist has aphrodisiac properties. Prostitutes emptied pillowcases full of feathers over me from windowsills, bards invented ballads making fun of the size of my tits, Rinelda undid my ropes so I could crawl the last mile and a half on my hands and knees through the mud. The whole of Redfathom has had a delightful day out, coming together as a community to make fun of me. I'm not going to be able to show my face within a hundred miles of here for months.

"Lucky girl," says Rinelda, as if reading my mind. She slaps my ass again, driving me up the gangplank. "You won't be back in Redfathom for a long time. I'm selling you into slavery!"

I look up the gangplank. Sailors are waiting for me, a swarthy mixed crew of both genders, holding ropes and shackles and gags and whips and a wide-mouthed canvas sack that looks perfect for cramming an embarrassed sticky girl into. I'm practically vibrating with shame as she drives me towards them.

"The Purple Pasha always needs more harem girls, and the Witches' College needs subjects for their experiments. I don't know where you'll end up. You're bound to hate every moment of it, though, and that's what I like to hear. So long!"

Her hand roams up toward my breast, to give my nipple a farewell tweak. I look down, hardly aware of what I'm doing, and see that she's wearing a ring. Set in the ring is the black jewel I was supposed to steal.

This might be my last chance. Of course, it might also get me in even worse trouble.