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Her black mask was gone, and her face was completely exposed. Like most of the other Black Hats Davage had ever seen, she was a tiny woman, barely five feet tall. Her face was thin and pretty. Her skin was characteristically pale and blemish-free. Her eyes were big and green. Cheekbones high, her nose was distinctive and prominent.

Her dark red hair was long and wavy. It was pulled back from her face and tied in place with a black felt bow. A black bow … not something he expected a Black Hat to wear.

And the mark was there—the Black Hat's mark—the black, twisting, ink-vine tattoo wrapping around her right eye trailing down to her cheek bone. A hard patch of black on her pale skin.

Her expression was distant—blank. Her eyes were glassy and dolllike.

Here she was—the dreaded Black Hat, scourge of the League, evil given form … a tiny, pretty woman with a black bow in her hair and a mark on her face.

Slowly, Davage walked into the cell, his boots clacking on the floor tiles. With measured movements, he placed the tray on the small table to his right and sat down opposite her.

Davage thought,
For the first time in centuries, a Xaphan and an Elder sit together without actively trying to kill each other … truly a first.

Her expression didn't change; her eyes were blank, distant.

Davage sat there, leaning forward slightly. He said nothing. His CARG rolled over in its saddle a bit, clanking on the floor.

He looked at her long and hard, taking in her features.

It was true, what he had seen from his office; it was all true. This woman, this Black Hat, looked just like Captain Hathaline …

"How am I ever to forgive you!
"

… of House Durst, his neighbor and lifelong friend, his peer and cohort. Davage had spent his childhood with Lady Hathaline …

"Y
ou have betrayed me! Betrayed me!
"

… at his side. And together in the Fleet, they had shared so many adventures and fought countless battles side-by-side.

The more he looked at her, the more of Hath he saw. Everything was there; she was her perfect double with the exception of the mark, the Black Hat's mark. Dear Hath—how he missed her, how he regretted never giving her at least a little bit of what she wanted … before she died.

No, didn't die—was killed, murdered by Princess Marilith of Xandarr. He couldn't blame Marilith too much, couldn't hate her. It had been a fair fight … and Marilith had owed Hath.

He wanted to talk to her, to this Black Hat. He wanted to hear Hath's voice again. He wanted it like nothing else.

But this wasn't Hath; this was a Black Hat—a Xaphan. This was an enemy of the League, a woman who could kill him with the slightest thought.

He had to be careful.

They sat like that for hours, neither moving, neither blinking. Davage, his instincts for diplomacy inherited from his father Sadric operating in full gear, realized that if this was to work, and consequently if he was to get out of this alive, he needed patience. She had to make the first move. That was the key. He'd sit there forever if he had to.

Silence.

Davage heard the vacuum manifolds that operated life support clunk a few decks above. He could hear the occasional muffled whooshing of a lift moving by and the indistinct droning conversations of passing crewmen, blissfully unaware of the mortal confrontation that was going on in the brig.

He could hear his intestines gurgling.

He could hear her intestines gurgling too.

Then, from far away:
Tap … tap … tap-tap …

He could hear it, plain as day, all the way from the outer hull, the odd, disembodied echoing knocking sound that happened from time to time. It sounded like a fingernail knocking against the thick duraplate. It was a sound that carried a long, long way. It was just the hull plates cooling, grinding together, Lord Probert had told him once in the stark, sterile way that engineers tend to talk in, but the crew … the crew hated hearing it. They thought it was a bad omen, a sure sign of disaster to come; crewmen were always superstitious. They called it the "Hand of Vith"; other more macabre crew referred to it as "Hathaline's Calling." Captain Hathaline and her lost ship the
Dart
had taken on a rather Flying Dutchman-type mystique since the second Battle of Mirendra, which Dav hated.

Tap-tap … tap … tap
…

"C
aptain Hathaline knocking on the door, waiting for Captain Davage to love her evermore …
" so they sang in hushed tones.

And here dear Hath was, returned from the grave it seemed, wearing a Xaphan's Black Hat robes and a mark on her face, a murderer in a trance.

More time passed.

Come on, Hath … talk to me
, he thought.

Finally, almost imperceptibly, her green eyes flicked toward the tray of food and water Davage had brought in.

Now … now was the time.

"I've only recently been informed that you were not fed in a proper or timely fashion. As captain of this ship, the fault ultimately lies with me, and I offer my most humble apologies. Should you wish to file a formal protest, I assure you your complaint will be presented to the Fleet Admiralty, where, no doubt, an investigation will be conducted at once regarding the matter."

The Black Hat said nothing.

"You should offer your complaint in writing, as is customary."

After a few more moments of silence, her eyes, hollow, glassy, and doll-like, slowly, unblinkingly moved toward Davage, regarding him for the first time. He felt his insides shudder a bit. He could feel her power, her terrible power, coiled, tense, ready to spring … ready to kill.

It was like being stared at by the Devil himself. The Devil in Hath's beautiful body.

He knew, from this moment forward, that he was in mortal combat with this Black Hat. It wasn't a battle of fists or weapons or starships but of words and ideas.

He knew his life hung on a thread.

Slowly, quietly, she spoke in a malevolent whisper.

"… your name …"

"My name? Certainly; I am Captain Davage, Lord of Blanchefort. Well met, ma'am. And might I ask your name?"

The Black Hat fell silent, her eyes still regarding him, trying to make sense of this situation.

She spoke again. "… What do you want ..."

Davage smiled. "What do I want? Why, I just told you what I want. I want to know your name."

Silence.

"And I am certain that, should you so choose, you could tell me exactly what I want. You could probably tell me things that I want that I am not yet aware of wanting myself. You are, after all, a Black Hat."

The Black Hat, her eyes fixed now on Davage, rustled slightly. "… I am confident, should I use any of my powers, the Sisters will put an end to me … Is that not right?"

"The Sisters? Yes, well, they are understandably apprehensive. However, as I have previously mentioned, I am the captain of this ship. There will be no executions here without my authorization. I have authorized no executions so far today."

Davage observed the Black Hat. She seemed puzzled. "You seek information then … you will receive none …."

"I do seek information; I wish to know your name."

The Black Hat looked off into the distance again. Clearly, she had no idea what to make of this.

Davage smiled, and he locked his eyes with hers. "I have begun this meeting honestly with a sincere apology regarding the lack of civility shown to you. I then asked you your name, again, as a matter of honest interest. I shall continue to be honest. I have allowed you to live because you happen to resemble a person very dear to me."

He looked at the black bow sitting in her hair. Hath would never have worn such a thing.

The Black Hat now seemed genuinely puzzled. "… I do not understand …"

"And I suppose that all we know of you are stories—ones we ourselves created. Fanciful tales really and none too flattering—that you are evil, unrepentant, heartless, cruel, and despotic, without an ounce of good in you. That you bathe in darkness, revel in mayhems and destruction, and…"

"Your stories are correct. I am evil, heartless … pitiless, and live only to spite the League .…"

She paused for a moment and continued. Davage listened. "I have killed thousands in battle, and I have killed thousands more simply because I felt like it, and I am going to kill you, Davage, Lord of Blanchefort …. You will not leave here alive. I feel like killing you …."

"Indeed …"

"I know that when I commence to murdering you, the Sisters will attempt to stop me. They will be successful in killing me, but not until you are dead …"

"Most distressing."

"… and when I am dead, I will seize your glowing, stainless soul and drag it down to hell with me …. We shall spend eternity together … locked in combat…"

"Hmmm. How are you going to do me in? Are you going to Waft me outside the ship, into the empty belly of space?"

"The Sisters will Waft you back in …."

"I see. Then you will be dead and for nothing, as the Hospitalers will resuscitate me. Will you then crush my skull with the Mass, break it like a walnut shell?"

"Such an action takes too long. Again, the Sisters shall kill me before I could …"

"Before you could complete the Mass operation, yes. You could Dirge me to shoot myself in the head."

"The uttering of the Dirge brings the Sisters …."

"How about the dreaded Point?" he asked.

"No, no …. The Point will take …"

"Yes, yes, and on and on. It seems you're in quite the predicament. You wish to kill me and drag my soul to hell, where we can fight each other for all eternity, yet most of the more spectacular deaths you could effect upon me take a bit more time than the Sisters will give you."

The Black Hat rustled on the bench. She seemed to be in some discomfort.

"You speak bravely …. Would it be so, I wonder, without the Sisters here to protect you from me …. " Her voice was like whispered ice.

Davage stood up. "Ma'am, I have never said that I am not respectful of your power. I know full well that you could kill me with only a moment's notice and probably without a second thought."

Suddenly, Davage leaned very close to her—close enough to smell her breath. She seemed surprised, mortified even.

"And that's exactly what I wish to discover here—if there is that second thought rolling around in your mighty head somewhere."

Davage left the cell. "Eat, please, drink or not. 'Tis up to you. More will be brought later regardless."

"Exit this chamber, Lord of Blanchefort, and you die …" she said with a sneer.

She stared hard at him, her green eyes piercing and utterly evil. "You … sir … are not going anywhere."

She regarded him for a moment and cracked a small, wicked smile. "You came here, all on your own … to 'talk' to me … to 'brighten' my day … how nice. So, League Fleet Captain … here I am … talk! Cheer me up … and make it good … your life depends on it …." Her voice became a growl. "But be warned … Should you grow stale … should you bore or annoy me … the trap will shut … and you will die."

Davage doffed his hat. "Good meal, ma'am."

"Sit down!" she said in a commanding, wicked voice. "Have some food … and start talking …."

Davage, his insides roiling, knew he had to leave—it was leave now or never leave alive. He tipped his hat. "I like that bow in your hair, ma'am. It suits you fine." He then walked from the brig and back outside.

Before the door closed, he heard her say, "See you soon … love …"

There waiting for him was an exhausted Kilos and several Sisters. All seemed astonished that Davage was alive. Kilos holstered her SK pistol and embraced him roughly.

"What a bloody idiot you are, Dav," she said into his shoulder.

"Good to see you too, Ki. Good Creation, she looks like Captain Hathaline—have you seen her, Ki?"

"I haven't. Is that why you wanted to go in there?"

"Yes."

The Sisters also appeared to be glad to see him alive; they smiled, chattered silently amongst themselves, and lightly patted him on the shoulder.

Davage looked back at the brig and Sighted through the walls.

"Well, did you discover what you were looking for?" Ki asked.

Davage peered through the walls of the brig. He could see the Black Hat, alone once more, sitting there trying, apparently unsuccessfully, to assess what had just happened. She lightly touched the bow in her hair with her right hand.

She looked at the door to the brig.

After a moment, he saw her scoot a bit closer to the tray of food. Slowly, with measured grace, the Black Hat began eating, wiping her lips with a napkin after every dainty bite.

"No, Kilos … but I think I am close."

Several more Sisters, followed by two Marines, came into the brig's outer chamber. They Sighted through the walls.

They turned to the Marine.

"Sygillis of Metatron," the Marine said dryly, writing it down in his view pad.

"Hammer."

5

After a long, strange day and a tiring session of paperwork, Davage finally settled to bed. Not a night owl per se like Lt. Kilos, who was rarely if ever in her rack, he nevertheless usually got no more than a few hours of sleep a night. His duties were ongoing. But today, he was exhausted, his eyelids closing by themselves as he sat at his desk.

He was so tired after his visit to the brig. Sitting there in front of the Black Hat had taken all of his energy. Afterwards, for the rest of the day, he kept seeing things, and that was unusual for an Elder with the Sight. Must be his imagination, he guessed. He saw shadows and indistinct shapes in the corridors, on the bridge, in the mess. He'd see a hand going for his throat and a lurking shape following him, pursuing him—laughing at him.

He'd Sight, his eyes flashing, panning around, and there was nothing there. He Sighted the Black Hat once or twice; there she was, sitting in the brig in a trance with Hathaline's beautiful face pulled back in a grimace.

He finally finished his paperwork and crawled into his huge and oft-neglected bed for a few hours of rest. Sleep quickly overcame him, and he began to dream.