Chapter 1

"No cheating, Fortuna!" Pan's braying laughter grated on the goddess' sensitive ears and she scowled, rattling the dice in her cup fiercely.

"I never cheat," she retorted. The sardonic lift of a bushy eyebrow was her only reply and she threw the dice with more force than skill, watching as the polished ivory cubes rolled across the table. Pan's own dice already sat neatly lined up at the edge of the low marble gaming table, three fives winking cruel black eyes at her.

Her dice tumbled across the stone, settling one by one with a musical tinkling. Six, six... the last die trembled on its edge for a moment and she held her breath as it teetered. It wavered, then fell. One.

"Unlucky thirteen, my dear." The satyr grinned in maniacal glee. "I do believe I've won our wager."

Disbelief and fury flashed across the goddess' face as clapped his plump hands in delight, leering.

"I can't lose! I'm the bloody Goddess of bloody Games!"

Pan tsked reprovingly. "You wouldn't try to welsh on our bet, now would you Fortuna?" He laughed again as the room filled with thick gray mist, obscuring the glittering hall from her view. "Remember, my dear, you agreed to the terms of this wager. All of them."

"It's not fair!" She wailed, and darkness swallowed her protest with a watery gurgle.

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There was a awful taste in his mouth. It was nothing compared to the stench that filled his nostrils, and he buried his face under his arm to try and escape it. Unfortunately, the reek seemed to be emanating from his own person.

Jasper Larkin, twenty-seven years old and already wishing for death, rolled onto his back, staring blindly up at the smoky sky. He had no idea what port he was in, what country, or even what year. The last dregs of cheap rum swirling through his head obliterated much of his memory of the last few weeks, but he remembered a few things clearly enough.

For instance, the mutiny of his crew which led to him being dropped overboard strapped to a barrel and left for dead.

"Neptune's balls," he muttered, and fell silent, considering the rusty croak of his voice.

"Are not nearly as big as one would believe. Well, Lark, you're in a fine mess." The voice was low and assuredly female. A tall figure swathed in black loomed over him, and he scowled as he tried to bring his blurry gaze into focus on it.

"What the hell d'you want?" he slurred out, and the figure shrugged.

"To change your luck, Jack Larkin." There was an impression of a scathing glance that raked him from head to toe, and he flinched under the contempt in the woman's voice. "Get up, Lark. I have work for you."

"Dun want work. I want rum!" he roared, and then fell back to the warped wooden pier with a wince as his own voice ripped through his head.

"Rum? I have something much better than rum, my boy."

"You and every other doxy on the wharf." His leer was wiped away as a black gloved hand reached down, wrapping in his collar and hoisting him to his feet without the slightest tremble of strain. From inside the enveloping black hood of her cloak, the woman's eyes blazed, gold as new-minted coin, and filled with angry light.

"Get up, and follow me, or what has happened to you thus far will seem like child's play, Lark." The hand wrapped in his shirt gave him a shake that rattled his teeth and widened his eyes. "Are we clear yet, you filthy little barnacle eater?"

"Yes'm," he whispered, caught by the eyes that still flashed with fury.