"I will," Reyn replied, almost absently.

"Good. When you are finished there, come to me in my drawing room. I will have a selection of appropriate gifts from which you may choose. Shall I have the tailors come and bring their newest cloths with them?"

"Yes. Certainly." He frowned in distracted thought. "Mother, you promised I would not turn Malta's head with costly gifts. Am I permitted to bring the simple tokens that any young man may offer a maiden? Fruit and flowers and sweets?"

"I cannot see how they could object to such things as those."

"Good." He nodded to himself. "Could you have baskets prepared for me that I could offer each day of my visit?" He smiled to himself. "The baskets could be trimmed with ribbons and soft scarves in bright colors. And a bottle or two of excellent wine in each… I do not think that would be going too far."

His mother smiled wryly to herself. "You may wish to proceed cautiously, my son. Ronica Vestrit will tell you plainly enough if you overstep the boundaries she has set. I do not think you should hasten to cross wills with her."

Reyn was already walking away from her. He glanced back, a quick flash of copper eyes. "I shall not hasten to cross her, Mother. But neither shall I hasten to avoid it." He continued walking away from her as he spoke. "I'm going to marry Malta. The sooner they get used to me, the easier it will be for all of us."

Behind him, in the darkness, Jani folded her arms. Obviously, he had never met Ronica Vestrit. A glint of amusement came into her eyes as she wondered if her son's stubbornness would not find its equal in that of the Bingtown Trader.

Reyn paused. "Have you sent a bird to tell Sterb of my courtship?"

Jani nodded, pleased that he had asked. Reyn did not always get along with his stepfather. "He wishes you well. Little Kys says you must not marry until winter, when they return to Trehaug. And Mando says you owe him a bottle of Durjan brandy. Something about a bet you made, long ago, that your brothers would marry before you."

Reyn was already striding away. "A wager I am pleased to lose," he called back over his shoulder.

Jani smiled after him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Bonds

BRIG'S HANDS RESTED ON THE SPOKES OF VIVACIA'S WHEEL, CASUALLY COMpetent. The pirate's face had the distant look of a man completely aware of the ship as his larger body. Wintrow paused a moment to size him up before approaching. He was a young man, no more than twenty-five. His chestnut hair was confined under a yellow kerchief marked with the Raven insignia. His eyes were gray, and the old slave tattoo on his face had been over-needled with a dark blue raven that almost obscured it. Despite his youth, Brig had a decisive air that made even older men jump to his orders. Kennit had chosen well in putting him in charge of the Vivacia until he recovered.

Wintrow took a deep breath. He approached the older man with respect but dignity. He needed Brig to recognize him as a man. Wintrow waited until the man's eyes swung to meet his own. Brig looked at him silently. Wintrow spoke softly but clearly. "I need to ask you some questions."

"Do you?" Brig challenged. His eyes flicked away, up to his lookout man.

"I do," Wintrow replied firmly. "Your captain's leg gets no better. How much longer will it take us to get to Bull Creek?"

"Day and a half," Brig told him, after brief consideration. "Maybe two." The expression on his face never seemed to change.

Wintrow nodded to himself. "I think we can wait that long. There are supplies I'd like to have before I try to cut. I hope we can get them there. In the meantime, I could keep him stronger if I had better supplies. When the slaves rose up against the crew, they ransacked much of the ship. The medical chest has been missing since then. It would be very useful to me now."

"No one's owned up to taking it?"

Wintrow gave a small shrug. "I've asked but no one has answered. Many of the freed slaves are reluctant to talk to me. I think Sa'Adar is turning them against me." He hesitated. That sounded self-pitying. He would not gain Brig's respect by whining. He went on more judiciously. "Maybe they do not realize what they have. Or in the confusion of the storm and the uprising, someone may have taken it, discarded it, and it may have gone overboard." Wintrow took a breath and got back to his intent. "There were things in it that could make your captain more comfortable."

Brig tossed him a brief glance. He looked unconcerned, but he suddenly bellowed, "Caj!"

Wintrow braced himself to be seized and hustled along. Instead, when the man appeared, Brig ordered, "Shake down everyone on board. The medical chest is missing. If someone has it, I want it found. At the very least, I want to know who touched it last. Do it."

"Aye," Caj replied, and hastened away.

When Wintrow did not leave, Brig sighed out through his nose. "Something else?" he demanded.

"My father is-"

"SHIP!" the lookout suddenly sang out. An instant later, he called out, "Chalcedean galley, but flying the flag of the Satrap's Patrol. They're coming up fast with oars and sail. They must have been laying back in that inlet."

"Damn," Brig spat. "He did it! The son of a whore brought in Chalcedean mercenaries. Clear the decks!" he suddenly roared. "Working crew only! Everyone else below and out of the way. Get some sail on!"

Wintrow was moving, sprinting toward the figurehead. He dodged men nimbly. The deck became as busy as a stirred ant-nest. Ahead of them, the Marietta was sheering off in one direction as Vivacia leaned another. Wintrow gained the foredeck and then clung to the bow railing. Behind him, he heard thin shouts as the Chalcedean ship hailed them. Brig did not bother to reply.

"I don't understand!" Vivacia called to him. "Why do Chalcedean war galleys fly the Satrap's colors?"

"I heard rumors of it in Jamaillia. Satrap Cosgo hired Chalcedeans to patrol the Inside Passage. They're supposed to clear out the pirates, but that doesn't explain why they'd pursue us. A moment!" He flung himself into the rigging, scrabbling up to where he had a better view of what was going on. The Chalcedean ship in pursuit was built for warfare, not trade. In addition to her sail, two banks of slaves plied her oars. She was long and lean and her decks swarmed with fighting men. The spring sunlight glinted on helms and swords. The Satrap's flag with the white spires of Jamaillia on a blue field looked incongruous above the galley's blood-red sail.

"He invites their warships into our waters?" Vivacia was incredulous. "Is he mad? The Chalcedeans are without honor. This is like putting the thief to guard your warehouse." She glanced fearfully over her shoulder. "Do they pursue us?"

"Yes," Wintrow said succinctly. His heart thundered within him. What should he hope? That they escaped cleanly, or that the Chalcedean patrol boat caught them? The pirates would not surrender the Vivacia without a battle. There would be more bloodshed. If the Chalcedeans prevailed, would they restore Vivacia to her legal owners? Perhaps. He suspected they would take the ship back to Jamaillia for the Satrap's decision. The slaves huddled belowdecks would be enslaved once more, and they knew it. They would fight. The slaves outnumbered the boarders that the Chalcedean vessel could be carrying, but they were unarmed and inexperienced. A great deal of bloodshed, he decided.

So. Should he urge Vivacia to flee, or dawdle? Before he could even voice his uncertainty, the decision was snatched from him.

The smaller, sleeker vessel, driven by oars as well as wind, was gaining on them. For the first time, Wintrow noted the cruel war ram at the bow of the galley. A flight of arrows rose from the Chalcedean's deck. Wintrow cried out a wordless warning to Vivacia. Some were aflame as they arced toward the ship. The first volley fell short, but they had made their intention plain.