"I know you're awake," Etta said quietly. "I heard you stop breathing. Get up and strike a light."

"It's not morning," he protested in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"I noticed that," she replied wryly. "I've come to teach you something. Some things are better learned privately. Night seemed the best time for the lessons I have come to teach."

He groped for a candle, and then stepped out into the companionway to light it at the small lamp that burned there. He brought it back to the cabin, shut the door and fixed the candle into a candlestick. When he turned to face her, he was hard put not to gasp. She wore leggings and a snug-fitting jerkin. Never before had he seen a female form so blatantly displayed. She ignored his stare. Instead, she walked around him slowly. Her eyes ran up and down his body appraisingly. The frankness of her gaze warmed his cheeks. She gave a small snort of displeasure.

"Well. It's plain you've worked hard, but not heavy. Still. You're lithe and quick. I've marked that about you. And that may be more telling in this game than muscle or bulk."

He blinked at her. "I still don't know what this is about."

"Kennit suggested it. I told him I felt a debt to you for teaching me to read. He said I should return it in kind, by teaching you something I know well. Something of my more worldly skills, as he put it. I've come to do that. Take your shirt off."

Slowly he obeyed her. He refused to think about what he was doing, or what her intentions were.

She smiled grimly. "You're sweet and smooth as a little girl. Not a hair to your chest yet. A little more muscle would please me, but that will come in time." She went back to his table, and worked the latch on the flat box there. As she opened the box, she repeated, "Some things are best learned in private. The skills of a man are among them. Were we more open with this, the crewmen would mock you. This way, you can pretend it was something you've always known how to do." When she turned back to face him, she held a dagger in either hand.

"These are for you, now. Kennit said I could give them to you. You should begin to wear one at your belt whenever we go into a port. After a time, start wearing it all the time, and sleep with it under your pillow. But, first, you have to learn how to use it."

She threw one at him suddenly. It was a toss, really, the weapon coming at him hilt first. He caught it awkwardly, but not squarely. The blade bit into his thumb. She laughed at his exclamation. "First blood to me!" A menacing light came into her eyes. "Grip that like you mean it and get ready. I'm going to teach you how to fight."

"I don't want to know how to fight," he protested in dismay. He retreated. "I don't want to hurt you."

She grinned merrily. "I'm very sure you won't. Don't worry about it in any case." She had gone into a knife-fighter's crouch, her blade at the ready. She swayed gracefully, and transferred the knife from hand to hand almost more swiftly than he could follow. Suddenly, she came at him, menacing as a tigress, her blade leading the way. "Just concentrate on keeping me from hurting you. That is always the first lesson."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Departure of the Paragon

"I WISH WE HAD TIME FOR MORE SEA TRIALS."

Amber gave Althea a weary look. "No time. No money. And after each one, at least two or three hands jump ship. A few more sea trials, Althea, and we'll have no crew left at all." She paused and cocked her head at Althea. "Is this the fifth time we've had this conversation, or the sixth?"

"The twenty-seventh, by my count," Brashen interjected, coming up between them. They shifted aside to make a space for him at the after rail. He joined them in staring out to the open water past the mouth of Bingtown Harbor. He gave a small chuckle. "Get used to it, Amber. Sailors have the same conversations over and over. Chief topics: the bad food, the stupid captain and the unfair mate."

"You forgot the rotten weather and the unruly ship," Althea filled in.

Amber shrugged. "I have a lot to become accustomed to. It has been years since I took an extended sea voyage. As a youth, I was a bad sailor. I hope that my living aboard here in the harbor will have schooled my stomach to a moving deck."

Althea and Brashen both grinned. "Trust me. It hasn't," Brashen warned her. "I'll try not to expect too much of you the first few days out. But if I need you, I'll need you, and then you'll have to crawl about and do your best between trips to the rail."

"You're so cheery," Amber thanked him.

A silence fell over them. Despite their easy words, they all had reservations about what they faced today. The ship was loaded, most of the crew aboard. Secreted belowdecks, unbeknownst to their hired crew, were seven slaves who had resolved to take this opportunity to escape to a new life. Althea tried not to think of them. The risk they took was not just to themselves. If anyone else discovered them before they sailed, who knew what might come of it? Nor did she know how their hired crew would react to these extra hands. She hoped they would be relieved there would be more backs to bear the work. Most likely, there would be some scuffling for position and bunking space, but that happened aboard any ship. She took a breath and told herself it would be all right. She still pitied the crowded men hidden below. The suspense for them must be agonizing.

At first light, they would sail. Althea almost wished they could just slip away now. But to sail off silently into the dimness would be an ill leave-taking. Better to wait and endure the farewells and good wishes of those who came to see them off. Better, also, to have clear light and the morning breezes to speed them.

"How is he?" Brashen asked quietly. He stared off into the distance.

"He's anxious. And excited. Eager, and scared to death. His blindness-"

"I know." Brashen was brusque. "But he's endured it for years. He got himself back to Bingtown, blind and capsized. This is no time for a risky experiment in carving wizardwood. He'll have to trust us, Amber. He has done so much to turn himself around that I don't want to risk changing any of his conditions. If you tried and failed, well," Brashen shook her head. "I think it's better for us to sail as he is. He's familiar with this hindrance. I think he can cope better with blindness he's accepted than with a great disappointment."

"But he has never accepted it," Amber began earnestly.

"Forty-two," Althea cut in. She gave a sigh but managed a smile. "We've had this conversation at least forty-two times."

Amber nodded in acceptance. She changed the subject. "Lavoy."

Brashen groaned, then laughed. "I gave him the last night in town. He'll be on deck on time. I'll vouch for that. He'll have a head, no doubt of that, and he'll take it out on the hands. That's traditional, and they'll expect it. I expect he'll drive them hard and they'll resent him. That's traditional, too. He's the best we could have hired for the job."

Althea bit her tongue firmly. She had lost count of how many times she and Brashen had wrangled about that. Besides, if they got into it again, he would probably make her admit that Lavoy was not as bad as she had expected him to be. The man had a streak of fairness in him. It was unreliable, but when it did surface, he held himself to it. He would be a tyrant. She knew that. So did Brashen. As long as he did not go too far with it, a tyrant was exactly what this crew needed.

The sea trials had exposed every weakness in their crew. Althea now knew which hands wouldn't scramble, and which ones seemed incapable of it. Some were lazy, some stupid and some slyly determined to do as little as possible. Her father, she was convinced, would have sacked the lot of them. When she had complained to Brashen, he had told her she could replace any and all of them with better men at her discretion. All she had to do was find such men and hire them at the wages he could offer.