Althea lifted the warm washrag to her face. Brashen had a mirror fixed to the wall, but she hadn't dared look in it yet. "I doubt that he remembers that right now."

"Perhaps not now. But as soon as he's out of bed, I'll see that he does. If he'd left the damn serpent alone, it might have gone away. His actions endangered the whole ship and crew. He seems to think he knows better than mate or captain what to do. He discounts your experience and mine. He wants a bit of stepping on."

"But he is a good hand," Althea pointed out reluctantly.

Brashen did not falter. "When I'm finished stepping on him, he'll be a better hand. One that obeys."

She supposed there was a small rebuke for herself in there, in that she hadn't taught Haff that lesson herself. She bit her tongue and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face looked scalded. She ran her fingers lightly over it; it was pebbled stiff with tiny blisters. Like the serpent's scales, she thought, and snagged for a moment in the memory of its beauty.

"I'm taking Artu off your watch, and putting him on Lavoy's," Brashen went on.

Althea stiffened where she stood. Her father's eyes, black with anger, stared back at her from the mirror. She kept her voice cold. "I don't think that's fair. Sir." She ground the last word out between her teeth.

"Neither do I," Brashen agreed easily. "But he begged Lavoy on his knees, and the man finally gave in to be rid of him. Lavoy promised him every dirty duty he could find on the ship, and Artu wept tears of gratitude. What on earth did you do to him?"

Althea bent over the washbasin and lifted a double handful of water to her face. She rubbed it gently over her face. It dripped red-tinged back into the basin. She examined the cut at her hairline; she'd done that on Artu's teeth. She spoke through clenched teeth as she washed it out more thoroughly. "The captain should never be too interested in that sort of thing."

Brashen gave a soft snort of laughter. "That's funny. Clef came running to get me, and I came, my heart in my throat. Clef said Paragon was shouting that you were being killed. Then I got there, and here you were, hauling Artu along on a freight hook. I looked at that, and I thought to myself, 'Sa's breath, what would Captain Vestrit say to me if he could see her now? »

She could see the back of his head in the mirror. She scowled at it. Would he ever understand that she could take care of herself? She remembered that Artu had bitten her arm. She folded back her sleeve, and cursed silently at the uneven row of tooth marks. She dipped her fingers into Brashen's soap, and rubbed at them. It stung. She would rather that a rat had bitten her.

He went on in a softer voice. "All that came to mind was Ephron Vestrit's voice saying, 'If the mate is handling it, the captain shouldn't see it. He was right. He never interfered with me when I was settling small matters aboard the Vivacia. Even Lavoy knew that. I shouldn't have said a word."

It was almost an apology. "Lavoy's not so bad," Althea offered in return.

"He's coming around," Brashen agreed sagely. He suddenly crossed his arms on his chest. "I'll leave, if you'd like to make fuller use of that water."

"No, thank you. Sleep is what I need most. I do appreciate the offer. I don't smell that bad, do I?" The unfortunate words were out before she recalled how he might take them.

A little silence stood like a wall. She'd overstepped the bounds.

"You never did," he admitted quietly. "I was just angry. And hurt." He was still facing away from her, but she saw his shrug in the mirror. "I had thought there was something between us. Something that-"

"We're better as we are now," Althea broke in quickly.

"Undoubtedly," he said drily.

The silence stretched out. She looked at her battered hands. Every knuckle was swollen. When she flexed the fingers on her right hand, it felt like there was sand in the joints. Still, they moved. More to break the silence than to ask, she queried, "If you can move your fingers, that means nothing is broken, right?"

"It means nothing is badly broken," Brashen corrected her. "Let me see."

Knowing it was a mistake, she still turned and held out her hands to him. He came to her and took both of her hands in his. He moved her fingers and felt the bones of her hands. He shook his head over her knuckles, and winced when he saw the teeth marks on her wrist. He released one of her hands and lifted her chin. He looked at her face critically. She found herself examining his face in return. Even his eyelids showed blisters, but his dark eyes were clear. It was a miracle he hadn't lost his sight. The open collar of his shirt exposed standing welts on his chest. "You're going to be all right," he told her. He cocked his head and nodded to himself. "You're a tough woman."

"You probably saved my life when you distracted that thing with the oar," she.suddenly remembered.

"Yes. I'm a dangerous man with an oar." He still held her hand. Without warning, he drew her closer. When he leaned down to kiss her, she did not step away. She lifted her face to his. His mouth was gentle on hers. She closed her eyes to it and refused to be wise. She refused to think at all.

He broke the kiss. He drew her closer but did not embrace her. For just an instant, he rested his chin on top of her head. His voice was deep. "You're right. I know you're right. We're better as we are." He sighed heavily. "That doesn't make it any easier for me." He released her hand.

She could not think of anything to say to that. It was not easy for her, either, but to tell him that would only make it harder for both of them. He'd said she was a tough woman. She proved it by walking to the door. "Thank you," she said softly at the door. He made no reply and she went out.

She passed Clef standing in the companionway. He was kicking one bare heel against the wall and chewing his lower lip. She frowned at his idleness. "Peeking at keyholes isn't right," she told him severely as she passed.

"Neither is kiss'n' ther cap'n," he replied insolently. With a grin and a flash of dirty soles, he was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Oracle

I DON'T LIKE THIS. VIVACIA SPOKE SOFTLY, BUT HER WORDS THRUMMED through him.

Wintrow was stretched belly down on the foredeck, letting the early sun touch him. He had discarded his blanket during the muggy night, but his shirt was wrapped around his head. The new warmth of the sun soothed the ache in his arm, but the light from it nagged his headache into wakefulness. He was resigned to it. He had to wake up soon anyway. How he longed to just lie still. All the others seemed long recovered from the injuries taken at Divvytown. He felt a weakling that a couple of blows from a club still bothered him. He pushed away the idea that his injuries hurt more because he had killed the man who had given them. That was a silly superstition.

He rolled over onto his back. Even through the shirt and his eyelids, the light danced on his eyeballs. Sometimes it seemed he could see things in the patterns. He clenched his eyelids, and green flashes snaked across his vision like darting serpents. He loosened his eyes and the color became paler and took the shape of sunbursts.

The days of high summer were dwindling now, falling away one after another as the year inexorably carried them toward autumn. So much to have happened in the passing of a handful of months. When they had left Divvytown, half a dozen motley structures, constructed of wood old and new, had already risen from the ashes. A wooden tower as tall as a ship's mast was already manned, while one of stone took slow shape around it. The folk there called Kennit king. It was a term of affection as much as title. "Ask the king," they would advise one another, and nod to the tall peg-legged man with the scroll of papers always tucked under his arm. Their last sight of Divvytown had been the Raven flag flapping boldly from the flagstaff atop the tower. "Here To Stay" was embroidered beneath the bird's outstretched wing and rapacious beak.