Malta made no effort at rising. He didn't wait for her to do so. "Very pleasant to have seen you again." He bowed to her, and turned to leave.

"Your brother Cerwin doesn't think I'm a child." There was a challenge in those words.

Unwillingly he turned back to face her. She had not arisen, but she had thrown back her head against the chair, baring the white column of her throat. A bit of her hair had come loose and she reached up to twine it through her fingers as she spoke. She smiled lazily. "He is sweet, like a little house cat. You, I suspect, are more like a tiger." She put a fingertip in her mouth and nibbled at it thoughtfully. "Pets can be such boring creatures," she observed.

Brashen suddenly discovered that the heart of a correctly mannered Bingtown Trader's son beat in his chest under his pirate's blouse. He was shocked to his core. There could be no mistake in her inflection. Captain Vestrit's granddaughter, in his family home, was honing her seductive wiles on him. It was outrageous.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," he said with honest indignation.

He did not turn back at her shocked gasp, but proceeded down the hall to the main door. He pulled it open to let himself out and found himself looking down into the startled faces of Ronica Vestrit and Keffria Haven. "Oh, thank Sa you've come," he exclaimed, even as Keffria demanded, "Who are you and what are you doing in our house?" She glanced about wildly as if to summon menservants to seize him.

"Brashen Trell," he told her hastily, bowing low. "I bring tidings of the Vivacia. Urgent and troublesome tidings."

The shock of his words instantly seized their attention.

"What is wrong? Has anything happened to Kyle? Have you word of my son, of Wintrow?" Keffria demanded immediately.

"No." Ronica Vestrit commanded. "Not here, come inside and sit down. Come, Keffria. To the study."

Brashen stepped aside to allow them to precede him. He spoke as he followed them. "Your granddaughter Malta let me in. I presumed the runner she had sent to fetch you would have prepared you for my tidings." He wanted to ask if Althea were coming, but held his tongue against that.

"No runner found us," Ronica Vestrit informed him tersely. "But I had feared that sooner or later, someone would knock at our door and the tidings would not be good ones." She ushered them into the study and shut the door firmly. "Have a chair, Trell. What do you know? You didn't sail with the Vivacia; I know that Kyle replaced you with a man of his own choosing. So how do you come to bear this message to us?"

How much of the truth did he owe her? If she had been Althea and they had been sitting quietly over a couple of beers, he would have told her all, and allowed her to judge him as she saw fit. Trafficking with pirates was a hanging offense; there was no denying that was what he had been doing. He wouldn't lie; he simply wouldn't tell.

"Vivacia has been taken by pirates." He dropped the words like an unchained anchor. Before they could recover enough to pelt him with questions, he added, "I know very little more than that. She was seen in a pirate outpost harbor, anchored up. I do not know what has become of her captain or crew. I'm sorry to tell you that, and sorrier to tell you that the pirate who has seized her is one Captain Kennit. I don't know why he went after Vivacia. His reputation is that of an ambitious crusader. He dreams of uniting the Pirate Isles into a kingdom for himself. To that end, he has been pursuing slaveships. The rumors say that he kills all the crew, and sets the slaves free, to gain their goodwill and that of other pirates who hate slavery as he does." He ran out of breath and words. As he spoke, Keffria had appeared to become boneless, settling deeper and deeper into her chair as if his words were taking all life from her body. She had lifted both hands to cover her mouth, holding in a wail of horror.

In contrast, Ronica Vestrit stood as if turned to wood. Her face was frozen in a rictus of despair. Her old hands clutched the back of a chair like a bird's talons gripping a perch.

After a long moment, Ronica drew in a breath. She spoke in a whisper that seemed to tax her. "Do you bring us a ransom offer?"

It shamed him. The old woman was quick-witted. She had seen the cut of his clothes, and guessed where he had been making his living. She thought he was Kennit's go-between. The shame burned him, but he could not fault her for it. "No," he said simply. "I know little more than I've told you, and half of that is rumor and gossip." He sighed. "I do not think there will be a ransom offer. This Captain Kennit appears very pleased with his prize. The ship, at least, I suspect he will keep. I know nothing of the men who were aboard her. I'm sorry."

The silence that welled up now seemed chilling. His tidings had changed the course of their lives. With a score of words, he had slain their hopes. The ship was not merely delayed. Her captain would not come home with coin to restore their fortunes. Instead, whatever they had left to muster must be sacrificed for a ransom, if they were fortunate enough to receive a ransom offer. The news he had brought ruined the Vestrit family. They would hate the bearer of such tidings. He waited for the storm to break.

Neither of them wept. Neither of them screamed, nor accused him of lying. Keffria buried her face in her hands. "Wintrow," she said very softly. "My little boy." Ronica aged before his eyes, her shoulders sagging, the lines in her face graving more deeply. She groped her way into her chair and sat in it, staring. A horrible weight of responsibility settled on Brashen. What had he expected? He groped after vanished imaginings in which Althea had been fiery-eyed with anger, and turned to him as her friend to aid her in rescuing her ship. This was the reality. He had dealt the final crushing blow to a family who had once befriended him.

There was a sudden squawk, a thudding on the door, and then it was flung open. Althea entered, pushing a disheveled and struggling Malta before her. "Keffria! This brat was eavesdropping again. I'm tired of her spying, sneaking ways. It isn't worthy of anyone in this family-Brashen? What are you doing here? What's happened, what is going on?" Althea let go of Malta so suddenly that the girl sat down flat with a thud on the floor. She stared at him wild-eyed, her mouth open as if he had knocked the wind out of her lungs.

He stood and took a step toward her. His story spilled out. "The Vivacia has been captured by pirates. I saw her anchored up in a pirate stronghold, with the Raven flag flying from her masthead. That's Kennit. I'm sure you know his reputation. It is said he kills the full crew of every slaver he captures. I don't know the crew's fate."

A piercing wail from Malta blasted away all other responses. She drew a second breath, and came to her feet. She charged Brashen, swinging her fists wildly. "No. It's a lie, it's a lie! Father said he would come home, he was going to make everything right! He is going to come home and make us rich again and throw out Althea and make everyone treat me well! You're only saying that, you pig. It isn't true, it isn't true. My father can't be dead, he can't!"

He caught one of her wrists, and then the other after she had hit him twice. He expected she would surrender. Instead, she kicked him sharply twice in the shins. "Malta! Stop that!" Ronica commanded sharply while Keffria cried out, "Stop it, stop it. It won't solve anything."

Althea was more direct. She strode up, seized Malta by the hair on the back of her head and pulled her sharply back. The girl cried out in pain. Brashen promptly released her wrists. Then Althea shocked him by pinning Malta in a rough embrace. "Stop it, stop it now," she whispered hoarsely to the struggling girl. "It won't do any good. Save your strength and your wits. We can't waste them fighting each other. We have a common enemy now. We have to put everything we have toward rescuing them. Malta. Malta. I know this is terrible, but we have to cope, not thrash about in hysteria."