He took up a more leisurely pace. Once he stopped, and listened to the rustling of a pig in the brush. It did not come his way and he soon went on. He almost expected the priest to overtake him before he reached the beach, but he did not. Perhaps he was bestowing a very lengthy blessing upon the house. That would please his mother.

The sand of the beach was loose and dry. His peg dragged through it. He was so weary. He could scarcely lift his leg high enough for the peg to clear the sand. He reached the gig and sat down. The tide was coming in. Soon the boat would be almost afloat, but it promised to be a long row back to the ship. Had he overestimated his strength? The warmth of the day and the aching fatigue of his body worked against him. He wanted to drowse. He wanted to sit still and drift in the warm afternoon. Instead, he massaged his aching armpit where the crutch had chafed him. He spurred himself, wondering if the priest delayed to visit Captain Haven. No. Dedge would not allow that. Not unless they had been in league all along. If that were so, they would come soon to kill him. They would have killed his mother already, of course. They would have found his treasure, carefully stowed in the big house. They would come to kill him, because he had been stupid. What would they do then? They could not return to the ship. Alternatively, could they? Was there enough treasure there to buy Sorcor and Etta, Wintrow and Brig? Perhaps. His heart grew cold with anger at his own stupidity. Then he smiled a wolfs smile. Perhaps there was enough treasure to buy human hearts. But not Vivacia's. The ship had already come to love him. He knew that. One could not buy nor steal the heart of a liveship. The heart of a liveship was true.

Igrot had proved that, many years ago.

Kennit smiled as he prepared himself and waited.

When the priest finally came, he tramped like an angry man. So, Kennit thought to himself, you did try to sway Dedge to your cause. You failed. Turning his head to regard Sa'Adar, Kennit became certain of his conjecture. He had the rumpled look of a man who has narrowly averted a bad beating by fleeing. His face was redder than the walk back to the boat would explain. As he approached, Kennit climbed into the gig and seated himself on the rowing seat. He did not bother with a greeting. "Push it out into the water."

Sa'Adar glared at him. "It would be easier if the gig were empty."

"Probably," Kennit agreed affably. He didn't move.

The man was not soft, but he was not a hardened sailor either. He set his hands to the gig and pushed. Nothing happened. "Wait for a wave," Kennit suggested.

Sa'Adar gritted his teeth but obeyed the suggestion. The bottom of the gig grated on the sand and then abruptly bobbed free. "Keep pushing or she'll beach again," Kennit warned him as he took up the oars. Soon Sa'Adar was wading alongside, trying to pull himself over and into the boat. Kennit pulled steadily at the oars. It had been some time since he had rowed a boat, but his body remembered it well enough. He braced his peg against the bottom of the boat to keep from slipping. Even so, it was difficult to pull evenly on the oars. A wave of desolation engulfed him as he decided that nothing would ever be completely as it had been. He had lost a part of his body and for the rest of his life, all his actions would have to compensate for what was missing.

"Wait!" Sa'Adar complained as he scrabbled to get aboard. Kennit ignored him and continued to row. Sa'Adar was still only halfway in when the next wave lifted the gig. The priest clambered aboard like a landsman, gasping and shivering as the brisk sea wind hit his soaked clothing. Once he was well aboard, Kennit shipped the oars. It pleased him that even with a peg and crutch, he moved more gracefully than Sa'Adar as he shifted his seat. The priest, arms clutched about himself, sneered at him. "You expect me to row?"

"It will warm you," Kennit pointed out.

He sat in the bow, holding his crutch, and watched Sa'Adar struggle. Rowing a gig, even on a calm day, soon becomes serious work. There was a rising wind and a bit of a chop for him to contend with also. He worked the oars unevenly. Sometimes they skipped and splashed across the top of the water. Even when they bit well into the water, their progress was slow. Kennit was unconcerned. He could see Sa'Adar's impatience to be back aboard the ship in the furious energy he poured into his task. He decided to engage him in conversation as well.

"So. Are you satisfied with the justice meted out to Captain Haven?"

Sa'Adar had little breath to spare, but could not resist making speeches. "I wanted to see him before I left. To spit on him one more time and wish him joy of his chains and darkness." He caught his breath. "Dedge would not let me. He and Saylah both turned on me." Another breath. "But for me, they'd be slaves in Chalced right now. They would not be together still, and Saylah's child could celebrate his birth with a tattoo on his face." He was panting now.

"Keep her nose into the waves. You see that point there, on that island? Where the two trees stand separate from the forest? Fix your eyes on that and row toward it."

Sa'Adar gave an exasperated scowl. "One man cannot row this! You should take the bench beside me and help. It took four rowers to get us ashore."

"The boat was more heavily laden then. Besides. I am greatly wearied from our hike. Remember that I am a man still recovering from a grievous injury. But in time, perhaps, I shall take a turn at the oars and let you rest." Kennit turned his face to the breeze and closed his eyes to slits. The bright sun danced on the moving water. Suddenly even his weariness felt good. This was something he had needed to do. He had taken independent, physical action on his own. He had proved to himself that he could still sway others to his will with little more than words. His body had been diminished, but it was sufficient to his ambition. He would triumph. King Kennit. King Kennit of the Pirate Isles. Would he someday have a palace on Key Island? Perhaps after his mother had died, he could establish himself there. As his father had once foreseen, the opening to the bay in Keyhole Island could be easily fortified. It would make a wonderful stronghold. He was still building his towers when Sa'Adar spoke again.

"Should we be able to see the ships by now?"

Kennit nodded. "If you were pulling at the oars like a man, instead of slapping and skipping them on the water, we'd have cleared the point of that island by now. Then, we'd be able to see the ships, though we would still have a long row ahead of us. Keep rowing."

"The journey did not seem to take this long last night."

"Things never seem to take as long or be as hard when someone else is doing the work. It is much like captaining a ship. It seems easy, when someone else is doing it."

"Do you mock me?" It is hard to be disdainful when one was out of breath, but Sa'Adar managed it.

Kennit shook his head sadly. "You do me wrong. Is it mockery to tell a man a thing he should have learned long ago?"

"That ship… by rights… is mine. We had… already taken it… when you came." Sa'Adar's breath was coming harder.

"There. You see. If I had not come alongside and put a prize crew aboard, the Vivacia would be at the bottom now. Not even a liveship can sail herself completely."

"We would have… managed." Sa'Adar abruptly flung the oars down. One started to slip through the oarlock into the water. He snatched at it, and pulled it half into the boat. "Damn you, take a turn at this!" he gasped. "I am as good as you are. I will be treated like your slave no longer."

"Slave? I have asked no more of you than I would of any ordinary seaman."

"I am not yours to command. I never will be! Nor will I give up my claim to the ship. Wherever we go, I shall be sure that all hear of your injustice and greed. How so many can adulate you, I do not know! There is your poor mother, abandoned to a harsh life alone for Sa knows how long! You return to visit her for less than half a day, leaving only a trunkful of trinkets and a half-wit servant to wait on her. How can you treat your own mother so? Is not a man's mother to be ever revered as the symbol of the female aspect of Sa? Nevertheless, you treat her as you treat everyone else. As a servant! She tried to speak to me, poor thing. I could not make out what distressed her so, but it was not a lack of tea cups!"