Wintrow came slowly to stand beside Kennit at the railing. Eventually, he spoke. "My loyalty is yours, Kennit. You know that. I think you knew it even before I admitted it to myself. If you did not have my loyalty, I would not be in such pain now."

The pirate seemed genuinely moved by this confession. He set his hand on Wintrow's shoulder. For a time, they shared silence. "You, my dear boy, are so very young. You must speak aloud what you want." Kennit's voice was no more than a whisper.

Wintrow turned to him in surprise. Kennit gazed ahead through the night as if he had not spoken. Wintrow took a breath and forced his thoughts into order. "What I would ask of you both is that Althea not be harmed. She is my mother's sister, blood of my blood, and true family to the ship. Bolt may deny it, but I cannot believe that she could see Althea die and not be harmed by it." In a lower voice he added, "I know I could not."

"Blood of your blood, and true family to the ship," Kennit repeated to himself. He squeezed Wintrow's shoulder. "For myself, I promise not to harm a hair of her head. Ship?"

The figurehead shrugged her great shoulders. "Whatever Kennit says. I feel nothing, you see. I have no desire to kill her, or to let her live."

Wintrow heaved a sigh of relief. He did not believe that Bolt felt nothing. There was too much tension thrumming through him: not all of it could be his own. "And her crew?" he ventured.

Kennit laughed, and gave his shoulder a friendly shake. "Come, Wintrow, we can scarcely guarantee how they will fare. If a man chooses to fight to the death, how am I to stop him? But as you have seen, of late we shed blood only when forced to it. Consider all the ships we have set free to continue on their way. Slavers, of course, are another matter. When it comes to slavers, I must keep faith with all the people in my kingdom. To the bottom they must go. You cannot save everyone, Wintrow. Some folk have made up their minds to be killed by me long before I encounter them. When we encounter Captain Trell and Paragon, then we will act as befits the situation. Surely you can ask no more of us than that."

"I suppose not." It was the best he could do tonight. He wondered, if he had been alone with the ship, could he have forced her to admit she still had a bond with Althea? Althea, he thought fiercely at the ship. I know you remember her. She woke you from your long sleep; she greeted your return to life. She loved you. Can you turn your back on that kind of love?

A shudder of agitation ran through the ship, and beside her, a loud splashing announced the return of the green-gold serpent. The figurehead, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, turned to glare at Wintrow. He braced himself, expecting her to fling pain at him. Instead, Kennit gave him a shake. "Enough of that!" he told Wintrow sternly. "Do you think I cannot feel what you are doing to her? She has said she feels nothing. Accept it." Then he gave Wintrow's shoulder a sympathetic push. "Feelings end, lad. Bolt is not who she was to you. Why don't you go find Etta? She always seems to cheer you."

AS KENNIT WATCHED WINTROW CROSS THE MAIN DECK, THE CHARM SPOKE. IT did not whisper, or try to conceal itself from the ship at all. "Feelings end," it mocked. "Bolt is not who she was. Oh, yes. Convince yourself of that, dear heart, and you'll be able to deal with Paragon again." It suddenly dropped its voice to a confiding undertone. "You always knew you'd have to deal with him again, didn't you? When first the rumor reached you of a blinded liveship returned to Bingtown, you knew that eventually your paths must cross again."

"Shut up!" Fear tinged Kennit's flash of fury. The hair on the back of his neck prickled against his collar.

"I know Paragon," the ship said suddenly. "That is, I have Althea's memories of him. And her father's. Ephron Vestrit did not like that ship. He didn't want his daughter to play near him. Paragon is mad, you know. Quite mad."

"Oh, quite mad," the charm agreed affably. "But then, who wouldn't be, given all the memories that are soaked into his planks? It's a wonder he can speak at all. Don't you agree, Kennit? Wasn't it enough to strike a boy dumb? No need to cut his tongue out, when he hardly spoke a word for three years. Oh, Igrot believed his secrets were quite safe. All his secrets. But secrets do have a way of leaking out."

"Be silent!" Kennit raged in a hoarse whisper.

"Silent," the carved wizardwood on his wrist breathed. "Silent as a blinded ship, floating hull-up in the sea. Silent as a scream underwater."

CHAPTER NINETEEN — Strategies

THE FOG AND MISTS WERE RELENTLESS. EVEN ON DAYS WHEN IT DID NOT RAIN, everything dripped with the constant condensation. Garments hung in the galley to dry merely became steamy. The clothes in her duffel bag were as damp as the wool blanket she took from her bunk. Everything smelled green and sour. She half-expected to comb moss from her hair in the mornings. Well, at least they would all have a bit more room now. She'd cleared Lavoy's things from the first mate's cabin and was moving her gear in today. The promotion was traditional and hers by right. Brashen had moved Haff up to second. He seemed very pleased with his new rank; an even better sign was that the crew in general approved of his promotion.

"Do the rain and the fogs never cease in these wretched islands?" Amber demanded as she came into the tiny cabin. Moisture had beaded on her hair and eyelashes. Water dripped from the cuffs of her shirt.

"In summer," Althea offered her. "But for now, this is the weather. Unless it rains hard enough to clear the air."

"That would almost be preferable to this constant dripping. I climbed the mast to see what I could see. I'd have been as wise to stuff my head in my duffel bag. How do the pirates move about on days like these? There's neither sun nor star to steer by."

"Let's hope they don't. I'd hate to have one run us down in the fog. Try to think of it as concealing us from hostile eyes."

"But it conceals them from us just as effectively. How will we know when Kennit returns to Divvytown if we can't even see the island?"

They had been anchored for the last day and night in a small, sheltered inlet. Althea knew what others did not. They anchored here, not in wait for Kennit, but to try to salvage some sort of plan. Last night, sequestered together in Brashen's cabin, they had considered options. Brashen had not been optimistic. "It's all gone down to the bottom," he said bleakly. He stared up at the ceiling above his bunk. "I should have foreseen that Lavoy would do something like that. He's destroyed any hope of surprise that we ever had. Someone will send word to Kennit and at first sight of us, he'll surely attack.

Damn Lavoy. When I first suspected him of talking mutiny, I should have keelhauled him."

"That would have been good for morale," Althea had murmured from the shelter of his arm. She lay in his bunk beside him. The length of his naked body was warm against hers and her head was pillowed on his shoulder. The mellow lantern light made shifting shadows on the wall, tempting her to simply clasp Brashen close and fall asleep beside him. Her fingers idly walked the long seam down his ribs that was the track of the pirate's sword.

"Don't," he had muttered irritably, twitching away from her. "Stop distracting me and help me think."

She had breathed out a long sigh. "You should have said that before you bedded me. I know I should be putting all my wits to regaining Vivacia from Kennit, but somehow, here with you…" She had smoothed a hand down his chest to his belly, and let his thoughts follow it.

He had rolled toward her. "So. Do you just want to give it all up? Go back to Bingtown, and leave things as they are?"