"You make no sense. My dear, your mind is unsettled. Calm down! You don't want to shame yourself before the whole crew, do you?"

He saw her glance about for a weapon. He had misjudged how dangerous she was. Despite the residue of drug that she fought, her muscles knotted convulsively. He knew the look of murder; he had seen it often enough in his own mirror. He lunged for his crutch, but in the next instant, she sprang not toward him, but to the door. She worked the latch clumsily, then jerked the door open, colliding with the jamb as she reeled out. He saw her strike the opposite wall, catch herself, and then stagger up the companionway.

The figurehead. She was trying to get to the figurehead. He got his crutch under his arm, caught at the table's edge and polled himself to his feet. She would get a surprise if she got as far as the foredeck. There would be no Vivacia to beseech for aid. He was tempted to let her go, but he could not have her ranting and raving to his crew. What if Wintrow or Etta heard her?

He reached the door and looked out. Althea had slowed. She clung to the wall, stumbling doggedly on. Her dark hair hung in a lank curtain about her face. She was dressed in Wintrow's clothing, soiled now with spilled food and vomit. She must have awakened, dressed and then huddled there, waiting for him. Quite a plan, for as much poppy as he had given her. He almost admired her. He'd have to increase the dosage.

The silhouette of a crewman appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall. Kennit raised his voice in a command. "Detain her. Bring her back to her room. She is not well. She attacked me."

The figure took two steps into the darkened companionway, and Kennit suddenly saw his error. The crewman was Wintrow. "Aunt Althea?" he asked incredulously. He offered her a steadying arm, but she disdained him. He doubted that she recognized Wintrow. Instead, she lifted her arm to point a shaking hand at Kennit.

"He raped me!" She flung back her head to peer at the lad through her draggled hair. "And my ship is locked down deep in the dark. I'm drugged. I'm sick. Help me. Help her." Her words ran down with her strength. She sagged against the wall and slid down it while Wintrow stood transfixed in horror. Her head swayed like a poisoned cat's. To Kennit's dismay, another crewman had arrived. Then, worst of all, he heard Etta's voice behind him.

"What did that bitch say?" she demanded furiously.

Kennit turned quickly to face her. "She's ill. She makes no sense. She attacked me." He shook his head. "The loss of her companions seems to have driven her mad."

Etta's eyes went very wide. "Kennit, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed in horror.

He lifted a hand to his brow and his fingers came away scarlet. He had struck his head harder than he thought. "It's nothing. I'll be fine." He composed himself and spoke in a voice of both command and concern. "Wintrow. Be cautious but gentle with her. She doesn't know what she's saying. Watching Paragon bum has turned her mind."

"I'm sane enough, you raping, murdering bastard!" Althea snarled. Her words ran together. She thrashed about, trying to stand.

"Aunt Althea!" Wintrow was shocked. Kennit could see the horror in the boy's face. He crouched down and helped the woman to stand. "You need to rest," he offered her sympathetically. "You've had quite a shock."

She held onto his shoulders and looked at Wintrow as if he were an insect. He stared back at her in consternation. But for their expressions, they looked very alike. It reminded Kennit of the old depictions of Sa, male and female, face-to-face on the ancient coins. Then Althea turned her look of disgust on Kennit. He saw her decide, and he was ready for her shambling charge. He thought he could avoid her dazed attack, but he did not have to try. With a furious screech, Etta sprang out in front of him.

The whore was larger than Althea, physically alert and more experienced in fighting. She knocked the Bingtown woman down effortlessly and then straddled her, pinioning her. Althea gave a full-throated roar of fury and struggled, but Etta held her easily. "Shut up!" the whore shrieked at her. "Shut your lying mouth! I don't know why Kennit bothered saving your useless life. Shut up or I'll break your teeth."

Kennit stared in horrified fascination. He had seen women fight before; in Divvytown, it was so common a sight as to be unremarkable, but he had always considered it a tawdry spectacle. Somehow, this humiliated him. "Etta. Get up. Wintrow. Put Althea back in her room," he commanded.

Althea gasped her words from beneath Etta's weight. "I'm a stupid bitch? He raped me. Here, on my own family ship! And you, a woman, defend him?" She rolled her head and stared up wildly at Wintrow. "He's buried our ship! How can you look at him and not know what he is? How can you be so stupid?"

"Shut up! Shut up!" Etta's voice slid up the scale, cracking on hysteria. She slapped Althea, an openhanded blow that rang in the confined companionway.

"Etta! Stop that, I said!" Kennit cried in horror. He seized the whore's upraised hand by the wrist and tried to drag her off Althea. Instead, Etta only struck her with her other hand, and then, to Kennit's complete mystification, burst into tears. Kennit lifted his eyes to find half a dozen sailors crowding the end of the hall, staring in openmouthed wonder at the spectacle. "Separate them," he snapped. Finally, several men moved forward to do his bidding. Wintrow took Etta by the arm and pulled her from Althea. For a wonder, she did not fight him, but allowed him to hold her back. "Put Etta in my chamber until she calms herself," he directed Wintrow. "You others, put Althea back in her room and fasten the lock. I will deal with her later."

Althea's brief struggle with Etta had consumed her resistance. Her eyes were open, but her head lolled on her neck as two men dragged her to her feet. "I'll… kill… you," she promised him gaspingly as they hauled her past him. She meant it.

He drew his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow. The blood on the cloth was darker; the cut was clotting. He probably looked a sight. The prospect of confronting Etta did not appeal to him, but it could not be avoided. He would not walk about with blood dribbling down his face and spattered food on his clothing. He drew himself up straight. As the crewmen returned from locking Althea up, he managed a wry smile for them. He shook his head conspiratorially. "Women. They simply do not belong aboard a ship." One crewman returned him a grin, but the others looked uneasy. That was not good. Was Etta that great a favorite with the crew? He'd have to do something about that. He'd have to do something about this whole situation. How had it become so untidy? He straightened his rumpled jacket and brushed food from the sleeve.

"Captain Kennit, sir?"

He looked up in annoyance at yet another rattled deckhand. "What is it now?" he snapped.

The man licked his lips. "It's the ship, sir. The figurehead. She says she wants to see you, sir." The sailor swallowed, and then went on, "She said, Tell him right now. Now! No disrespect intended, sir, but that was how she spoke, sir."

"Did she?" Kennit managed to keep his voice coolly amused. "Well, you may tell her, with no disrespect intended, that the captain has another matter to tend to, but that he will be with her presently. At his earliest convenience."

"Sir!" The man fumbled for a way to begin a desperate protest. Kennit speared him with a cold gaze. "Yes, sir," he conceded. His step dragged as he departed.

Kennit did not envy him his errand, but he could scarcely let the ship see him like this, let alone have a common seaman see him dash to obey the ship's summons. He lifted a hand to smooth his moustache. "Slow. Calm. Steady. Take control of it again," he counseled himself.