“I know you hate being here, in Davad’s home, amongst his things. You don’t have to stay, you know,” she said gently. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You owe me nothing. You could go your own way now, Rache, with little fear of being seized as a runaway slave. You are more than welcome to continue to make your home with me, of course. Or, if you wished, I could give you a letter and directions. You could go to Inglesby, and live on the farm there. I am sure that my old nanny would make you welcome there, and probably be glad of your company.”

Rache dropped her rag into the bucket and got stiffly to her feet. “I would not abandon the only one who showed me kindness in Bingtown,” she informed her. “Perhaps you can take care of yourself, but you still have need of me. I care nothing at all for Davad Restart’s memory. What does it matter if he is a traitor, when I know he was a murderer? But I would not see you defamed simply by your connection to him. Besides, I have more tidings for you.”

“Thank you,” Ronica said, stiffly. Davad had been a longtime family friend, but she had always acknowledged his ruthless side. Yet how much blame should Davad bear for the death of Rache’s child? True, Davad’s money had bought them, and he was a part-owner of the slave ship. But he had not been there when the boy had died in the hold of the ship, overcome by heat, bad water and little food. Nonetheless, he was the one who profited from the slave trade, so perhaps he was to blame. Her soul squirmed within her. What, then, of the Vivacia and the slaves that had been her cargo? She could blame it all on her son-in-law. The ship had been in Keffria’s control, and her daughter had let her husband Kyle do as he wished with it. But how firmly had Ronica resisted? She had spoken out against it, but perhaps if she had been more adamant…

“Do you wish to hear my news?” Rache asked her.

Ronica came back from her woolgathering with a start. “Certainly.” She moved to the hearth and checked the kettle on the hob. “Shall we have tea?”

“It’s nearly gone,” Rache cautioned her.

Ronica shrugged. “When it’s gone, it’s gone. No use letting it go stale for fear of going without.” She found the small container of tea and shook some into the pot. They ate at Serilla’s table, but here in their rooms, Ronica liked the small independence of her own teapot. Rache had matter-of-factly liberated teacups, saucers and other small amenities from Davad’s kitchen. She set these out on a small table as she spoke.

“I’ve been out and about this morning. I went along the wharves, discreetly of course, but there is little going on down there. The small ships that do come in unload and load quickly, with armed men standing about all the time. I’d say there was one New Trader, probably a joint venture by several families. The cargo appeared to be mostly foodstuffs. Two other ships looked Old Trader to me, but again, I didn’t go close enough to be sure. The liveship Ophelia was in the harbor, but anchored out, not tied. There were armed men on her decks

“I left the harbor. Then, I did as you suggested, and went down to the beach where the fisherfolk haul out. There it was livelier, though there were not near the number of little boats there used to be. There were five or six small boats pulled out, with folk sorting the catch and restowing their nets. I offered to work for a bit offish, but they were cool to me. Not rude, mind you, but distant, as if I might bring trouble or be a thief. The ones I talked to kept looking off behind my shoulder, as if they thought I might be distracting them from someone else, someone that meant them harm. But after a while, when I was obviously alone, some of them felt sorry for me. They gave me two small flounders, and talked with me a bit.”

“Who gave you the flounders?”

“A fisherwoman named Ekke. Her father told her to, and when one of the other men looked as if he might object, he said, ‘Folk got to eat, Ange.’ The generous man’s name was Kelter. A wide man, chest and belly all one big barrel, with a red beard and red hair down his arms, but not much on the crown of his head.”

“Kelter.” Ronica dug through her memories. “Sparse Kelter. Did anyone call him Sparse?”

Rache gave a nod. “But I thought it more a tease than a name.”

Ronica frowned to herself. The kettle was boiling, the steam standing well above the spout. She lifted it from the hob and poured water into the teapot. “Sparse Kelter. I’ve heard the name somewhere, but more than that I can’t say of him.”

“From what I saw, he’s the man we want. I didn’t speak to him of it, of course. I think we should go slow and be careful yet. But if you want a man who can speak to and for the Three Ships families, I think he is the one.”