He touched the leg of the inert man. His skin was hot. It would not be long.

“Would you damp this again, please?”

Something in the man's tones and accent were oddly familiar. Wintrow pondered it as he sloshed the rag in the small amount of seawater remaining in his bucket. There was no pretending the rag and water were clean anymore. Only wet. The man took it, and wiped the brow and face of his neighbor. He folded the rag anew, and wiped his own face and hands. “My thanks to you,” he said as he handed the rag back.

With a shivering up his back, Wintrow caught it. “You come from Marrow, don't you? Near Kelpiton Monastery?”

The man smiled oddly, as if Wintrow's words both warmed and pained him. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I do.” In a lower voice, he amended it to, “I did. Before I was sent to Jamaillia.”

“I was there, at Kelpiton!” Wintrow whispered, but he felt the words as a cry. “I lived in the monastery, I was to be a priest. I worked in the orchards, sometimes.” He moistened the rag and handed it back again.

“Ah, the orchards.” The man's voice went far as he gently wiped his companion's hands. “In the spring, when the trees blossomed, they were like fountains of flowers. White and pink, the fragrance like a blessing.”

“You could hear the bees, but it was as if the trees themselves were humming. Then, a week later when the blossoms fell, the ground was pink and white with them. . . .”

“And the trees fogged with green as the first leaves came out,” the other man whispered. “Sa save me,” he moaned suddenly. “Are you a demon come to torment me, or a messenger-spirit?”

“Neither,” Wintrow said. He suddenly felt ashamed. “I'm only a boy with a bucket of water and a rag ”

“Not a priest of Sa?”

“Not any longer.”

“The road to the priesthood may wander, but once upon it, no man leaves it.” The slave's voice had taken on a teaching cadence, and Wintrow knew he heard ancient scripture.

“But I have been taken away from the priesthood.”

“No man can be taken away, no man can leave it. All lives lead towards Sa. All are called to a priesthood.”

Some moments later, Wintrow realized he was sitting very still in the dark, breathing. The candle had guttered out, and he had not been aware of it. His mind had followed the man's words, questioning, wondering. All men called to a priesthood. Even Torg, even Kyle Haven? Not all calls were heeded, not all doors were opened.

He did not need to tell the other man he was back. He was aware of him. “Go, priest of Sa,” the man said quietly in the darkness. “Work the small mercies you can, plead for us, beg comfort for us. And when you have the chance to do more, Sa will give you the courage. I know he will.” Wintrow felt the rag pressed back into his hand.

“You were a priest, too,” Wintrow asked softly.

“I am a priest. One who would not sway to false doctrine. No man is born to be a slave. That, I believe, is what Sa would never permit.” He cleared his throat and asked quietly, “Do you believe that?”

“Of course.”

In a conspiratorial voice, the man observed, “They bring us food and water but once a day. Other than that, and you, no one comes near us. If I had anything metal, I could work at these chains. It need not be a tool that would be missed. Anything metal you could find in any moment you are unwatched.”

“But . . . even if you were out of your chains, what could you do? One man against so many?”

“If I can sever the long chain, many of us could move.”

“But what would you do?” Wintrow asked in a sort of horror.

“I don't know. I'd trust to Sa. He brought you to me, didn't he?” He seemed to hear the boy's hesitation. “Don't think about it. Don't plan it. Don't worry. Sa will put opportunity in your path, and you will see it and act.” He paused. “I only ask that you beg that Kelo here be allowed to die on deck. If you dare.”

“I dare,” Wintrow heard himself reply. Despite the darkness and stench all around him, he felt as if a tiny light had been re-kindled inside him. He would dare. He would ask. What could they do to him for asking? Nothing worse than what they'd already done. His courage, he thought wonderingly. He'd found his courage again.

He groped for his bucket and rag in the darkness. “I have to go. But I will come back.”

“I know you will,” the other man replied quietly.

“So. You wanted to see me?”