“I do, do I? Well, if I belong to myself, why are you so intent on buying me?” Now he teased her, hooting like a boy at his own joke.

Brashen found nothing humorous about it. What business had she with the liveship? “No one can buy a liveship, Paragon,” he corrected him gently. “A liveship is a part of a Trader's family. You could not sail without a family member aboard you.” In a quieter voice, he added, “It isn't even good for you to be out here by yourself so much.”

“I'm not by myself, not anymore,” the figurehead protested. “Amber comes out almost every night to sleep aboard me. And every ten-day, she takes a holiday and spends the whole afternoon with me. If she buys me, she won't sail me. She's going to just have me leveled up, and she's going to create some cliff-gardens over there, and . . .”

“Paragon!” Brashen rebuked him almost sternly. “You belong to the Ludlucks. They can't sell you and Amber can't buy you. Nor are you some great flowerpot to be decorated with vines. Only a cruel person would tell you such things.” He glared at the slender figure sitting silently in the shadows.

Amber flowed to her feet. She advanced on him, shoulders squared, as if she were a man about to challenge him to a fight. Her voice was tight but even as she said, “If what you claim is true, then the cruelty originates with the Ludlucks. They have left him here to brood and rot, all these years. Now, when times are changing and it seems that all of Bingtown can be bought, they entertain offers from New Traders. They would not make Paragon into a 'great flowerpot.' No. They'd chop him up into bits and sell him off as trinkets and curiosities.”

Brashen was struck dumb with horror. Instinctively he reached out a hand to the ship's silvery hull in a calming gesture. “That can't happen,” he assured him in a husky voice. “All of the Traders would rise up in arms before they'd let such a thing happen.”

Amber shook her head. “You've been gone a long time from Bingtown, Brashen Trell.” She turned and kicked at the sand. Sparks flew up from the fading coals of a campfire. She stooped and, a moment later, tiny flames blossomed. Brashen watched in silence as she awakened the fire with twigs and then larger sticks of wood. “Sit down,” she invited him in a weary voice. In a conciliatory tone, she added, “This has begun badly. Actually, I have looked forward to your returning to Bingtown. I had hoped that you and Althea might work together to aid me in this. She has grudgingly agreed that my acquiring Paragon might be the best thing for him. If you join your voice to hers, perhaps we could all go to the Ludlucks and make them see reason.” She lifted her gaze to his disapproving stare. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

He sat, lowering himself stiffly to perch on a driftwood log. He tried to keep his voice conversational as he said, “It is hard for me to believe Althea would ever support the sale of a liveship.”

“I but pointed out the facts to her and she concurred.” In the firelight, she rolled her eyes toward Paragon. The small jerk of her head was a plain indication she didn't want to discuss details in front of the ship. Curiosity burned in Brashen, but he recognized the wisdom. Paragon was in a cheery mood tonight. There was no sense in awakening the quarrelsome side of him. For now, the best course was to humor them both and collect what information he could. “So. I know Paragon is happy to see you and will want to know all of your adventures. How long have you been back in Bingtown?” Amber went on in a natural voice.

“We just anchored up today,” he replied. A silence fell after his words. The oddness of the situation swept over him. Amber was conducting this as if she were a Bingtown matron hosting a tea.

“And will you be staying long?” she prodded him.

“I don't know. I came back to tell Althea I had seen Vivacia. Pirates have captured her. I don't know if Kyle and Wintrow are alive. I don't know if any of the crew is alive.” The words spilled from him before he could consider the wisdom of sharing this information.

There was true concern in Amber's voice as she asked, “Althea knows this? How did she react?”

“She is devastated, of course. Tomorrow she goes to the Bingtown Council to seek their aid in recovering the ship. The damnable part of it is that this Kennit most likely doesn't want a ransom. He wants to keep the ship. If Wintrow and Kyle are still alive, he'll probably have to keep them as well to keep the ship sane-”

“Pirates.” Paragon's voice was almost dreamy save for the terror in it. “I know about pirates. They kill and kill and kill on your decks. The blood soaks in, deeper and deeper, until your wood is so full of lives you cannot even find your own. Then they chop off your face and open your seacocks and you go under. The worst part is, they leave you to live.” His voice broke into a boyish treble before it tremored into silence.