He gave a small sigh. “They wish to be slaves. Put them with the others to be ransomed. Sep Kordor bought them once: he may as well buy them again.” Inspiration struck Kennit. “Whatever they bring in ransom, we will divide amongst those who have chosen freedom. It will give them a better start.” Etta nodded in slow consternation before she herded her charges away. Kennit turned to Wintrow at his side. “You see, I do not force people to my way of thinking. I won't force you, nor Vivacia. I think you are already coming to see that I am not the wicked pirate you supposed me to be.”

As they strolled toward the rope chair that would return Kennit to the Vivacia's boat, he asked Wintrow, “Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be captain of your own ship? A sweet little vessel like this, perhaps?”

Wintrow looked around before he answered. “She's a lovely ship. But, no, my heart does not lie in that direction. Given my freedom, I'd still return to my monastery.”

“Your freedom? Wintrow! The tattoo on your face means nothing to me. Do you still consider yourself a slave?” Kennit feigned astonishment.

“No. A tattoo does not make me a slave,” Wintrow agreed. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. “It is my blood that binds me to Vivacia almost as firmly as chains. The bond between us grows stronger with every passing day. I think that perhaps, I could still leave her and find completeness in a life dedicated to Sa. But that would be a selfish act, one that would leave her forever hollowed by my absence. I do not think I could find serenity, knowing that I had left her.”

Kennit cocked his head. “And you do not think she could ever accept me in your stead? For I only want what will make the both of you happy. Your monastery for you, if it can be managed without destroying the ship's spirit.”

Wintrow shook his head slowly. “It would have to be someone of my blood. Someone who shares a family tie with the ship. Only that could keep her from going mad at the abandonment.”

“I see,” Kennit said pensively. “Well. That does leave us in a fix, doesn't it?” He patted the boy's shoulder comfortingly. “Perhaps I shall be able to think of something that would make us all happy.”

THE WATER MOVING AGAINST THE HULL MADE A PLEASANT SOUND. VIVACIA was underway once more, flanking the Crosspatch with Marietta. Kennit wanted all three ships well away from the ambush site. Kennit had told Etta that ransom was more swiftly paid when preceded by uncertainty. The Crosspatch would simply disappear for a time. He would take the ship to Divvytown first, to show off his prize and his captives. In a month or two, he would arrange for word to be sent to Chalced that the ship and the survivors could be ransomed. The cargo he would dispose of himself. Etta had already helped herself to some of it. She smoothed the fabric that lay across her lap, marveling yet again at its texture before putting more thread on her needle.

The night was dark around the ships now. Kennit himself was on the wheel. Etta tried not to be annoyed at that. After all the time he had spent talking with the ship earlier today, it seemed as if he could rest now. It had been a long day for all of them. She herself had sewn up Sorcor's arm. The big man had sat still, teeth clenched in a grin of pain as she closed the long slash up his arm. She didn't enjoy such work, but at least he hadn't been screaming like poor Opal.

They had brought Opal over to the Vivacia to heal him. He'd struggled as they pinned him down on the foredeck as if they were going to flog him. A sword cut had laid open his cheek and nose to the bone. The gash had to be stitched closed if he was ever going to eat normally again. Evening was falling; they hung a lantern and the light fell upon him in a circle. There had been a surgeon on the Crosspatch among the slaves. At Wintrow's earnest request, Kennit had sent for him as well. Opal would not allow anyone to touch the wound. When Wintrow tried to hold the flesh together for the surgeon to stitch, the boy had shrieked and thrown his head about so wildly they had given it up. The surgeon had decided they must bleed him to ease the force of the pain, and this he had done until Opal had subsided. Etta had watched for a time whilst Kennit had spent the time explaining the process to the ship. The pain the boy endured was necessary: he could not be healed without it. Kennit compared it to the necessary killing he did in his effort to rid these waters of slavers. Wintrow had scowled at the words, but his task of catching Opal's blood had kept him busy. He had been very conscientious about it, insisting that canvas be put down thickly to keep even a drop from staining the liveship's decks. Eventually Opal's hoarse cries of pain subsided to muted little sighs and they took up their needles to make the boy's face whole again. He would never be as pretty as he had been, but he would be able to eat. It had been Opal's first time to be part of a boarding party. Bad luck had caught him, that was all.