“Prosperity.” Reyn said the word with an overtone of amusement. “Malta and I have far better prospects than mere prosperity. Of that, Mother, I assure you.”

They came to a divergence in the corridor. Jani paused there. “You will go to the west corridor and open the new door.” Her tone stopped just short of making it a question.

“I will,” Reyn replied, almost absently.

“Good. When you are finished there, come to me in my drawing room. I will have a selection of appropriate gifts from which you may choose. Shall I have the tailors come and bring their newest cloths with them?”

“Yes. Certainly.” He frowned in distracted thought. “Mother, you promised I would not turn Malta's head with costly gifts. Am I permitted to bring the simple tokens that any young man may offer a maiden? Fruit and flowers and sweets?”

“I cannot see how they could object to such things as those.”

“Good.” He nodded to himself. “Could you have baskets prepared for me that I could offer each day of my visit?” He smiled to himself. “The baskets could be trimmed with ribbons and soft scarves in bright colors. And a bottle or two of excellent wine in each ... I do not think that would be going too far.”

His mother smiled wryly to herself. “You may wish to proceed cautiously, my son. Ronica Vestrit will tell you plainly enough if you overstep the boundaries she has set. I do not think you should hasten to cross wills with her.”

Reyn was already walking away from her. He glanced back, a quick flash of copper eyes. “I shall not hasten to cross her, Mother. But neither shall I hasten to avoid it.” He continued walking away from her as he spoke. “I'm going to marry Malta. The sooner they get used to me, the easier it will be for all of us.”

Behind him, in the darkness, Jani folded her arms. Obviously, he had never met Ronica Vestrit. A glint of amusement came into her eyes as she wondered if her son's stubbornness would not find its equal in that of the Bingtown Trader.

Reyn paused. “Have you sent a bird to tell Sterb of my courtship?”

Jani nodded, pleased that he had asked. Reyn did not always get along with his stepfather. “He wishes you well. Little Kys says you must not marry until winter, when they return to Trehaug. And Mando says you owe him a bottle of Durjan brandy. Something about a bet you made, long ago, that your brothers would marry before you.”

Reyn was already striding away. “A wager I am pleased to lose,” he called back over his shoulder.

Jani smiled after him.

CHAPTER FOUR - Bonds

BRIG'S HANDS RESTED ON THE SPOKES OF VIVACIA'S WHEEL, CASUALLY COMpetent. The pirate's face had the distant look of a man completely aware of the ship as his larger body. Wintrow paused a moment to size him up before approaching. He was a young man, no more than twenty-five. His chestnut hair was confined under a yellow kerchief marked with the Raven insignia. His eyes were gray, and the old slave tattoo on his face had been over-needled with a dark blue raven that almost obscured it. Despite his youth, Brig had a decisive air that made even older men jump to his orders. Kennit had chosen well in putting him in charge of the Vivacia until he recovered.

Wintrow took a deep breath. He approached the older man with respect but dignity. He needed Brig to recognize him as a man. Wintrow waited until the man's eyes swung to meet his own. Brig looked at him silently. Wintrow spoke softly but clearly. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Do you?” Brig challenged. His eyes flicked away, up to his lookout man.

“I do,” Wintrow replied firmly. “Your captain's leg gets no better. How much longer will it take us to get to Bull Creek?”

“Day and a half,” Brig told him, after brief consideration. “Maybe two.” The expression on his face never seemed to change.

Wintrow nodded to himself. “I think we can wait that long. There are supplies I'd like to have before I try to cut. I hope we can get them there. In the meantime, I could keep him stronger if I had better supplies. When the slaves rose up against the crew, they ransacked much of the ship. The medical chest has been missing since then. It would be very useful to me now.”

“No one's owned up to taking it?”

Wintrow gave a small shrug. “I've asked but no one has answered. Many of the freed slaves are reluctant to talk to me. I think Sa'Adar is turning them against me.” He hesitated. That sounded self-pitying. He would not gain Brig's respect by whining. He went on more judiciously. “Maybe they do not realize what they have. Or in the confusion of the storm and the uprising, someone may have taken it, discarded it, and it may have gone overboard.” Wintrow took a breath and got back to his intent. “There were things in it that could make your captain more comfortable.”