“I can't read it, so don't bother,” she had declared angrily. She had been perched on a bench behind Kennit, gently massaging his shoulders as they talked. Now she abruptly stood and walked to the door of the chamber. Her hand was on the latch when Kennit's voice stopped her.

“Etta. Come back here.”

She turned to face him. For the first time since he had met her, Wintrow saw a flash of defiance in her eyes as she looked at Kennit. “Why?” she challenged him. “So I can see all the more clearly how ignorant I am?”

A spasm of anger passed over Kennit's face. Wintrow watched him smooth his features, then hold his hand out to the woman. “Because I wish you to,” he said, almost gently. She came back to him, but gazed at the book he picked up as if it were a hated rival. He held it out to her. “You should read this.”

“I can't.”

“I wish you to.”

She clenched her teeth. “I don't know how!” she raged. “I never had teachers or lessons. Not unless you count the men who taught me my trade before I was even a woman! I'm not like you, Kennit, I ...”

“Quiet!” he barked at her. Again, he held the book out to her. “Take this.” It was an order.

She snatched it from his hand and stood holding it as if it were a sack of offal.

Kennit shifted his attention to Wintrow. A very slight smile played about his face. “Wintrow will teach you to read it. Barring that, he will read it to you.” He glanced back at Etta. “He will have no other tasks aboard ship until he has completed this one. I don't care how long it takes.”

“The crew will laugh at me,” Etta protested.

Kennit narrowed his eyes. “Not for long. It's difficult to laugh with one's tongue cut out.” He took a breath, then smiled. “And if you wish to keep these lessons private, so be it. You may use these chambers. I will see that you have sufficient time alone and undisturbed to complete this task.” He gestured at the other plundered books scattered about the chamber. “There is much here for you to learn, Etta. Poetry and history as well as philosophy.” Kennit leaned forward. He captured Etta's hand and drew her closer. With his free hand, he stroked her hair back from her face. “Don't be stubborn. I wish you to enjoy this.” He shot Wintrow a peculiar, flickering glance. It was almost as if he wished to be sure he was watching them. “I hope it will bring great pleasure and learning to both of you.” He brushed his lips across her face. Etta closed her eyes to his touch. But Kennit's eyes were wide open, and watching Wintrow.

Wintrow was acutely uncomfortable. In some unnatural way, he felt included in the embrace. “You must excuse me,” he muttered, rising hastily from the gameboard. Kennit's voice stopped him at the door.

“You won't mind teaching Etta. Will you, Wintrow?” There was little query in his voice. He held the woman close to him and looked at Wintrow over her bent head.

Wintrow cleared his throat. “Not at all.”

“Good. See that you begin soon. Today, in fact.”

As Wintrow fumbled for an answer, he heard the now familiar cry. “Sail!” He felt a shock of relief. The thunder of running feet resounded throughout the ship. “On deck!” Kennit barked, and Wintrow sprang gratefully to obey. He flung himself out the door and ran while the pirate was still reaching for his crutch.

“There! There it is!” Vivacia was crying as Wintrow gained the foredeck. She scarcely needed to point. Even at this distance, the wind carried the taint of the slaver. The ship that hove into sight was the filthiest, most dilapidated vessel that Wintrow had ever seen. Her hull gleamed with slime where waste had slopped over her side. She rode low in the water, obviously overloaded. Her unevenly patched jib puckered with the wind. A sporadic gushing of water from her indicated that her bilge pumps were being manned, probably by slaves. Some small part of Wintrow reflected that it was probably a constant effort to keep the wallowing ship afloat. In her wake were visible the additional V's of serpents trailing her. The loathsome creatures seemed to sense the panic on board, for they lifted their great maned heads and looked back at the Marietta. There were at least a dozen of the beasts, their scaled bodies gleaming in the sun. Wintrow felt ill.

Vivacia leaned forward, her face avid. Her eagerness was so great, she almost seemed to pull the ship after her. “Look at them, look at them flee!” Her crooked fingers and outstretched arms reached after the ship.

As her crew sprang to set her sails for the pursuit, the wind put its power to their backs.