Sorcor came bounding across the deck toward them. Evidently, the Marietta had caught up swiftly, once she put her mind to it. She had grappled the slaver from the other side. The embattled crew never had a chance. The drawn blade in Sorcor's hand dripped while his tattooed face shone with savage satisfaction. “Just about done here, sir!” he greeted Kennit affably. “Just a few live ones left up on the poop. Not a real fighter amongst them.” A wild yell punctuated his comment, followed by a flurry of splashing. “And one less now,” Sorcor remarked cheerily. “I've got some men opening hatch covers. It's a stinking hole belowdecks. I think they have got as many bodies chained up down there as they do live men. We're going to have to take the survivors off fast. This ship is making water like a sailor pissing beer.”

“Do we have room for them all, Sorcor?”

The stocky pirate waggled his eyebrows in a shrug. “Most likely. It'll crowd both our ships, but when we rejoin the Crosspatch, we can transfer a lot of them to her. I'd say that about fills us up, though.”

“Excellent.” Kennit nodded almost absently. “We'll be making for Divvytown, after we pick up the Crosspatch. Time to let out the word as to how well we've done.”

“I'd say so,” Sorcor grinned.

A blood-smudged pirate hastened up to the group. “Begging your pardons, sirs, but the cook wants to yield. He's holed up in the galley.”

“Kill him,” Kennit told the man in annoyance.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but he says he knows something that would make it worth our while to let him live. Says he knows where there's treasure.”

Kennit shook his head in wordless disgust.

“If he knew where there was treasure, why wasn't he going after it instead of hauling slaves in this tub?” Etta demanded sarcastically.

“Don't know, ma'am,” the sailor apologized. “He's an old 'un. Missing an eye and a hand. Claims he used to sail with Igrot the Bold. That's what got us thinking. Everyone knows that Igrot knocked off the Satrap's treasure barge and that lot was never seen again. Maybe he does know. . . .”

“I'll take care of it, Captain,” Sorcor promised in irritation. “Where's he at?” he demanded of the hand.

“Hold on a moment, Sorcor. Perhaps I'll have a word with this cook.” Kennit sounded both intrigued and suspicious.

The young pirate looked uncomfortable now. “He's holed up in the galley, sir. We got the door half kicked down, but he's got a lot of knives and choppers in there. Pretty good at throwing them, too, for an old man with one eye.”

Wintrow saw a change come over Kennit's face. “I'll talk to him. Alone. You see to getting the slaves up and out of the holds. She's starting to list.”

Sorcor was used to taking orders. He didn't hesitate, just bobbed his head and turned. He was already barking orders as he strode away. Wintrow became aware of slaves. They were standing on the deck in listless groups, blinking at the sunlight. Coated with filth, shivering in the shock of the fresh air, they looked bewildered at the sudden change. The smell and the dazed faces suddenly took him back to the night the slaves emerged from Vivacia's hold. A wave of pity swept over him. Some of them were so feeble they had to be helped to stand. Slave after slave emerged from the holds. He looked at them, and knew the ineffable Tightness of what Kennit had done. To eliminate this misery was right. But his method of achieving it ...

“Wintrow!”

There was a spark of annoyance in Etta's voice. Wintrow was standing, staring while Kennit was moving swiftly and with purpose across the deck. The list to the ship was becoming more perceptible every moment. There was no time to waste. He hurried after them.

As he crossed the deck, he heard the roaring of serpents, followed by a sudden splashing. They were throwing bodies to the creatures. An appreciative murmur and laughter rose from the watching pirates as the serpents squabbled over the feed.

“Leave off that!” he heard Sorcor bellow. “They'll have all the dead soon enough. Get the slaves out of the hold and onto the other ships. Swiftly, now! I want to cut this wreck loose as soon as we can.”

The galley was in a low deckhouse. Blades drawn, a cluster of pirates huddled around the door, unaware of Kennit's approach. As Wintrow watched, one kicked the barricaded door. It brought a volley of curses from the man cornered within and then a blade appeared in the small opening. “I'll cut the first man what tries to come through. Get your captain. I'll yield to him, and him alone.” The mocking pirates only crowded closer. They reminded Wintrow of a pack of dogs with a cat up a tree.