He broke the kiss. He drew her closer but did not embrace her. For just an instant, he rested his chin on top of her head. His voice was deep. “You're right. I know you're right. We're better as we are.” He sighed heavily. “That doesn't make it any easier for me.” He released her hand.

She could not think of anything to say to that. It was not easy for her, either, but to tell him that would only make it harder for both of them. He'd said she was a tough woman. She proved it by walking to the door. “Thank you,” she said softly at the door. He made no reply and she went out.

She passed Clef standing in the companionway. He was kicking one bare heel against the wall and chewing his lower lip. She frowned at his idleness. “Peeking at keyholes isn't right,” she told him severely as she passed.

“Neither is kiss'n' ther cap'n,” he replied insolently. With a grin and a flash of dirty soles, he was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - Oracle

I DON'T LIKE THIS. VIVACIA SPOKE SOFTLY, BUT HER WORDS THRUMMED through him.

Wintrow was stretched belly down on the foredeck, letting the early sun touch him. He had discarded his blanket during the muggy night, but his shirt was wrapped around his head. The new warmth of the sun soothed the ache in his arm, but the light from it nagged his headache into wakefulness. He was resigned to it. He had to wake up soon anyway. How he longed to just lie still. All the others seemed long recovered from the injuries taken at Divvytown. He felt a weakling that a couple of blows from a club still bothered him. He pushed away the idea that his injuries hurt more because he had killed the man who had given them. That was a silly superstition.

He rolled over onto his back. Even through the shirt and his eyelids, the light danced on his eyeballs. Sometimes it seemed he could see things in the patterns. He clenched his eyelids, and green flashes snaked across his vision like darting serpents. He loosened his eyes and the color became paler and took the shape of sunbursts.

The days of high summer were dwindling now, falling away one after another as the year inexorably carried them toward autumn. So much to have happened in the passing of a handful of months. When they had left Divvytown, half a dozen motley structures, constructed of wood old and new, had already risen from the ashes. A wooden tower as tall as a ship's mast was already manned, while one of stone took slow shape around it. The folk there called Kennit king. It was a term of affection as much as title. “Ask the king,” they would advise one another, and nod to the tall peg-legged man with the scroll of papers always tucked under his arm. Their last sight of Divvytown had been the Raven flag flapping boldly from the flagstaff atop the tower. “Here To Stay” was embroidered beneath the bird's outstretched wing and rapacious beak.

Vivacia was now anchored, fore and aft, in Deception Cove off Others Island. The tide was swelling in around them. Kennit had said this was the only safe anchorage of the island. When the tide was fullest, he and Wintrow would leave the ship and row in to the shore. They were here to seek the oracle. Kennit had insisted that Wintrow walk the Treasure Beach.

Farther offshore, the silhouette of the Marietta was just visible in a drifting fog bank. She would stand off and watch them, coming closer only if they appeared to need aid. The peculiar weather had everyone unsettled. To look out to sea was like peering across a distance into a different world. The Marietta ghosted in and out of the mist; here in the cove, all was breathless warm sunlight. The silence cupped Wintrow's ears and made him sleepy.

“I do not like being here,” the ship insisted.

Wintrow sighed. “Neither do I. Some find them exciting, but I have always feared omens and portents. At the monastery, some of the acolytes would play with crystals and seeds, casting them out and reading what they foretold. The priests tolerated it, more or less. A few were amused by it, saying we would learn better as we grew. At least one said we'd be better off playing with knives. My instincts led me to agree with him. All of us stand on the edge of the future; why venture off the precipice? I believe there are true oracles, who can peer ahead and see where one is destined to tread. But I also think that there is a danger in-”

“Not that,” the ship said sharply. “I know nothing of that. I remember this place.” A note of desperation crept into her voice. “I remember this place, but I know I've never been here. Wintrow. Is it your memory? Have you been here before?”

Wintrow spread his hands flat on the deck, opening himself to her. He tried to be comforting. “I have never been here, but Kennit has. You have become close with him. Perhaps it is his memories that are mingling with yours now.”