Save me from what? he might have asked. If he'd been speaking to her.

He heard her get up and walk around his bow to stand in front of him. He casually turned his disfigured face away from her.

“Fine, then. Pretend to ignore me. I don't care if you answer me or not, but you have to listen to what I say. You are in danger, very real danger. I know you opposed me buying you from your family, but I made the offer anyway. They refused me.”

Paragon permitted himself a small snort of disdain. Of course, they had. He was the Ludluck family's liveship. No matter how deep his disgrace, they would never sell him. They had kept him chained and anchored to this beach for some thirty years, but they'd never sell him! Not to Amber, not to New Traders. They wouldn't. He had known that all along.

Amber continued doggedly. “I spoke directly to Amis Ludluck. It wasn't easy to get to see her. When we did speak, she pretended to be shocked that I would make the offer. She insisted you were not for sale, at any price. She said the same things that you did, that no Bingtown Trader family would sell their liveship. That it simply wasn't done.”

Paragon could not keep down the slow smile that gradually transfigured his face. They still cared. How could he have ever doubted that? In a way, he was almost grateful to Amber for making the ridiculous offer to buy him. Maybe now that Amis Ludluck had admitted to a stranger that he was still a part of her family, she'd be moved to visit him. Once Amis had visited him, it might lead to other things. Perhaps he would yet again sail the seas with a friendly hand on the wheel. His imagination went afar.

Amber's voice dragged him back ruthlessly. “She pretended to be distressed that there were even rumors of selling you. She said it insulted her family honor. Then she said-” Amber's voice suddenly went low, with fear or anger. “She said that she had hired some men to tow you away from Bingtown. That it might be better all around if you were out of sight and out of mind.” Amber paused significantly.

Paragon felt something inside his wizardwood chest squeeze tight and hard.

“So I asked her who she had hired.”

He lifted his hands quickly and stuffed his fingers in his ears. He wouldn't listen. She was going to play on his fears. So his family was going to move him. That didn't mean anything. It would be nice to be somewhere else. Maybe this time, when they hauled him out, they would block him up level. He was tired of always being at a list.

“She said it was none of my business.” Amber raised her voice. “Then I asked her if they were Bingtown Traders. She just glared at me. So then I asked her where Mingsley was going to take you to have you dismantled.”

Paragon began desperately to hum. Loudly. Amber went on talking. He couldn't hear her. He would not hear her. He plugged his ears more tightly and sang aloud, “A penny for a sweet-bun, a penny for a plum, a penny for the races, to see the ponies run. . . .”

“She threw me out!” Amber roared. “When I stood outside and shouted that I'd take it to the Bingtown Traders' Council, she set her dogs on me. They damn near caught me, too!”

“Swing me low, swing me high, swing me up into the sky,” Paragon sang the childish rhyme desperately. She was wrong. She had to be wrong. His family was going to move him somewhere safe. That was all. It didn't really matter who they hired to do it. Once they had him in the water, he'd go willingly. He would show them how easy it could be to sail him. Yes. It would be a chance to prove himself to them. He could show them that he was sorry for all the things they had made him do.

She wasn't speaking anymore. He slowed his singing, then let it die away to a hum. Silence, save for his own voice. Cautiously he unstopped his ears. Nothing, save the brush of the waves, the wind nudging sand across the beach and the crackling of Amber's fire. A question occurred to him and he spoke it aloud before he remembered he was not speaking to her.

“When I get to my new place, will you still come to see me?”

“Paragon. You can't pretend this away. If they take you away from here, they'll chop you up for wizardwood.”

The figurehead tried a different tack. “I don't care. It would be nice to be dead.”

Amber's voice was low, defeated. “I'm not sure you'd be dead. I'm afraid they'll separate you from the ship. If that doesn't kill you, they'll probably transport you to Jamaillia, and sell you off as an oddity. Or give you as a gift to the Satrap in exchange for grants and favors. I don't know how you'd be treated there.”

“Will it hurt?” Paragon asked.