“Do it yourself.” Wintrow's voice came out flat and ugly. “No one will stop you.”

He shut the door behind himself. His grip on the tray was so tight his knuckles were white. His molars hurt where his teeth were clenched together. “Why?” he asked aloud of no one. More quietly, he added to himself, “How could that man be my father? I feel no bond to him at all.”

He felt a faint tremor of sympathy from the ship.

Just before he reached the galley door, Sa'Adar caught up with him. Wintrow had been aware of him following him since he left his father's room, but he had hoped to elude him. The priest became more frightening with every passing day. He had all but disappeared for a time, after Etta had marked him with her knife. Like some parasitic creature, he had burrowed deep into the holds of the ship, to work his poison silently among the freed men and women. There were fewer discontents as the days passed. Kennit and his crew treated them even-handedly. They were fed as well as any crew member, and the same level of effort was expected from them in caring for the ship.

When they reached Divvytown, it was announced to the former slaves that any who wished to disembark might take their freedom and go. Captain Kennit wished them well and hoped they would enjoy their new lives. Those who desired could request to stay aboard as crew, but they would have to prove themselves worthy and loyal sailors to Kennit. Wintrow had seen the wisdom in that; Kennit had effectively pulled Sa'Adar's teeth. Any slave who truly desired a life of piracy and had the skill to compete could claim one. The others had their freedom. Not many had taken the road to piracy.

The taller, older man stepped abruptly around Wintrow. Sa'Adar stood before him, blocking his passage. Wintrow glanced past him. He was alone. He wondered if his map-face guards had forsaken him to regain lives of their own. Wintrow had to turn his eyes up to look at Sa'Adar. The man's face was graven with discontent and fanaticism. His unkempt hair spilled onto his forehead; his clothes had not been washed in days. His eyes burned as he accused, “I saw you leave your father's room.”

Wintrow spoke civilly and ignored the question. “I'm surprised you are still aboard. I am sure there is much work for a priest of Sa in a place like Divvytown. The freed slaves would surely appreciate your assistance in beginning new lives there.”

Sa'Adar narrowed his dark eyes at Wintrow. “You mock me. You mock my priesthood, and in doing so you mock yourself and Sa.” His hand snaked out to seize Wintrow's shoulder. The boy still gripped his father's breakfast tray. He clutched it tightly to keep from spilling the crockery on the deck, but he stood his ground. “You forsake your priesthood and Sa in what you do here. This is a ship built of death, speaking with death's tongue. A follower of the Life God should not be servant to it. But it is not too late for you, lad. Recall who you are. Align yourself once more with life and right. You know this ship belongs by right to those who seized it for themselves. This vessel of cruelty and bondage could become a ship of freedom and righteousness.”

“Let me go,” Wintrow said quietly. He tried to squirm out of the madman's grip.

“This is my last warning to you.” Sa'Adar came very close to him, his breath hot and rancid in Wintrow's face. “It is your last chance to redeem yourself from your past errors and put your feet on the true path to glory. Your father must be delivered to judgment. If you are the instrument of that, your own part in the transgressions can be forgiven. I myself will judge it is so. Then this ship must be surrendered to those who rightfully claim her. Make Kennit see that. He is a sick man. He cannot withstand us. We rose and unseated one despot. Does he believe we cannot do it again?”

“I believe that if I spoke such words to him, it would be death for you. Death for myself as well. Sa'Adar. Be content with what he has given you: a new chance at life. Seize it and go on.” Wintrow tried to writhe away, but the man only tightened his grip. He bared his teeth in a snarl. Wintrow felt his self-control slipping. “Now get your hands off me and let me go.” Suddenly, vividly, he was recalling this man in the hold of the Vivacia. Freed of his chains, his first act had been to take Gantry's life. Gantry had been a good man, in his way. A better man than Sa'Adar had ever shown himself to Wintrow.

“I warn you-” the erstwhile priest of Sa began, but Wintrow's pent grief and banked anger suddenly overwhelmed him. He shoved the wooden tray hard into the man's gut. Taken by surprise, Sa'Adar staggered back, gasping for air. A part of Wintrow knew it was enough. He could have walked away. He was shocked when he dropped the tray, to drive two more blows into the man's chest. In detachment, he saw his right, and then his left fist connect. They were body punches, connecting with satisfyingly solid sounds. Even so, Wintrow was amazed to see the taller man give ground, stumbling back against the wall and sliding partially down it. It shocked him to discover his own physical strength. Worse, it felt good to knock the man down. He gritted his teeth, resisting the impulse to kick him.