When they reached the harbour, the coach rolled out onto a wharf and stopped beside a ship that appeared to be one of the kind normally used for coastal trade. Her half-furled sails were patched and her heavy railings showed signs of having been broken and repaired many times. Her sides were tarred, and she bore no name on her bow.

‘She’s a pirate, isn’t she?’ Kurik asked Stragen as they stepped down from the coach.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, she is,’ Stragen replied. ‘I own a fair number of vessels in that business, but how did you recognize her?’

‘She’s built for speed, Milord,’ Kurik said. ‘She’s too narrow in the beam for cargo capacity, and the reinforcing around her masts says that she was built to carry a lot of sail. She was designed to run other ships down.’

‘Or to run away from them, Kurik. Pirates live nervous lives. There are all sorts of people in the world who yearn to hang pirates just on general principles.’ Stragen looked around at the drizzly harbour. ‘Let’s go on board,’ he suggested. ‘There’s not much point in standing out here in the rain discussing the finer points of life at sea.’

They went up the gangway, and Stragen led them to their cabins below deck. The sailors slipped their hawsers, and the ship moved out of the rainy harbour at a stately pace. Once they were past the headland and in deep water, however, the crew crowded on more sail, and the questionable vessel heeled over and raced across the straits of Thalesia towards the Deiran coast.

Sparhawk went up on deck about noon and found Stragen leaning on the rail near the bow looking moodily out over the grey, rain-dappled sea. He wore a heavy brown cloak, and his hat-brim dripped water down his back.

‘I thought you didn’t like rain,’ Sparhawk said.

‘It’s humid down in that cabin,’ the brigand replied. ‘I needed some air. I’m glad you came up though, Sparhawk. Pirates aren’t very interesting conversationalists.’

They stood for a time listening to the creaking of rigging and ship’s timbers and to the melancholy sound of rain hissing into the sea.

‘How is it that Kurik knows so much about ships?’ Stragen asked finally.

‘He went to sea for a while when he was young.’

‘That explains it, I guess. I don’t suppose you’d care to talk about what you were doing in Thalesia?’

‘Not really. Church business, you understand.’

Stragen smiled. ‘Ah, yes. Our taciturn holy mother Church,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I think she keeps secrets just for the fun of it.’

‘We sort of have to take it on faith that she knows what she’s doing.’

‘You have to, Sparhawk, because you’re a Church Knight. I haven’t taken any of those vows, so I’m perfectly free to view her with a certain scepticism. I did give some thought to entering the Priesthood when I was younger, though.’

‘You might have done very well. The Priesthood or the army are always interested in the talented younger sons of noblemen.’

‘I rather like that,’ Stragen smiled. ‘“Younger son” has a much nicer sound to it than “bastard”, doesn’t it? It doesn’t really matter to me, though. I don’t need rank or legitimacy to make my way in the world. The Church and I wouldn’t have got along too well, I’m afraid. I don’t have the humility she seems to require, and a congregation reeking of unwashed armpits would have driven me to renounce my vows fairly early on.’ He looked back out at the rainy sea. ‘When you get right down to it, life didn’t leave me too many options. I’m not humble enough for the Church, I’m not obedient enough for the army and I don’t have the bourgeois temperament necessary for trade. I did dabble for a time at court, though, since the government always needs good administrators, legitimate or not, but after I’d beaten out the dull-witted son of a duke for a position we both wanted, he became abusive. I challenged him, of course, and he was foolish enough to show up for our appointment wearing chain-mail and carrying a broadsword. No offence intended, Sparhawk, but chain-mail has a few too many small holes in it to be a good defence against a well-sharpened rapier. My opponent discovered that fairly early on in the discussion. After I’d run him through a few times, he sort of lost interest in the whole business. I left him for dead – which proved to be a pretty good guess – and quietly removed myself from government service. The dullard I’d just skewered turned out to be distantly related to King Wargun, and our drunken monarch has very little in the way of a sense of humour.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘How did you manage to get on the wrong side of him?’

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘He wanted me to participate in that war going on down in Arcium, but I had pressing business in Thalesia. How’s that war going, by the way? I’ve been a little out of touch.’

‘About all we’ve had in the way of information are rumours. Some say that the Rendors have been exterminated; others say that Wargun has, and that the Rendors are marching north burning everything that’s the least bit flammable. Whichever rumour you choose to believe depends on your view of the world, I suppose.’ Stragen looked sharply aft.

‘Something wrong?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘That ship back there.’ Stragen pointed. ‘She looks like a merchantman, but she’s moving a little too fast.’

‘Another pirate?’

‘I don’t recognize her – and believe me, I’d recognize her if she were in my line of business.’ He peered aft, his face tight. Then he relaxed. ‘She’s veering off now.’ He laughed briefly. ‘Sorry if I seem a little over-suspicious, Sparhawk, but unsuspicious pirates usually end up decorating some wharf-side gallows. Where were we?’

Stragen was asking a few too many questions. It was probably a good time to divert him. ‘You were about to tell me about how you left Wargun’s court and set up one of your own,’ Sparhawk suggested.

‘It took a little while,’ Stragen admitted, ‘but I’m rather uniquely suited for a life of crime. I haven’t been the least bit squeamish since the day I killed my father and my two half-brothers.’

Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that.

‘Killing my father might have been a mistake,’ Stragen admitted. ‘He wasn’t really a bad sort, and he did pay for my education, but I took offence at the way he treated my mother. She was an amiable young woman from a well-placed family who’d been put in my father’s household as the companion of his ailing wife. The usual sort of thing happened, and I was the result. After my disgrace at court, my father decided to distance himself from me, so he sent my mother home to her family. She died not long afterwards. I suppose I could justify my patricide by claiming that she died of a broken heart, but as a matter of fact, she choked to death on a fish bone. Anyway, I paid a short visit to my father’s house, and his title is now vacant. My two half-brothers were stupid enough to join in, and now all three of them share the same tomb. I rather imagine that my father regretted all the money he’d spent on my fencing lessons. The expression on his face while he was dying seemed to indicate that he was regretting something.’ The blond man shrugged. ‘I was younger then. I’d probably do it differently now. There’s not much profit involved in randomly rendering relatives down to dog-meat, is there?’