“I won't,” Wintrow told him furiously. “And you will soon discover that if you cut one of us, we both bleed.” His father was struggling, but wordlessly and without much strength. Beside the ship, the white serpent trumpeted eagerly. Wintrow knew he had not the strength to prevail against those two men, let alone however many would muster to Kennit's command.

Kennit, however, was another matter. Swift as a snake striking, Wintrow seized the pirate captain by his shirt front. He jerked him forward, so that his crutch fell to the deck and he must depend on Wintrow or fall also. The sudden motion wrung a low cry of pain from the man. The mate sprang forward with a snarl.

“Back!” Wintrow warned him. “And stop those men. Or I'll kick him in that leg and spatter his rotten flesh all over the deck.”

“Wait! Release him!” The command came not from Sorcor, but the woman. The men halted uncertainly, looking from her to Sa'Adar. Wintrow did not waste time speaking to them. Kennit was all but fainting in Wintrow's grasp. Wintrow gave him another shake and growled up into the man's face. “You burn with fever and you stink of decay. As you stand here, on the one leg left to you, you may kill both my father and myself. But if you do, you will not possess my ship for more than a handful of days before you follow us down. And whoever you leave behind upon the Vivacia's decks will perish, too. The ship will see to that. So I suggest we find a bargain between us.”

Captain Kennit lifted his hands slowly, to clutch at Wintrow's wrists with both of his own. The boy didn't care. At the moment, he had it within his power to cause the man incredible pain, perhaps enough pain to kill him with the shock of it. The deep lines in the pirate's face told Wintrow that he, too, knew that. Beads of pain sweat shone on the pirate's brow. For a scant moment, Wintrow's eyes were caught by the odd wrist-brooch the man wore. A tiny face, like to the pirate's own, grinned up at him gleefully. It unsettled him. He looked up again at the man's face, met his eyes and stared deep into their coldness. They returned his gaze and seemed to look deep into the core of him. He refused to be cowed.

“Well? What say you?” Wintrow demanded, with the barest hint of a shake. “Do we bargain?”

The pirate's mouth scarcely moved as, in the softest whisper imaginable, Wintrow heard him say, “A likely urchin. Perhaps something useful can be made of him.”

“What?” Wintrow demanded furiously. Savage anger rose in him at the man's mockery.

An extremely strange look had come over the pirate's face. Kennit stared down at him in a sort of fascination. For an instant, he seemed to recognize him, and Wintrow, too, felt an uncanny sense of having been here, done this and spoken these words before. There was something compelling in Kennit's gaze, something that demanded to be acknowledged. The silence between them seemed to bind them together.

Wintrow felt a sudden prick against his ribs. The woman with the knife said, “Take Kennit gently, Sorcor. Boy, you have missed your chance to die swiftly. All you have bought is that you and your father will die together, each praying to be the first to go.”

“No. No, Etta, stand aside.” The pirate managed his pain well, never losing his educated diction. He still had to take a breath to speak on. “What is your bargain, boy? What do you have left to offer? Your ship, freely given?” Kennit shook his head slowly. “I already have her, one way or another. So I am intrigued. Just what do you think you have to trade with?”

“A life for a life,” Wintrow offered slowly. He spoke knowing that what he proposed was likely beyond his skill to perform. “I have been trained in healing, for I was once promised to Sa's priesthood.” He glanced down at the pirate's leg. “You need the skills I have. You know you do. I'll keep you alive. If you allow my father to live.”

“No doubt you'll want to cut more of my leg off for such a bet.” His question was contemptuous.

Wintrow looked up, searching the older man's eyes for acceptance. “You already know that must be done,” he pointed out to him. “You were simply waiting until the pain of the festering would make the pain of the removal seem like a relief.” He glanced down at the stump again. “You have nearly waited too long. But I am still ready to honor the bargain. Your life for my father's.”

Kennit swayed in his grasp and Wintrow found himself steadying the man. All about them, men were frozen in a tableau of watching and waiting. The map-faces had his father pressed up against the railing, that he might watch the serpent that waited so impatiently.

“It's a poor sort of bet,” Kennit observed weakly. “Up the ante. Your life as well.” He grinned a sickly grin. “So that if I win by dying, we all lose together.”

“You have a strange idea of winning,” said Wintrow.

“Then you include your crew in your wager,” Vivacia suddenly pointed out. “For if you take Wintrow's life from me, I shall see every one of you to a watery grave.” She paused. “And that is the only bargain I offer to any of you.”

“High stakes,” Wintrow observed quietly. “Nonetheless, I accept them if you do.”

“I am scarcely in a position to shake hands upon it,” the pirate pointed out. His tone was as cool and charming as ever, yet Wintrow could see the man's strength fading even as they spoke. A small smile bent his lips. “You do not try to make me agree that if I live, I give your ship back to you?”

It was Wintrow's turn to shake his head slowly. His smile was as small as Kennit's. “You cannot take her from me. Nor could I give her to you. That, I think, is something you must discover for yourself. But your word will suffice to bind me to the rest of our wager. And that of your mate and the woman,” he added. He looked past Kennit to the woman as he added, “And if my father comes to ill from the slaves aboard this ship, I shall take it to cancel the bet.”

“There are no slaves aboard this ship!” Sa'Adar declared pompously.

Wintrow ignored him. He waited until the woman gave a slow nod.

“If you have my captain's word, you have my word,” Sorcor added gruffly.

“Fine,” Wintrow declared. He turned his head and looked straight at Sa'Adar as he spoke. “Clear the way to my father's salon. I want the pirate captain in his bed there. And let my father go to Gantry's cabin and take some rest. I will be seeing to his ribs later.”

For just an instant, Sa'Adar's eyes narrowed at the boy. Wintrow was not sure what passed through the man's mind. He knew he could not trust the priest to abide by anyone's word, not even his own. The man would bear watching.

Slaves milled apart to open a channel to the aftercastle. Some moved grudgingly and others impassively. Some few looked at him and seemed to remember a boy with a bucket of water and a cool, moist rag. Wintrow watched his father led away to Gantry's cabin. He never turned to look back at his son, nor spoke a word.

Wintrow decided he should press his power, to see how far it would extend. He glanced at the map-faces that flanked Sa'Adar. “This deck is still a shambles,” he observed quietly. “I want the canvas and line cleared from it, and all mess scrubbed away. Then begin below decks. Free men have no excuse to live in squalor.”

The map-faces looked from him to Sa'Adar and back again.

Sorcor broke the impasse. “You can obey the boy when he tells you to do it, or you can obey me. The point is, it gets done and promptly.” He looked away from them to his own crew. The map-faces slowly moved away from Sa'Adar, to take up their directed tasks. The priest remained standing as he was. Sorcor was giving commands. “…and Gory on the wheel, Brig running the deck. I want anchor up and sail on as soon as you see the Marietta start to move. We'll all be heading back to Bull Creek. Move lively, now, show them how a sailor does his work.” He glanced again at the slowly dispersing map-faces and included the priest, who stood with his arms crossed on his chest. “Lively. There's work for all of you. Don't make Brig find it for you.”