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‘I think you are rushing yourself,’ she complained.

She frowned at him. ‘Only the night before last, you still had a touch of fever. You probably feel better, Kennit, but you are far from healthy. Your bed is the place where you belong, for a time yet.’ She came to the bed and began to fuss with his pillows, as if she would make him lie down again.

How dare she? Had she completely forgotten who he was and what she was?

‘My bed is my place?’ His hand shot out, to trap her wrist. Before she could react, he jerked her close to him, his other hand seizing her jaw.

He turned her face to meet his eyes. ‘Don’t ever tell me what I am healthy enough to do!

’ he reminded her severely. The closeness of her, her quick breath against his face and her wide eyes, suddenly stirred him.

She took in a quick fearful breath and triumph coursed through him.

This was right. Before he could take command on his deck again, he’d have to take command in his own chamber.

This woman must not be allowed to think she was in charge.

He hooked one arm about her waist and pulled her close.

With his free hand, he seized the front of her skirt and hiked it up.

She gasped as he pulled her against him.

‘My bed is where you belong, wench,’ he told her in a voice suddenly gone husky.

‘If you say so,’ she murmured submissively. Her eyes were black and huge. Her breath was coming very fast. He could almost hear the rapid beating of her heart. There was no resistance left in her as he yarded her onto the bunk and pushed her down.

The sun was just going down as the Springeve sailed into Divvytown’s so-called harbour.

Brashen looked at the sprawling settlement with amazement.

When he had been here last, years ago, there had been a few huts, a wharf and some shacks that passed for taverns.

Now, candlelight shone through dozens of windows, and the brackish anchorage boasted a small forest of masts.

Even the smells of squalor that hung in the air had become thicker.

If all the scattered pirate settlements he had seen were gathered into one place, they would equal or possibly exceed the population of Bingtown.

They were growing, too. If they were mustered under one leader, they would be a force to reckon with.

Brashen wondered if that was the potential this Kennit, would-be King of the Pirates, also saw.

If he gained such power, what would he do with it?

Captain Finney had seemed to think him mostly a braggart; Brashen fervently hoped it was so.

Then, as they passed slowly down the long line of anchored vessels, Brashen saw a familiar profile limned against the setting sun.

His heart turned over in his chest then sank inside him.

The Vivacia rocked at anchor there. At her masthead, the Raven flag fluttered fitfully in the evening breeze.

Brashen tried to convince himself that it was only a ship similarly outfitted and with a similar figurehead.

Abruptly Vivacia gave her head a shake, then reached up to smooth her hair.

It was a liveship all right, and she was unmistakably Vivacia.

This Kennit had captured her. If the rumours were true, that meant that every one of her crewmen had been slaughtered.

He squinted at the silhouetted ship, trying to make out more detail.

A skeleton crew moved about leisurely on her decks.

He did not recognize anyone; would he have recognized any of them, in this light, at this distance?

He did not know. Then he spotted a small slender figure coming onto the foredeck.

The figurehead turned to exchange greetings.

He knitted his brow. The way the sailor moved seemed familiar.

Althea! No, he told himself. It could not be.

He had last seen Althea in Candletown. She had declared she would find work on a Bingtown bound ship.

Vivacia had not been in the harbour. She could not be on the ship.

It was impossible. Save that he was familiar with the strange ways of winds, tides and ships, and how unlikely paths always seemed to cross in the strangest ways.

He watched the slender figure come to the bow rail and lean on it.

He stared, hoping for some gesture, some sign that would let him know it was or was not Althea.

He got none. Instead, the longer he watched the more convinced he became that it was she.

So did Althea cock her head when she listened to the ship.

Thus did she lift her face to the wind. Who else would converse so familiarly with the figurehead?

By what chance, he knew not, but the figure on the foredeck was Althea.

Brashen’s emotions churned. What should he do?

He was one man alone. He had no way to make his presence known to her or the ship.

Anything he tried now would likely just get him killed, and no one in Bingtown would ever know what had become of any of them.

His dull fingernails bit right through his callused palms. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to think what, if anything, he could do.

Captain Finney spoke softly from close behind him. ‘Sure you don’t know her?’

Brashen managed a shrug. His voice was too tight. ‘I could have seen her before…I don’t know. I was just marvelling. A liveship, taken by a pirate. That’s a first.’

‘No it ain’t.’ Finney spat over the side.

‘Legend says that Igrot the Bold took a liveship and used it for years. That’s how he managed to take the Satrap’s treasure ship.

Fleet as it was, it couldn’t outrun a liveship.

After that, Igrot lived like a gentleman.

The best of everything for himself – women, wine, servants, clothes.

Lived very elegant, they say. He had an estate in Chalced and a palace on Jade Island.

It has been said that when Igrot knew he was dying, he hid his treasure and scuttled his liveship.

If he couldn’t take the damn thing with him, he was going to be sure no one else got it. ’

‘I’ve never heard that before.’

‘Probably not. It’s not a commonly told tale. They say he kept it painted and made it keep still so no one would know what he had.’

Brashen shrugged stiffly. ‘Sounds to me like he had a regular ship, but just lied about it to make people think it was a liveship. Maybe,’ he added in a more conciliatory tone.

He glanced about the deck to be sure they were alone, then shifted the conversation abruptly.

‘Cap. Remember what we talked about, months ago? About how maybe you’d like to make a little side-run into Bingtown if I knew of anyone who could make you a good price on some choice bits? ’

Finney gave a short, guarded nod.

‘Well, I’ve just been thinking. If you were to buy that portrait from Faldin, well, the place it would sell best is Bingtown.

That’s where folk would know what it was and how much it was worth.

’ He crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing.

He tried to look like a man well pleased with himself.

‘And that’s also where a man could get into the hottest water, selling such a thing,’ Finney pointed out suspiciously.

Brashen affected a casualness he did not feel.

‘Not if you knew the right people and pitched it correctly. Now, if you came to town, and I hooked you up with the right go-between, why, you could make it seem like you were doing a good deed. Just bringing the portrait home, with a sad tale of what you knew. Leave it to the go-between that such a kind-hearted trader captain deserved a hefty reward for such a turn.’

Finney moved a quid of cindin in his lip. ‘Maybe. But the trip wouldn’t be worth it just to unload one piece.’

‘Of course not! I’m just betting that would be the plum piece of the deal. It might bring you a lot more than you’d imagine.’

‘Maybe a lot more trouble than I’d imagined too.’ Finney scowled into the sunset. After a time, he asked, ‘What else do you suppose might go there?’

Brashen shrugged. ‘Anything Bingtown can’t make for itself or get from further north. Think spices, teas…Jamaillian spirits and wines. Exotic stuff from the southlands, or good Jamaillian antiques. That sort of thing.’

‘You know of someone who would be the go-between.’

Brashen tilted his head. ‘I’ve thought of a likely candidate.’ He gave a brief chuckle. ‘If all else failed, I suppose I could try doing it myself.’

Finney wordlessly held out his hand. Brashen took it and in the clasp the deal was sealed.

He felt a deep sense of relief. He had a way to carry word back to Bingtown.

Surely Ronica Vestrit would have the wherewithal to rescue both her daughter and her ship from these pirates.

He glanced back at the Vivacia and Althea apologetically.

This flimsy plan was the best rescue effort he could offer.

He prayed Althea and the ship would both be well until then.

Brashen swore suddenly and vehemently as he realized his error.

‘What’s the matter?’ Finney demanded.

‘Nothing. Just got a splinter under my nail. I’ll put the boys to sanding this railing tomorrow.’ He turned away from his captain and made a pretence of examining his hand.

In the distance, the slim silhouette of a young man urinated off the side of the Vivacia.