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He interrupted her recitation wearily. ‘I have never cared for the Syrenian school of poetry. They speak too plainly. Poetry should not be doggerel. If you are going to memorize something, find something by Eupille or Vergihe.’ He shouldered deeper into the blankets.

He gave a low growl of content and surrendered himself to sleep.

‘I didn’t memorize it. I was reading it. I can read, Kennit. I can read.’

She expected him to be surprised. He was too tired. ‘That’s good. I’m glad Wintrow was able to teach you. Now we’ll see if he can teach you what is worth reading.’

She set the book aside, and blew out the lamp. It plunged the room into darkness. He heard the soft scuff of her feet as she came to the bed and crawled in beside him. He had to find somewhere else for her to sleep. Perhaps she could hang a hammock in the corner of the room.

‘Wintrow says I no longer need his help. Now that I have my letters, he says I should simply explore every manuscript or scroll that comes my way. Only practice will make me read swifter, or write a better hand. That I can do on my own.’

Kennit dragged his eyes open. This would not do.

Grudgingly he rolled over to face her. ‘But you would not want that. Surely you have enjoyed the hours you have spent in his company. I know he enjoys teaching you. He has been very honest with me about what a pleasure he takes in your company.’ He managed a warm chuckle.

‘The lad is quite enamoured of you, you know.’

She surprised him. She made no attempt to dissemble. ‘I know. He’s a sweet boy, and gently mannered. I understand now why you are so fond of him. He has given me a gift that I shall keep the rest of my life.’

‘Well. I hope you thanked him appropriately.’ All he wanted to do was sleep.

At the same time, he could not resist this conversation.

It sounded if perhaps his scheme might bear fruit.

She had called him a sweet boy. He had seen how Wintrow’s eyes followed her when she was on deck.

Had they acted on the impulse yet? Did she, perhaps, already carry an heir for his liveship?

He slid his hand down her arm as if he were caressing her, then set his hand flat on her belly.

The tiny skull still jutted from her navel.

Time, he cautioned his disappointment. These things took time.

If he penned them together long enough, they would breed.

So it had always worked with his family’s pigeons, goats, and pigs when he was a boy.

‘In truth, I don’t know how to thank him,’ Etta demurred.

The answer to that was obvious to Kennit, but he refrained from stating it baldly.

‘I think the lad is lonely. Show him that you have become fond of him and enjoy his company. That will please him. Think of what knowledge you have that he might benefit from, and teach him. That would seem an appropriate exchange to me.’

There. Was that too broad of a suggestion for her to take?

‘I know so little,’ she faltered after a moment. ‘What would Wintrow learn from someone like me?’

Kennit sighed and tried again. Delicately, he reminded himself.

Delicately. ‘Oh, I am sure you know far more of the world than he does. The boy has spent most of his life in a monastery. He may know much of letters and the arts, but he is woefully ignorant of more worldly skills. Your situation, of course, was just the opposite. So, share with him what life taught you. Teach the boy to be a man. He could have no better instructor.’ He stroked the length of her body.

She was silent. He could almost hear her thinking. ‘I would like to give him…Kennit, would you mind greatly if I gave him something of yours? Something from our cargo?’

This was not quite what he had in mind, but it was along the right path. Who knew where her gift giving might end, once she had started? ‘Do not hesitate,’ he encouraged her. ‘I am, as you know, very fond of the boy. I do not mind sharing with him what is mine.’

Wintrow came awake to his door opening. Someone came silently into his cabin and shut the door stealthily.

For a moment, fear paralysed him. He had slept better since Sa’Adar was no more, but he had always feared that some of the ex-slaves would blame him for their leader’s death.

He caught his breath and held it. He tried to edge silently over in his bed.

Maybe the first attack would miss him and he’d have a chance to escape.

Whoever it was crossed to the small desk in his room and set something down there.

‘I know you’re awake,’ Etta said quietly. ‘I heard you stop breathing. Get up and strike a light.’

‘It’s not morning,’ he protested in confusion. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I noticed that,’ she replied wryly. ‘I’ve come to teach you something. Some things are better learned privately. Night seemed the best time for the lessons I have come to teach.’

He groped for a candle, and then stepped out into the companionway to light it at the small lamp that burned there.

He brought it back to the cabin, shut the door and fixed the candle into a candlestick.

When he turned to face her, he was hard put not to gasp.

She wore leggings and a snug-fitting jerkin.

Never before had he seen a female form so blatantly displayed.

She ignored his stare. Instead, she walked around him slowly.

Her eyes ran up and down his body appraisingly.

The frankness of her gaze warmed his cheeks. She gave a small snort of displeasure.

‘Well. It’s plain you’ve worked hard, but not heavy. Still. You’re lithe and quick. I’ve marked that about you. And that may be more telling in this game than muscle or bulk.’

He blinked at her. ‘I still don’t know what this is about.’

‘Kennit suggested it. I told him I felt a debt to you for teaching me to read. He said I should return it in kind, by teaching you something I know well. Something of my more worldly skills, as he put it. I’ve come to do that. Take your shirt off.’

Slowly he obeyed her. He refused to think about what he was doing, or what her intentions were.

She smiled grimly. ‘You’re sweet and smooth as a little girl.

Not a hair to your chest yet. A little more muscle would please me, but that will come in time.

’ She went back to his table, and worked the latch on the flat box there.

As she opened the box, she repeated. ‘Some things are best learned in private. The skills of a man are among them. Were we more open with this, the crewmen would mock you. This way, you can pretend it was something you’ve always known how to do.

’ When she turned back to face him, she held a dagger in either hand.

‘These are for you, now. Kennit said I could give them to you. You should begin to wear one at your belt whenever we go into a port. After a time, start wearing it all the time, and sleep with it under your pillow. But first, you have to learn how to use it.’

She threw one at him suddenly. It was a toss, really, the weapon coming at him hilt first. He caught it awkwardly, but not squarely.

The blade bit into his thumb. She laughed at his exclamation.

‘First blood to me!’ A menacing light came into her eyes.

‘Grip that like you mean it and get ready. I’m going to teach you how to fight. ’

‘I don’t want to know how to fight,’ he protested in dismay. He retreated. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

She grinned merrily. ‘I’m very sure you won’t.

Don’t worry about it in any case.’ She had gone into a knife-fighter’s crouch, her blade at the ready.

She swayed gracefully, and transferred the knife from hand to hand almost more swiftly than he could follow.

Suddenly, she came at him, menacing as a tigress, her blade leading the way.

‘Just concentrate on keeping me from hurting you. That is always the first lesson.’