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‘When all this is over, I’ll have an answer for you.

’ She made the promise, knowing she had no idea what that answer would be.

Frantically, she pushed that worry to the back of her mind.

Other things, she told herself, there were other, more pressing matters to deal with, even if those other matters did not make her heart shake as this had.

She tried to quench her quick breathing and the yearning of her flesh.

‘What happens next?’ she asked, gesturing towards the muted lights.

He countered her question with another question. ‘Of those on board, who do you trust most? Name me two names.’

That was effortless. ‘Amber and Clef.’

His short laugh was rueful. ‘And my answer the same. Who do you trust least?’

Again she did not need to pause. ‘Lavoy and Artu.’

‘Then they are off the list of those we take ashore. We won’t take our problems with us, nor leave them unattended on the ship.’

We. She liked the sound of that. ‘Who are we taking then?’

He didn’t hesitate. ‘Jek. Cypros and Kert. I’d like to take one or two of your former slaves, to give the impression that we’re a mixed crew.

You’ll have to choose them.’ He paused, thinking.

‘I’m leaving Lop with Amber. I’ll let Haff know that he is to back her if she asks him to.

I’ll give her the word that if there’s any trouble at all, from inside or outside the ship, Lop is to row Clef ashore to find us. ’

‘You’re expecting trouble from Lavoy?’

He made a disparaging noise. ‘Not expecting. Planning for all possibilities.’

She lowered her voice. ‘It can’t go on like this. What are you going to do about him?’

He spoke slowly. ‘Let him make the first move. And then, when it’s over, I’ll see what’s left. Maybe I can make a serviceable deckhand out of it.’

Dawn came, a disappointment. A high yellow sun shredded the mist to wandering ghosts.

The clouds blew in, covering the sun’s face, and a miserable chill rain lanced down.

Brashen ordered out the ship’s gig. While it was made ready, he stared at Divvytown.

He scarcely recognized it. The elevated light of the night before resolved itself as a watchtower.

The wharves were in a new location, backed by warehouses built of fresh lumber.

On the edges of the town, the shells of some burned-out structures remained, as if a spreading fire had created the rebuilt town.

He doubted it had been an accident; the watchtower spoke of people determined not to be taken unawares again.

He grinned wolfishly. It would probably upset them to find a strange vessel in their harbour.

He considered waiting aboard for whoever they might send out to question him, but decided against it.

Bold and brash as his name he would be; he would assume a welcome and fellowship, and see where it got him.

He took a deep breath. His own grin surprised him.

He should be exhausted. He’d been up most of the night, and risen again before dawn, just for the pleasure of rousting Lavoy out of bed.

He’d given the mate his orders. He was to keep order aboard the ship, and not permit the crew to leave it or converse with any folk who came out to the ship.

Above all, calm was to prevail. Clef and the other ship’s boat were at Amber’s disposal.

Before Lavoy could dare to ask why, Brashen had added that she had her separate orders, and Lavoy was not to interfere with them.

In the meantime, he wanted all the crew’s bedding brought up on deck and aired, the sleeping areas smoked to drive out lice and other vermin, and the galley given a good scrubbing.

It was work calculated to keep both mate and men busy, and they both knew it.

Brashen stared Lavoy down until the first mate grudgingly acknowledged his orders. Then he had turned on his heel.

To Amber and Paragon he had given his most difficult commands.

The ship was to keep still and silent, to pretend he was an ordinary wooden vessel.

Amber was to help him in this ruse however she could.

He trusted her to pick up the meaning between his words: let nothing upset the ship. Allow no one to provoke him.

Brashen shrugged his shoulders, trying to find more room in his jacket.

He was dressed for his role in the finery of a merchant captain, clothes not worn since he had bidden Bingtown a formal farewell.

He’d tied a kerchief made from his yellow shirt about his brow and left his shirt open at the throat.

He didn’t want to appear too staid. He wondered what Captain Ephron Vestrit would think if he could see the use his tailored blue jacket and fine white shirt were being put to.

He hoped the old man would understand and wish him luck of it.

‘Boat’s ready, sir.’ Clef grinned up at him hopefully.

‘Thank you. You have your orders. See that you obey them.’

Clef rolled his eyes, but replied, ‘Yes, sir,’ with no trace of rebellion. He bounced along at Brashen’s heels as he made his way to the ship’s boat.

As their boat left the Paragon’s shadow, Brashen marked three other small craft on their way out to meet him.

‘To your oars,’ he ordered in a low voice.

‘Put your backs to it. I want us well away from Paragon before they can cut us off.’ As the crew obeyed, Brashen glanced back at his ship.

The figurehead, silent and stoic, had his arms crossed on his chest. Amber leaned on the railing behind him.

She lifted a hand in farewell, and Brashen nodded curtly.

He looked at the rowing crew. ‘Remember your orders. We’re friendly.

Don’t hesitate to spend freely the coin you’ve been given.

No brawling. I don’t want anyone getting so drunk that he can’t guard his tongue.

If they’ll allow us the free run of the town, spread out.

Ask questions. I want every bit of information about Kennit and the Vivacia that we can gather, but don’t be too dogged about asking.

Get them talking, then lean back and listen.

Curious, not nosy. We’ll meet back at the docks at nightfall. ’

They were more than halfway to the docks when the three other boats surrounded him. At a sign from Brashen, his crew shipped their oars.

‘State your business here!’ A skinny greybeard in one of the boats commanded him. The rain had soaked his shapeless hat to his head. An ancient slave tattoo was just visible above his beard.

Brashen laughed aloud. ‘My business in Divvytown? Divvytown has but one business, and I’ll wager that mine is the same as yours, old man.

My name is Brashen Trell, and before I state anything else, I’ll know to whom I’m stating it.

’ He grinned at him easily. Jek lolled at her oars, smiling broadly.

Althea’s smile looked a bit more forced, while the others were apparently disinterested in the proceedings.

The oldster took himself very seriously. ‘I’m Maystar Crup, and I’m the harbourmaster. Captain Kennit hisself appointed me, and I got the right to ask any what come here what they’re about.’

‘Kennit!’ Brashen sat up straight. ‘That’s the name, sir, the name that brings me here.

I’ve been here before, you know, aboard the Springeve , though that was a brief visit and I’ll fault no one if they don’t recall me.

But the tales I heard then of Captain Kennit are what have brought me back now, me and my good ship and crew.

We’d like to throw in our lots with his, so to speak. Think you that he’d see us today?’

Maystar ran a cynical eye over him. He licked his lips, revealing that most of his remaining teeth were yellow. ‘He might. If he were here, which he’s not. If you know about Kennit, how is it you don’t know he has a liveship? You don’t see no liveship in our harbour just now, do you?’

‘I had heard Kennit was a man of many ships. Moreover, I’d heard the first mistake any man could make about him was to assume anything about him.

Sly as a fox is he, that is what is said, and keen as an eagle’s eye.

But this is a chill and uncomfortable place to discuss such things.

Divvytown has changed more than a bit since the last time I saw it, but surely it still has a tavern where men can talk at ease? ’

‘It does. When we decide a man is welcome in Divvytown.’

Brashen raised one shoulder. ‘Perhaps that would be better decided over a bit of brandy. And then you can tell me if the rest of my crew would be welcomed ashore. We’ve been a time at sea.

They’ve dry gullets and the coin to spend to wet them.

Divvytown, they agreed, would be a fine place to divvy out our spoils.

’ He smiled engagingly and slapped the fat purse at his belt.

The coins in it clinked against the nails and the cut-up spoon he’d padded it with.

He carried enough to stand a round of drinks or two, as well as pick up some minor supplies for the ship.

His picked crew had enough coin for a fine show as well.

Successful pirates they were, with money to spend.

Brashen’s smile was stiffening in the chill winter rain before Maystar gave him a grudging nod.

‘Aye. We can talk in the tavern, I suppose. But your men…your crew will stay with us there, and those on the ship will stay there for the time being. We don’t take kindly to strangers here in Divvytown.

Not from ships that sneak in during the dark of night. ’