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A silence followed his words. Kennit let it be.

A quietness was growing in him, a certainty.

He should never have doubted Paragon. His ship was true to him, as it always had been.

He seized that thought and let it grow in his heart.

He basked in the warmth of it, and shared that security with Paragon.

For this time only, he let himself love the ship as he once had.

He loved him with the complete faith that Paragon would decide to do what was best for Kennit.

‘What about my crew?’ Paragon asked wearily.

‘Take them with you.’ Kennit made the suggestion gently. ‘They served you as best they could. Keep them safe forever inside you. Never be parted from them.’

Paragon took a breath. ‘They will not like dying. None of them want to die.’

‘Well. But you and I know that dying only takes a little time for humans. They will get over it.’

Paragon’s hesitation this time was longer.

‘I don’t know if I really can die, you know.

’ A space of a breath. ‘Last time, I couldn’t even stay down there.

Wood wants to float.’ A longer pause. ‘And Brashen is locked below, too. I made a little promise to him, Kennit. I promised him I wouldn’t kill him. ’

Kennit knit his brows thoughtfully and let Paragon feel his studied consideration of the matter. At last he offered kindly, ‘Do you want me to help you? Then you wouldn’t be breaking your promise. None of it would be your fault.’

At last the ship swivelled his great head towards Kennit.

The chopped place that had been his eyes seemed to regard him.

The pirate studied the features he knew as well as his own.

The shaggy head, the lofty brow, the strong nose above the fine mouth and bearded chin.

Paragon, his Paragon, best of all possible ships.

His heart swelled painfully with love of his ship.

Tears for both of them stung his eyes. ‘Could you?’ Paragon pleaded quietly.

‘Of course I could. Of course,’ Kennit comforted him.

After Kennit left his decks, silence flowed in and filled him.

It was a silence not of the ears but of the heart.

There were other noises in the world: the questioning cries of the crew inside his battened-down holds, the trumpeting of the departing serpents, the rising winds, the small sound of a stern line being released, the crackling of flames.

He swung free suddenly in a gust of wind.

No one was on the wheel to check his motion as the building storm pushed against his venom-tattered sails.

There was a sudden whoosh and a blast of heat as the fire ran his rigging.

More sure-footed than any sailor, the flames fanned out, devouring canvas and licking wood.

It would take time to spread. Wizardwood did not kindle easily, but once it took flame, it was near unquenchable.

The other wood of his house and his rigging would burn first, but eventually the wizardwood would ignite.

He had learned patience well. He could wait.

The only distraction from his patience was his crew, hammering on the hatch covers now.

No doubt, they felt him drifting; perhaps they smelled the smoke.

Resolutely he distracted himself. His boy was a man now.

He was tall, from the direction of his voice.

And strong. The grip on his railing had been a man’s firm grip.

Paragon shook his head in loving pride. He had succeeded.

The sacrifice had not been in vain. Kennit had grown to be the man they had always dreamed he would be.

Amazing, how the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand, even his scent on the breeze had brought it all back.

The sound of his voice saying ‘Paragon’ had erased all the imagined slights and hoarded transgressions that had allowed the ship to be angry with him.

The very thought now seemed foolish. Angry with the only one who had ever loved him whole-heartedly?

Yes, Paragon had sacrificed for him, but what else could he have done?

Someone had to set Kennit free. And he had.

Now his boy would reign as King of the Pirate Isles, and someday, just as they had planned, he would have a son and name him Paragon.

Some day there would be a Paragon Ludluck that was loved and cherished.

Perhaps there already was! Paragon wished desperately now that he had thought to ask Kennit if he had a son yet.

It would have been comforting to know that the child they had imagined was real.

Down inside him, the crew had torn something loose and were using it for a battering ram against his hatchcover. They did not seem to be doing it with much energy. Perhaps his hold was filling up with smoke. That would be good; they could all just go to sleep and die.

Paragon sighed and let himself list, just a little, as he always did if he wasn’t thinking about it.

It wasn’t his fault. It was a flaw in his construction, the sort of thing that was bound to happen when a ship was built from two different logs of wizardwood.

One dragon would always try to dominate the other.

Fight, fight, fight, that was all they ever did, until he was sick of trying to make sense of those other selves.

He had pushed them down deep and decided to be just Paragon.

Paragon Ludluck. He said the name aloud, but softly.

He closed his mouth. He stopped breathing.

He didn’t really need to breathe, that was just a part of the shape they had given him.

It was a shape he could change, if he thought about it carefully.

Each carefully-fitted plank of wizardwood could shift, just a tiny bit.

For a time, he felt nothing. Then he knew the slow chill of water sheening down the inside of his planking.

Slowly, ever so slowly he began to grow heavier.

He let himself list more. Inside him, the crew began to be aware of it.

There were shouts, and the thunder of feet as men ran to try to find where the water was coming in.

Every seam oozed water. The only question that remained now was whether the fire or the sea would take him first. Whichever won, it would not be his fault.

He crossed his arms on his chest, faced into the rising storm and composed himself for death.

‘I thought you’d want to make the decision yourself, sir.

’ Jola stood very stiff. He knew he ventured onto dangerous ground, but he was sage enough to realize that not to defer this to Kennit would have been even more dangerous.

Still, Kennit rather wished the mate had just let them drown. It would have been so much tidier.

He leaned over the railing and looked down at the woman in the water.

She was obviously strong, but the cold water was taking its toll on her, as was the rising chop of the waves.

Soon it would all be over. Even as he watched, a wave washed over her.

Surprisingly, her head reappeared. She was treading water doggedly.

She could have lasted longer if she had let go of her companion.

The sailor in her arms looked dead anyway.

The blonde woman in the water rolled her head back and coughed.

‘Please.’ She was too weak to shout, but he read it formed on her lips.

Please. Kennit scratched the side of his beard thoughtfully.

‘She’s from the Paragon,’ he observed to Jola.

‘Doubtless,’ the mate agreed through gritted teeth. Whoever would have suspected that Jola would be so distressed by watching a woman drown? Kennit never ceased to marvel at the strange weaknesses that could hole a man’s character.

‘Do you think we should take her up?’ Kennit’s tone made it clear he was not offering the decision to the mate, only seeking his opinion.

‘We are pressed for time, you know. The serpents have already left.’ In reality, Bolt had commanded them to leave.

Kennit had been relieved to see that she still had that much control over them.

Their failure to sink Paragon had rattled him badly.

Only the white serpent had defied her orders.

It continued to circle the ship, its red eyes oddly accusing.

Kennit did not like it. It irritated him that it had not eaten the two survivors in the water and saved him all this trouble.

But no, it just hung there in the water, watching them curiously. Why didn’t it obey the ship?

He looked away from it, forcing his mind to the problem at hand. Bolt herself had indicated that she did not wish to witness the burning of the liveship. Kennit glanced up at the gathering storm. Leaving this place suited Kennit as well.

‘Is that what you wish?’ the mate weaselled.

Kennit’s estimation of the man dropped. Sorcor, dumb as he was, would have been brave enough to express his opinion.

Jola had not even that to his credit. The pirate captain glanced aft once more.

Paragon was burning merrily now. A gust of shifting wind carried the smoke and stench to him.

Time to go. It was not just that he expected the figurehead to do some screaming before the end; there was a real danger that the wind might carry burning scraps of canvas from Paragon’s rigging to Vivacia’s.

‘A shame we are so pressed for time just now,’ he observed to Jola, and then his command to set sail died in his throat.

The blonde woman had leaned back in the water, revealing the features of the lad whose head she supported just out of the waves.

‘Wintrow!’ he exclaimed incredulously. By what misfortune had Wintrow fallen into the sea, and how had she come to rescue him?

‘Take them up immediately!’ he ordered Jola.

Then, as the mate sprang to his command, a wave lifted the two floaters fractionally higher.

It was not Wintrow. It was not even a man.

Yet the compelling resemblance gripped Kennit, and he did not rescind his command. Jola shouted for a line to be flung.

‘You know it has to be her,’ his charm whispered at his wrist. ‘Althea Vestrit. Who else could look so like him? Bolt will not like this. You serve your end, but not hers. You bring aboard the one person you should have been most sure to kill.’

Kennit clapped his other hand over the charm, and ignored the writhing of the small face under his hand.

He watched in mounting curiosity. The blonde woman caught the rope, but her hands were so numbed with cold that she could not hold it.

A sailor had to go over the side into the cold water with them.

He lapped the line about them both and worked a hasty knot.

‘Haul away,’ he shouted, and up they all came, the women limp as seaweed.

Kennit stood by until they were deposited on the deck.

The resemblance was uncanny. His eyes walked over her features greedily. A woman with Wintrow’s face.

He realized he was staring, recognized too the puzzled silence of the crewmen gathered around the sprawled woman. ‘Well, get them below! Must I command you to the obvious? Jola, set a course for Divvytown. Signal the Marietta to follow. A squall is coming up. Let’s be on our way before it hits.’

‘Sir. Shall we wait for Wintrow and Etta to rejoin us before we sail?’

He glanced at the dark-haired woman who was beginning to cough and stir. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Leave them where they are for now.’