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‘No, it doesn’t. Still, we’re here, so we’ll take a look around. We’ll go ashore in the ship’s boat; I don’t trust that pier.’

‘We?’ Clef asked with a grin.

‘We. I’m leaving Amber aboard with Paragon and a handful of men.

I’m taking the rest of the crew with me.

It will do them good to get off the ship for a time.

We may be able to find some game and take on fresh water here.

If people once lived here, the island must have provided some of their needs.

’ He didn’t tell Clef that he was taking most of the crew off so they couldn’t abscond with the ship while he was gone.

The crew assembled dispiritedly, but brightened at the prospect of going ashore.

He had them draw lots for who would remain aboard, and then ordered the rest of them to the boats.

Some would hunt and forage, and a picked handful would follow the path with him.

While the men readied the boat, he sauntered forwards to Paragon with feigned nonchalance. ‘Want to tell me what I should expect?’

‘A bit of a hike, to begin with. Lucto did not want his little kingdom to be easily visible from the water. I’ve Kennit’s memories of the way.

You’ll go uphill, but when you crest the hill and start to go down, be alert.

The path goes through an orchard first, and then to the compound.

There was a big house, and a row of smaller cottages.

Lucto took good care of his crewmen; their wives and children lived here in happier times, until Igrot slaughtered most of them. The rest he carried off as slaves.’

Paragon paused. He stared blindly at the island.

Brashen waited. ‘The last time I sailed from here, Mother was still alive. Lucto had perished. Igrot had taken his games too far and Father died. When we departed, Mother was marooned alone. That amused Igrot, I think. But Kennit swore he would come back to her. I believe he would have kept that oath. She was a doughty woman. Even as battered as she was, she would have chosen to live. She may still be alive here. If you find her … when you find her, tell her your tale. Be honest with her. She deserves that much. Tell her why you have come to take her.’ The ship’s boyish voice choked suddenly.

‘Don’t terrorize or hurt her. She has had enough of that in her life.

Ask her to come with us. I think she may come willingly. ’

Brashen took a deep breath and confronted the villainous aspect of the ship’s plan.

It shamed him. ‘I’ll do the best I can,’ he promised Paragon.

The best he could. Could the word ‘best’ be applied at all to this task, the kidnapping and bartering of an elderly woman?

He did not think so, yet he would do it to regain Althea safely.

He tried to console himself. He would see that she came to no harm.

Surely Kennit’s own mother had nothing to fear from the pirate.

He voiced the largest hole in the plan. ‘And if Kennit’s mother is…no longer here?’

‘Then we wait,’ the ship proposed. ‘Sooner or later, he will come here.’

Now there was a comforting thought.

Brashen led his force of armed men up the overgrown trail.

Fallen leaves were thick underfoot. Overhead, branches both bare and leafy dripped the morning’s rain.

A sword weighted one side of his belt, and two of his men carried bows at the ready.

The precaution was more against pigs, whose hoof-tracks and droppings were plentiful, than against any imagined resistance.

From what Paragon said, if the woman still lived, she likely lived here alone.

He wondered if she would be mad. How long could a person live in complete isolation and remain sane?

They crested the hill and started down the other side.

The trees were as thick, though sizeable stumps showed that once this hillside had been logged for timber.

The forest had taken it back since then.

At the bottom of the hill, they emerged into an orchard.

Tall wet grass soaked Brashen to the thighs as he pushed his way through it.

His men followed him through the bare-branched fruit trees.

Some of the trees sprawled where they had fallen.

Others reached to intertwine wet black branches overhead.

But halfway through the orchard, the wide-reaching branches of the trees showed the signs of seasonal pruning.

The grass had been trampled down, and Brashen caught a faint whiff of wood-smoke on the air.

He saw now what the tangled trees had hidden.

A whitewashed great-house dominated the valley, flanked by a row of cottages along the edges of the cultivated lands.

He halted and his men stopped with him, muttering in surprise.

A barn suggested livestock; he lifted his eyes to isolated sheep and goats grazing on the opposite hillside.

This was too much to be the work of one set of hands.

There were people here. There would be confrontation.

He glanced back at the men following him. ‘Follow my lead. I want to talk my way through this if we can. The ship said she would be willing to go with us. Let’s hope that is so.’

As he spoke, a woman carrying a child fled towards one of the cottages and slammed the door behind her.

An instant later, it opened again. A large man stepped out onto the doorstep, spotted them, and ducked back inside the cottage.

When he reappeared, he carried a woodsman’s axe.

He hefted it purposefully as he looked up at them.

One of Brashen’s archers lifted his bow.

‘Down,’ Brashen commanded in a low voice. He lifted his own arms wide to show his peaceful intent. The man by the cottage did not look impressed. Nor did the woman who emerged behind him. She carried a large knife now instead of the baby.

Brashen reached a hard decision. ‘Keep your bows lowered. Follow me, but twenty paces behind me. Unless I order it, no man shoots an arrow. Am I clear?’

‘Clear, sir,’ one man answered, and the rest muttered doubtful responses. His last effort at peaceful negotiating was still fresh in their minds.

Brashen lifted his arms wide of his sheathed sword and called out to the people by the cottage. ‘I’m coming down. I mean no harm. I just want to talk to you.’ He began to walk forwards.

‘Stop where you are!’ the woman shouted back. ‘Talk to us from there!’

Brashen took a few more steps to see what they would do.

The man came to meet him, axe ready. He was a large man, his wide cheeks tattooed all the way to his ears.

Brashen recognized his type from brawls: He would not fight especially well, but he’d be hard to kill.

With a sinking certainty, he knew he had no heart for this.

He wasn’t going to kill anyone while their untended baby wailed inside the cottage.

Althea herself would not ask that of him. There had to be another way.

‘The Ludluck woman!’ he shouted. He wished Paragon had told him the mother’s name. ‘Lucky’s widow. I want to talk to her. That’s why we’ve come.’

The man halted uncertainly. He looked back at the woman. She lifted her chin. ‘We’re the only ones here. Go away and forget you ever came.’

So she knew the odds were against them. If his men fanned out, they could trap them in the cottage. He decided to push his advantage.

‘I’m coming down. I just want to see that you are telling the truth. If she isn’t here, we’ll go away. We want no bloodshed. I just want to speak to the Ludluck woman.’

The man glanced back at his woman. Brashen read uncertainty in her stance and hoped he was correct.

Arms held well away from his sword, Brashen walked slowly towards the house.

The closer he came, the more he doubted that they were the only people on the island.

At least one other cottage had a well-trodden path to the door and a shimmer of smoke rising from its chimney.

A very slight movement of the woman’s head warned him.

He turned just as a slender young woman launched herself from a tree.

She was barefoot and unarmed but her fury was her weapon.

‘Raiders. Raiders. Filthy raiders!’ she yowled as she attacked with her fists and nails. He lifted his arm to shield his face from her nails.

‘Ankle! No! No, stop, run away!’ the other woman screamed. She came towards them at a lumbering run, her knife held high, the man only a step behind her.

‘We’re not slavers!’ he told her, but Ankle only came at him more fiercely.

He hunched away from her, then spun back to seize her around the waist. He managed to catch one of her wrists.

She clawed and pulled hair with the other hand until he captured that, too.

It was like hugging an angry cat. Her bare feet thudded against his shins while she bit his shoulder.

His vest was thick, but it did not dull the savagery of her attack.

‘Stop it!’ he shouted at her. ‘We’re not slavers.

I just need to talk to Kennit Ludluck’s mother. That is all.’

At the name Kennit, the girl in his arms went limp. He took advantage of the moment to heave her towards the woman with the knife. The woman caught her with one arm and then put her behind her. She held up a hand to halt Axe-man’s headlong charge.

‘Kennit?’ she demanded. ‘Kennit sent you here?’

It didn’t seem a good time to correct her. ‘I’ve a message for his mother.’