Ship of Magic

His certainty increased as he added, “And we'd pay hell's own wages to try and replace them. They're seasoned hands, not scrapings from a brothel floor. The kind of man you'd get, if you went about asking for men who'd let you sell their prizes for them, wouldn't have the spines to act on their own. They'd be the kind as would stand back while you cleared another ship's deck, and only cross when the victory was assured.” Sorcor shook his head, more to himself than to his captain. “You've won these men over to you, sir. They'll follow you. But you'd not be wise to try to force them to give up their wills to you. All this talk of kings and leaders make them uneasy. You can't force a man to fight well for you” Sorcor's voice trailed off and he glanced suddenly up at Ke

A sudden icy anger seethed through Ke

With no more than that, Ke

He jumped easily from the deck to the docks. At once the crowd of vendors surged toward him, but a single scowl sent them shrinking back. At least he still had that much of a reputation in Divvytown. The thought only soured him further. They gave way as he pushed past them. A reputation in Divvytown. Why, that was at least as good as admiring oneself in a piss-puddle. So he was captain of a ship. For how long? For as long as the curs under him believed in his fist and his sword. Ten years from now, there'd be a man bigger or faster or sneakier, and then Ke

His anger grew in him like a poison in his blood. He knew he'd be the wiser to find a place to be alone until this black mood left him, but his sudden hatred for himself and his world was such that he did not care what was wiser. He detested the sticky black mud of the streets and byways, he despised the dumped slops he stepped around, he loathed the stench and noise of Divvytown. He wished he could avenge himself on his world and on his own stupidity by destroying it all. He knew it was no time to go bargaining. He didn't care. The brokers in Divvytown added such a large cut for themselves that it was scarcely worth his time to deal with them. They'd done far better when they'd disposed of their goods in Chalced. All the prizes they'd taken between Chalced and home he was practically giving to these vultures. In his reckless temper he let the silk go for half what it was worth, but when the trader tried to get as good a bargain on the brandy and cindin, he uncovered Ke

Outside a summer's dusk had fallen. The raucous noise from the taverns had increased, while the shrilling of insects and frogs from the surrounding swamps and the brackish swale provided a background chorus. The cooling of the day seemed to free a new regiment of odors to assault Ke

The tide of his anger had retreated, leaving him stranded in weariness and misery. Hopelessly, he tried to discover who was at fault for his situation. It did not please him to decide that the fault, as always, was his own. There was no one else to blame, there was no one else to punish. No matter how he seared the faults from himself, another always arose to take its place.

His feet had carried him to Bettel's bagnio. Light leaked past the shutters on the low windows. Music sounded faintly from within, and the edged soprano of a woman singing. There were perhaps a dozen buildings in Divvytown that were more than one story high. Bettel's was one of them. White paint, tiny balconies, and a red-tiled roof; it looked as if someone had plucked up a Chalcedean brothel and plopped it down in the mud of Divvytown. Pots of flowers on the steps struggled to perfume the air, while two copper and brass lanterns gleamed invitingly on either side of the green-and-gilt door. The two bravos on watch smirked at him knowingly. Abruptly he hated them, so big and so stupid, making a living by their muscle alone. They thought it would always be enough; he knew better. He longed to seize them by the throats and smash their gri

Ke

The doors of the bagnio swung shut behind him, shutting out the mud and the stench of Divvytown. Here he stood in a carpeted foyer in muted yellow lamplight. Bettel's familiar perfume rode the air, and the smoky tang of burnt cindin. The singing and the soft drumming that accompanied it were louder here. A serving boy stood before him and gestured mutely at his muddy boots. At a slight nod from Ke

As the white door swung open slowly, the singing became louder. A blond woman sat cross-legged on the floor, accompanying herself on three small drums as she sang some ditty about her brave love gone off to sea. Ke

He ignored her scolding. He knew the attention was supposed to flatter him, and knowing that made Bettel's whole routine irritating. Of course she remembered him. He paid her to remember him. He glanced over her head, sca