Mad Ship

The entire crew responded to this new stimulus. Wintrow would have expected jealousy, or discontent as the captain flaunted his lady. Instead, they took pride in him, as if his virility and his possession of this desirable woman did credit to them all. The morale on the ship had leaped to a higher level than Wintrow had ever known. The new crew members were blending seamlessly with the old. Any discontent the freed slaves had felt had evaporated. Why clamor to possess a ship when one could be a part of Ke

Vivacia had witnessed three more piracies since Opal had died. In each case, they had been small cargo vessels, not slavers. Wintrow knew the pattern. The cha

Vivacia both sulked and chafed at being held back from the action. Like a child dismissed from adult conversation, she was no longer invited to discuss piracy or politics with Ke

Between piracies, the life of the pirates was almost indolent. Ke

"I can't read it, so don't bother," she had declared angrily. She had been perched on a bench behind Ke

"Etta. Come back here."

She turned to face him. For the first time since he had met her, Wintrow saw a flash of defiance in her eyes as she looked at Ke

A spasm of anger passed over Ke

"I can't."

"I wish you to."

She clenched her teeth. "I don't know how!" she raged. "I never had teachers or lessons. Not unless you count the men who taught me my trade before I was even a woman! I'm not like you, Ke

"Quiet!" he barked at her. Again, he held the book out to her. "Take this." It was an order.

She snatched it from his hand and stood holding it as if it were a sack of offal.

Ke

"The crew will laugh at me," Etta protested.

Ke

Wintrow was acutely uncomfortable. In some u

"You won't mind teaching Etta. Will you, Wintrow?" There was little query in his voice. He held the woman close to him and looked at Wintrow over her bent head.

Wintrow cleared his throat. "Not at all."

"Good. See that you begin soon. Today, in fact."

As Wintrow fumbled for an answer, he heard the now familiar cry. "Sail!" He felt a shock of relief. The thunder of ru

"There! There it is!" Vivacia was crying as Wintrow gained the fore-deck. She scarcely needed to point. Even at this distance, the wind carried the taint of the slaver. The ship that hove into sight was the filthiest, most dilapidated vessel that Wintrow had ever seen. Her hull gleamed with slime where waste had slopped over her side. She rode low in the water, obviously overloaded. Her unevenly patched jib puckered with the wind. A sporadic gushing of water from her indicated that her bilge pumps were being ma