Mad Ship

Ke

"If it's just the pain, then perhaps some rum…" Wintrow began, but Ke

"The pain is bad, yes. But it's my ship and my command that suffer the worst right now. They sent a boy to tell me of the patrol ship. All I did was try to stand… I fell. Right in front of him, I collapsed. I should have been on the deck as soon as the lookout spotted that sail. We should have turned and cut the throats of every Chalcedean pig aboard that galley. Instead, we fled. I left Brig in command, and we fled. Sorcor had to fight my battle. In addition, all aboard know of it. Every slave on board this ship has a tongue. No matter where I leave them off, every one of them will wag the news that Captain Ke

Wintrow listened in silence. This was not the suave pirate who had courted his ship with extravagant words, nor the controlled captain. This was the man beneath that facade, exposed by pain and exhaustion. Wintrow realized his own vulnerability. Ke

Just as Wintrow began to hope he might escape, the door to the cabin opened. Etta entered. She took in the room at a glance. "What did you do to him?" she demanded as she crossed to Ke

Wintrow lifted a finger to his lips to shush her. She scowled at that, but nodded. With a jerk of her head, she indicated the far corner of the room. She frowned at how slowly he obeyed her, but Wintrow took his time, easing the pirate's hand down gently on the quilt and then sliding slowly off the bed so that no movement might disturb Ke

It was all in vain. As Wintrow left his bedside, Ke

Etta gave a horrified gasp. Wintrow turned back slowly to the man. Ke

"Sir," Wintrow agreed. He changed course, moving hastily toward the door. As swiftly, Etta moved to block him. He found himself looking up into eyes as dark and merciless as a hawk's. He squared his shoulders for a confrontation. Instead, he saw something like relief in her face. "Let me know how I can help you," she said simply.

He bobbed a nod to her request, too shocked to reply, and slipped past her and out the door. A few steps down the companionway, he halted. He leaned suddenly against the wall and allowed the shaking to overtake his body. The bravado of his earlier bargain overwhelmed him. What had been bold words would soon become a bloody task. He had said he would set a knife to Ke

CAPTAIN FINNEY PUT DOWN HIS MUG, LICKED HIS LIPS AND GRINNED AT Brashen. "You're good at this. You know that?"

"I suppose," Brashen reluctantly acknowledged the compliment.

The smuggler laughed throatily. "But you don't want to be good at it, do you?"

Brashen shrugged again. Captain Fi

Brashen shook his head mutely, then tapped his lower lip significantly. A little plug of the stuff was still burning pleasantly there. Rich, black, and tarry was the cindin that was sending tendrils of well-being throughout his bones. Brashen retained enough wit to know that no one was bribed and flattered unless the other party wanted something. He wondered hazily if he would have enough willpower to oppose Fi

"Sure you won't have a fresh cut?"

"No. Thanks."

"No, you don't want to be good at this trade," Fi

For a moment, all was silent save for the slapping of the waves against the Springeve's hull. The crew was ashore, filling water casks at a little spring Fi

"You want to go back to Bingtown, don't you?" Fi

"Don't suppose it matters what I was born to. I'm here now," Brashen pointed out with a laugh. The cindin was uncoiling inside him. He was gri

"Exactly what I was about to tell you. See that? See? You're smart. Many men, they can't accept where they end up. They always go moping after the past, or mooning toward the future. But men like us-" He slapped the table resoundingly. "Men like us can grab what we're offered and make a go of it."

"So. You're going to offer me something?" Brashen hazarded slyly. "Not exactly. It's what we can offer each other. Look at us. Look at what we do. I take the Springeve up and down this coast, in and out of lots of little towns. I buy stuff, I sell stuff, and I don't ask too many questions. I carry a good supply of fine trade goods, so I get the deals. I get fine quality stuff. You know that's true."

"That's true," Brashen agreed easily. Now was not the time to point out the pedigree of the goods they trafficked in. The Springeve and Fi

"The best," Fi

"Money?"

"A pittance. We bring in a fat pig and they throw us back the bones. But together, Brashen, you and I could do better for ourselves."