Mad Ship

Ke

"Now there's a question you never thought of before this. What do I want from you?" The charm drew the question out, savoring it. "Maybe I want you to suffer. Maybe I enjoy tormenting you. Maybe…"

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Etta's boots and the light scuff of bare feet.

"Be kind to Etta," the charm demanded hastily. "And perhaps I will-"

As the door opened, the face fell silent. It was once more still and silent, a wooden bead on a bracelet on a sick man's wrist. Wintrow came in, followed by the whore. "Ke

"Good. Leave us." If the damn charm thought it could force him into anything, it was wrong.

Etta looked stricken. "Ke

"No. I think it is stupid. That's why I told you to do it, because I delight in stupidity." His voice was low as he flung the words at her. He watched the face at his wrist for some sort of reaction. It was motionless, but its tiny eyes glittered. Probably it plotted revenge. He didn't care. While he could breathe, he would not cower before a bit of wood.

"Get out," he repeated. "Leave the boy to me."

Her back was very straight as she marched out. She shut the door firmly behind her, not quite slamming it. The moment she was outside, Ke

The boy blanched at the sight of it. Ke

The pirate forced a stiff grin to his face. "I? Very little, it seems. You have still your own life and your father's on the scale."

Wintrow gave a short, mirthless laugh. "I well know that my life is forfeit if you die, with or without my efforts." He made a tiny motion with his head toward the door. "She would never suffer me to survive you."

"You fear the woman, do you?" Ke

The boy looked back at his leg. He furrowed his brow and pondered. The intensity of his concentration only made his youth more apparent.

Ke

"You have only nine fingers," Ke

"An accident," Wintrow told him distractedly, then bade him, "Hush."

Ke

Midway up Ke

"Captain Ke

He opened his eyes. When had he closed them?

Wintrow was nodding gently to himself. "Here," he said as soon as the pirate looked at him. "If we cut here, I think we'll be in sound flesh."

The boy's hands indicated a spot frighteningly high on his thigh. Ke

"No. We must cut a bit into what is still healthy, for healthy flesh heals faster than poisoned." Wintrow paused and used both hands to push his straying hair back from his face. "I ca

Ke

"Then we shall place a ligature here, a wide one that will slow the flow of blood. It must bind the flesh tightly without crushing it. Below it, I shall cut. I shall try to preserve a flap of skin to close over the wound. The tools I shall need are a sharp knife and a fine-toothed saw for the bone. The blade of the knife must be long enough to slice cleanly, without a sawing motion." The boy's fingers measured out the length. "For the stitching, some would use fine fish-gut thread, but at my monastery, it was said that the best stitches are made with hair from the man's own head, for the body knows its own. You, sir, have fine hair, long. Your curls are loose enough that the hair can be pulled straight. It will serve admirably."

Ke

"Your own courage, sir, will have to serve you best." The boy's dark eyes met his squarely. "I shall not be quick, but I shall be careful. Brandy or rum, before we begin. Were it not so rare and expensive, I would say we should obtain the essence of the rind of a kwazi fruit. It numbs a wound wonderfully. Of course, it works only on fresh blood. It would only be effective after we had done the cutting." Wintrow shook his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps you should think well of what crewmen you shall want to hold you down. They should be large and strong men, with the judgment to ignore you if you demand to be released or threaten them."

Unwillingness washed over Ke