‘Have you asked Paragon about it?’
Brashen shook his head. ‘I was afraid to bring it up with him; he might think that meant I approved it. Then he would fix all his energy on it. Or that I didn’t approve of it, in which case he might decide to insist on it just to prove he could. You know how he can be. I didn’t want to present the idea unless we were all behind it. Any mention of it from me, and he might set his mind on piracy as the only correct course of action.’
‘I wonder if that damage isn’t already done,’ Althea speculated. The rum was making a small warm spot in her belly. ‘Paragon has been very strange of late.’
‘And when has that not been true of him?’ Brashen asked wryly.
‘This is different. He is strange in an ominous way. He speaks of us encountering Kennit as our destiny. And says nothing must keep us from that end.’
‘And you don’t agree with that?’ Brashen probed.
‘I don’t know about the destiny part. Brashen, if we could come upon Vivacia when she had only an anchor watch aboard her and steal her back, I would be content. All I want is my ship, and her crew if any have survived. I have no desire for any more battle or blood than there must be.’
‘Nor have I,’ Brashen said quietly. He added another jot of rum to each glass. ‘But I do not think we will recover Vivacia without both. We must harden ourselves to that now.’
‘I know,’ she conceded reluctantly. But she wondered if she did. She had never been in any kind of battle. A couple of tavern scuffles were the extent of her brawling experience. She could not picture herself with a sword in her hand, fighting to free the Vivacia. If someone attacked her, she could fight back. She knew that about herself. But could she leap onto another deck, blade swinging, killing men she had never even seen before? Sitting here with Brashen in a warm and comfortable cabin, she doubted it. It wasn’t the Trader way. She had been raised to negotiate for whatever she wanted. However, she did know one thing. She wanted Vivacia back. She wanted that savagely. Perhaps when she saw her beloved ship in foreign hands, anger and fury would wake in her. Perhaps she could kill then.
‘Well?’ Brashen asked her, and she realized she had been staring past him, out the stern window, at their lace-edged wake. She brought her eyes back to his. Her fingers toyed with her glass as she asked, ‘Well what?’
‘Do we become pirates? Or at least put on the countenances of pirates?’
Her mind raced in hopeless circles. ‘You’re the captain,’ she said at last. ‘I think you must decide.’
He was silent for a moment. Then, he grinned. ‘I confess, on some level, it appeals to me. I’ve given it some thought. For our flag, how about a scarlet sea serpent on a blue background?’
Althea grimaced. ‘Sounds unlucky. But frightening.’
‘Frightening is what we want to be. And that was the scariest emblem I could think of, straight from my worst nightmares. As to the luck, I’m afraid we’ll have to make that for ourselves.’
‘As we always have. We’d go after slavers only?’
His face grew grave for a moment. Then a touch of his old grin lightened his eyes. ‘Maybe we wouldn’t have to go after anything. Maybe we could just make it look like we had … or that we intend to. How about a bit of play-acting? I think I’d have to be a dissatisfied younger son from Bingtown, something of a fop, perhaps. A gentleman come south to dabble in piracy and politics. What do you think?’
Althea laughed aloud. The rum was uncoiling in her belly, sending tendrils of warmth throughout her body. ‘I think you could come to enjoy this too much, Brashen. But what about me? How would you explain female crew aboard a Bingtown vessel?’
‘You could be my lovely captive, like in a minstrel’s tale. The daughter of a Trader, taken hostage and held for ransom.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘That might help establish my reputation as a daring pirate. We could say the Paragon was your family ship, to explain away the liveship.’
‘That’s a bit overly dramatic,’ she demurred softly. There was a brighter spark in his eyes. The rum was reaching them both, she decided. Just as she feared that her heart would overpower her head, his face turned suddenly grim. ‘Would that we could play-act such a romantic farce and win Vivacia back. The reality of playing pirate would be far more bloody and ruthless. My fear is that I won’t enjoy it nearly as much as Lavoy. Or Paragon.’ He shook his head. ‘Both of them have a streak of – what shall I call it? Just plain meanness, I sometimes think. If either one were allowed complete indulgence of it, I suspect they would sink to a savagery that you or I would find unthinkable.’
‘Paragon?’ Althea asked. There was scepticism in her voice, but a little shiver of certainty ran up her spine.
‘Paragon,’ Brashen confirmed. ‘He and Lavoy may be a very bad mix. I’d like to keep them from becoming close, if such a thing is possible.’
A sudden knock at the door made them both jump. ‘Who is it?’ Brashen demanded roughly.
‘Lavoy, sir.’
‘Come in.’
Althea jumped to her feet as the first mate entered. His quick glance took in the rum bottle and the glasses on the table. Althea tried not to look startled or guilty, but the look he gave her expressed his suspicions plainly. His sarcasm was little short of insubordinate as he addressed Brashen. ‘Sorry to interrupt you both, but there’s ship’s business to attend. The carpenter is unconscious on the forward deck. Thought you’d like to know.’
‘What happened?’ Althea demanded without thinking.
Lavoy’s lip curled disdainfully. ‘I’m reporting to the captain, sailor.’
‘Exactly.’ Brashen’s voice was cold. ‘So get on with it. Althea, go see to the carpenter. Lavoy, what happened?’
‘Damn me if I know.’ The burly mate shrugged elaborately. ‘I just found her there and thought you’d like to know.’
There was no time to contradict him, nor was it the right time to let Brashen know she had left them alone together. Her heart in her mouth, she raced off to see what Lavoy had done to Amber.
A DRIZZLING RAIN WAS falling from the overcast sky. Water dripped endlessly from the bushes in the gardens. Wet brown leaves carpeted the sodden lawns. Serilla let the lace edge of the curtain fall back into place. She turned back to the room. The greyness of the day had crept inside the house and Serilla felt chill and old in its embrace. She had ordered the curtains drawn and the fire built up in an effort to warm the room. Instead of feeling cosier, she felt muffled and trapped in the day. Winter was creeping up on Bingtown. She shivered. Winter was always an unpleasant season at best. This year it was an untidy and unsettled time as well.
Yesterday, with a heavy guard attending her, she had driven from Restart’s estate down into Bingtown. She had ordered the men to take the carriage through the town, along the old market, and past the wharves. Everywhere she had seen destruction and disrepair. She had looked in vain for signs of repair and rebirth in the shattered city. Burned homes and shops gave off their clinging odour of despair. Piers ended in charred tongues of wood. Two masts stuck up from the sullen waters of the harbour. All the folk out in the streets had been hooded and cloaked against the day’s chill, all hurrying somewhere. They looked away from her carriage as it passed. Even those streets of the city where the remnants of the City Guard patrolled seemed edgy and repressed.
Gone were the bright teashops and prosperous trading