“I am not,” Wintrow simply admitted. “Truth to tell, I scarcely know him. When I was small, he was always at sea. At the times when he was home, he always terrified me. Not with cruelty, but with… power. Everything about him seemed too large for the room, from his voice to his beard. Even when I was small and overheard other folk talking about him, it was as if they spoke of a legend or a hero. I don't recall that I ever called him Grandpa, nor even Grandfather. When he came home, he'd blow through the house like the North Wind and mostly I took shelter from his presence rather than enjoyed it. When I was dragged out before him, all I can recall was that he found fault with my growth. ‘Why is the boy so puny?’ he'd demand. ‘He looks just like my boys, but half the size! Don't you feed him meat? Doesn't he eat well?’ Then he would pull me near and feel my arm, as if I were being fattened for the table. I always felt ashamed of my size, then, as if it were a fault. Since I was given over to the priesthood, I have seen even less of him, but my impression of him has not changed. Still, it is not my grandfather I dread, nor even keeping his death watch. It's going home, Berandol. It is so… noisy.”

Berandol grimaced in sympathy.

“I don't believe I even learned to think until I came here,” Wintrow continued. “There, it was too noisy and too busy. I never had time to think. From the time Nana rousted us out of bed in the morning until we were bathed, gowned and dumped back in bed at night, we were in motion. Being dressed and taken on outings, having lessons and meals, visiting friends, being dressed differently and having more meals… it was endless. You know, when I first got here, I didn't leave my cell for the first two days. Without Nana or Grandma or Mother chasing me about, I had no idea what to do with myself. And for so long, my sister and I had been a unit. ‘The children’ need their nap, ‘the children’ need their lunch. I felt I'd lost half my body when they separated us.”

Berandol was grinning in appreciation. “So that is what it is like, to be a Vestrit. I'd always wondered how the children of the Old Traders of Bingtown lived. For me, it was very different, and yet much the same. We were swineherds, my family. I had no nanny or outings, but there were always chores aplenty to keep one busy. Looking back, we spent most of our time simply surviving. Stretching out the food, fixing things long past fixing by anyone else's standards, caring for the swine… I think the pigs received better care than anyone else. There was never even a thought of giving up a child for the priesthood. Then my mother became ill, and my father made a promise that if she lived, he would dedicate one of his children to Sa. So when she lived, they sent me off. I was the runt of the litter, so to speak. The youngest surviving child, and with a stunted arm. It was a sacrifice for them, I am sure, but not as great as giving up one of my strapping older brothers.”

“A stunted arm?” Wintrow asked in surprise.

“It was. I'd fallen on it when I was small, and it was a long time healing, and when it did heal, it was never as strong as it should have been. But the priests cured me. They put me with the watering crew on the orchard, and the priest in charge of us gave me mismatched buckets. He made me carry the heavier one with my weaker arm. I thought he was a madman at first; my parents had always taught me to use my stronger arm for everything. It was my earliest introduction to Sa's precepts.”

Wintrow frowned to himself for a moment, then grinned. “ ‘For the weakest has but to try his strength to find it, and then he shall be strong.’ “

“Exactly.” The priest gestured at the long low building before them. The acolyte's cells had been their destination. “The messenger was delayed getting here. You will have to pack swiftly and set out right away if you are to reach port before your ship sails. It's a long walk.”

“A ship!” The desolation that had faded briefly from Wintrow's face flooded back. “I hadn't thought of that. I hate traveling by sea. But when one must go from Jamaillia to Bingtown, there is no other choice.” His frowned deepened. “Walk to port? Didn't they arrange a man and a horse for me?”

“Do you so quickly revive to the comforts of wealth, Wintrow?” Berandol chided him. When the boy hung his head, abashed, he went on, “No, the message said that a friend had offered you passage across and the family had been glad to accept it.” More gently he added, “I suspect that money is not so plentiful for your family as it once was. The Northern War has hurt many of the trading families, both in the goods that never came down the Buck River and those that never were sold there.” More pensively, he went on, “And our young Satrap does not favor Bingtown as his father and grandfathers did. They seemed to feel that those brave enough to settle the Cursed Shores should share generously in the treasures they found there. But not young Cosgo. It is said that he feels they have reaped the reward of their risk-taking long enough, that the Shores are well settled and whatever curse was once there is now dispersed. He has not only sent them new taxes but has parceled out new grants of land near Bingtown to some of his favorites.” Berandol shook his head. “He breaks the word of his ancestor, and causes hardship for folk who have always kept their word with him. No good can come of this.”

“I know. I should be grateful I am not afoot all the way. But it is hard, Berandol, to accept a journey to a destination I dread, let alone by ship. I shall be miserable the whole way.”

“Sea-sick?” Berandol asked in some surprise. “I did not think it afflicted those of seafaring stock.”

“The right weather can sour any man's stomach, but no, that is not it. It's the noise and the rushing about and the crowded conditions. The smell. And the sailors. Good enough men in their own way but…” the boy shrugged. “Not like us. They haven't the time to talk about the things we speak of here, Berandol. And if they did, their thoughts would likely be as basic as that of the youngest acolyte. They live as animals do, and reason as animals. I shall feel as if I am living among beasts. Through no faults of their own,” he added at seeing the young priest frown.

Berandol took a breath as if to launch into speech, then reconsidered it. After a moment, he said thoughtfully, “It has been two years since you have visited your parents' home, Wintrow. Two years since you last were out of the monastery and about working folk. Look and listen well, and when you come back to us, tell me if you still agree with what you have just said. I charge you to remember this, for I shall.”

“I shall, Berandol,” the youth promised sincerely. “And I shall miss you.”

“Probably, but not for some days, for I am to escort you on your journey down to the port. Come. Let's go and pack.”

Long before Kennit reached the end of the beach, he was aware of the Other watching him. He had expected this, yet it intrigued him, for he had often heard they were creatures of the dawn and the dusk, seldom moving about while the sun was still in the sky. A lesser man might have been afraid, but a lesser man would not have possessed Kennit's luck. Or his skill with a sword. He continued his leisurely stroll down the beach, all the while gathering plunder. He feigned unawareness of the creature watching him, yet he was eerily certain that it knew of his deceit. A game within a game, he told himself, and smiled secretly.

He was immensely irritated when, a few moments later, Gankis came lolloping down the beach to wheeze out the news that there was an Other up there watching him.

“I know,” he told the old sailor with asperity. An instant later he had regained control of his voice and features. In a kindly tone, he explained, “And it knows that we know it is watching us. That being so, I suggest you ignore it, as I do, and finish searching your bank. Have you found anything else of note?”