"Do not overtax yourself," she suggested, but he was already gathering up his parchments and leaving. She waited until he was out the door and then hastily stepped in front of Bendir as he approached the door. "Wait," she commanded him.

"For what?" he demanded in a surly tone.

"For Reyn to be well out of earshot," she told him bluntly. That got his attention. He looked down at her in shock.

She let a few slow minutes pass. Then she took a deep breath. "The dragon-log, Bendir. We need to be rid of it, and soon. Cut it up. Perhaps you are right; perhaps it is time the Khuprus family had a ship of our own. Or have it sawn into planks and store them. Get rid of the thing inside it. Otherwise, I fear we will lose your brother. The log, not Malta, is the root of our problems with your brother. It preys upon his mind." She took a deep breath. "I fear he will drown in the memories. He already walks a narrow path beside a precipice. I think we should keep him from the city as much as possible."

A look of concern came into his face. It eased her heart. It was unfeigned. He truly cared for his younger brother. The depth of his feelings showed in his next question. "Now? You mean, cut up the log before he goes off to the Summer Ball in Bingtown? I don't think that is wise, Mother. No matter that he has agreed to give up any say about it. That should be a happy time in his life, not one tormented by second thoughts."

"You are right. No. Wait until he is safely away. I expect he will spend a week or more in Bingtown. Do it then. Let him come home to it as something that is done and irrevocable. That will be best."

"He will blame me, you know." A shadow passed over Bendir's face. "This will not make anything easier between us."

"No. He will blame me," his mother assured him. "I will see that it is so."

NIGHT HAD FALLEN OVER THE HARBOR. PARAGON COULD SENSE IT. THE wind had shifted. Now it carried the smells of the town to his nostrils. He reached up to touch his nose. Cautiously his fingers ventured higher, exploring the splintered wreckage of his eyes.

"Are you in pain?" Amber asked him quietly.

He immediately dropped his hands from his face. "We do not know pain as humans do," he assured her. A moment later, he asked her, "Tell me about the town. What do you see?"

"Oh. Well." He felt her shift on the foredeck. She had been lying on her back, either dozing or looking up at the stars. Now she rolled onto her belly. Her body was warm against his planking. "All around us is a forest of masts. Black sticks against the stars. A few of the ships have small lights showing, but not much. But in town, the lights are many. They reflect in the water and-"

"I wish I could see them," he said plaintively. More loudly, he complained, "I wish I could see anything. Anything! It's all darkness, Amber. To be blind on the beach was bad, Amber, but after a time, I became accustomed to it. But here, in the water once more… I don't know who is passing me on the docks, or what vessels may come alongside me. Fire could break out on the docks, and I would not know it until it was too late. All that is bad enough, but soon we will sail. How can you expect me to venture into that vastness blindly? I want to do well. I do. But I fear I cannot."

He sensed her helplessness when she spoke. "You will have to trust us. We will be eyes for you, Paragon. If we must go into danger, I swear I will be here, right beside you, telling you all we face."

"Thin comfort," Paragon replied after a time. "That is thin comfort, I fear."

"I know. It is all I can offer."

He listened. The waves patted gently against his hull. Ropes creaked. Footsteps sounded as someone passed them on the dock. The evening sounds of Bingtown came to his ears. He wondered how much it had changed since he had last seen it. He stared ahead into a future of eternal darkness. "Amber," he asked quietly. "Was it difficult to fix Ophelia's hands? Were they badly damaged?"

"The scorching did not go deep, except in a few places. The problem was more one of keeping the proportions of finger to hand. Rather than simply carve away what was damaged, I had to rework both her hands. A good portion of the wood that I removed was not burnt at all. I think the hardest part of the task was for her to keep still, and for me to concentrate on my skill when I worried about causing her pain."

"Then it was painful?"

"Who knows? She said it was not. As you say, she also told me: liveships do not experience pain as humans do. Nevertheless, I think it was uncomfortable for her. She told me she felt a sense of loss at the wood I pared away; that was one reason I restored it to her as jewelry. She also told me that her hands felt 'wrong' when I was finished." Amber paused. "That was devastating to me. I had done the best work I could. But when I last visited her, before she sailed, she told me she had become accustomed to her new hands and that now they felt fine. She greatly desired that I would re-carve her hair for her, but Captain Tenira refused. He said they could not stay in port that long. To tell you the truth, I was grateful. Wizardwood is… uneasy wood. Even with my gloves on, I always felt it was trying to draw me into it."

He scarcely heard her final words. "You could cut my beard off," he suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" She came to her feet in alarm in a single fluid motion, like a bird lifting in flight. "Paragon, what are you saying?"

"You could cut my beard off, and shape it, and peg it back onto me as a new face. I'd be able to see again."

"That's a crazy idea," Amber said flatly.

"A crazy idea from a mad ship. It would work, Amber. Look how much wood is here." He reached up to seize two great handfuls of his full beard. "There is plenty enough to make me new eyes. You could do it."

"I would not dare," she said flatly.

"Why not?"

"What would Althea and Brashen say? To repair Ophelia's hands was one thing. To completely refashion a new face for you would be something else entirely."

He folded his arms on his chest. "Why should it matter what Althea or Brashen say? Do I belong to them? Am I a slave?"

"No, it's just that-"

He ignored her attempt to speak. "When you 'bought' me, did not you insist that it was but a formality for others? You said I belonged to myself. That I always had and always would. It would seem to me, then, that this should be my decision."

"Perhaps it should. That does not mean that I have to agree to it."

"Why would you refuse? Do you want me to be blind?" He felt anger shivering inside him, trying to find a way out. He swallowed it back like bile. Anger did not work on Amber. She would just walk away.

"Of course not. Nor do I want you to be disappointed. Paragon, I do not understand wizardwood. My hands tell me it is one thing, my heart tells me it is another. Working on Ophelia was… difficult for me. She said she had a sense of wrongness about her hands. What I sensed was something subtler. Something closer to sacrilege." Her voice went soft on the last word. He could almost feel her confusion.

"You did it for Ophelia, but you would not do it for me?"

"Paragon, there is a very great difference there. On Ophelia, I removed damaged wood. You are talking about me pegging pieces on to create new eyes for you. As I said, I don't understand the nature of wizardwood. Would those pegged-on parts become alive as you are? Or would they remain scraps of pegged-on wood?"

"Then do for me as you did for her!" Paragon burst out after an exasperated silence. "Cut away my old ruined face. Make me a new one."

Amber breathed out some words in a different language. Paragon had no idea whether she prayed or cursed. He only sensed her horror at his suggestion. "Do you know what you are advocating? I would have to rework your face entirely… perhaps your whole body, to make you proportional. I've never taken on a project of such magnitude. I'm a woodcarver, Paragon, not a sculptor." She huffed out a sigh of disgust. "I might ruin you. Destroy your beauty forever. How would I live with that?"