"Does he?" Wintrow had demanded.

To him, she owed the truth. Still. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "But I hope that he does. The results are the same, in any case."

"For now, they are," he admitted. "But I do not know what the results will be over the long run," he'd added darkly.

She mulled his words as she watched the boat approaching. The youth was too suspicious. Some small-spirited part of him could not accept Kennit as a force for good. That was all. The boat came alongside and the rope ladder was flung down to them. She always hated this part. Kennit stubbornly insisted of late that he would get himself up the ladder and back aboard his ship. It seemed to take him forever to manage the climb. At every step she feared he would slip and fall down, to smash his bones against the boat below him. Or worse, he might fall into the water, to either vanish beneath the waves, or be snapped up by serpents. There was a veritable plague of serpents this year. Never could she recall a time when they had been so thick nor so bold. It was unnerving.

In a short time, his peg-legged step sounded on her decks. She breathed a sigh of relief and awaited him impatiently. He always came to see her first, whenever he rejoined the ship. Sometimes Wintrow dogged his steps. Etta had used to, but of late, she had avoided the foredeck. Vivacia thought that was a wise decision on her part.

This time, as she twisted her body about to greet him, she saw he was alone. Her smile deepened and became warmer. These were the best times, when they were alone and could speak unfettered by Wintrow's questions and skeptical looks. He returned her smile with a smug grin. "Well, my lady. Are you ready to take on more cargo? I've arranged for them to ferry it out this afternoon."

"What sort?" she asked, knowing well that he delighted in enumerating his treasures.

"Well," he paused, savoring his pleasure. "Some very fine brandy in small casks. Bales of tea. Silver bars. Some woolen rugs, in truly amazing colors and designs. Quite a selection of books, all very well bound. Poetry, histories, an illustrated natural history and several travel journals, quite fine. Those I think I shall keep for myself, though I shall let Wintrow and Etta read them, of course. Foodstuffs, sacks of wheat, casks of oil and rum. And quite a quantity of coin, in various minting. Rufo has done quite well with the Fortune. I am quite pleased with how Askew has prospered."

Vivacia's attention had been captured by the mention of the books. "I suppose this means that Wintrow will continue to spend every spare moment he has closeted with Etta," she observed sourly.

Kennit smiled. He leaned over the railing and touched her hair, letting a heavy lock slide through his fingers as he spoke. "That's right. He will continue to distract Etta, and she will busy him. Thus you and I shall continue to have private time in which to talk of our own ambitions and interests."

A shiver ran over her shoulders at his touch. She knew a moment of delightful confusion. "Then you have deliberately paired them, to give us more time together?"

"Why else?" He picked up another lock of her hair and weighed the thickly carved coil. She glanced over her shoulder at him. His pale blue eyes were closed to slits. He was, she thought, an extraordinarily handsome man, in a cruel way. "You don't mind, do you? Etta is quite ignorant, poor thing. Whoring is such a narrow occupation. Wintrow is more patient a teacher than I could be. He will give her the tools she needs to better herself, so that when she leaves the ship, she need not go back to whoring."

"Etta will leave?" Vivacia asked breathlessly.

"Of course. I only brought her aboard the Marietta for her own protection. We really have very little in common. She was kind, and useful while I was recovering from my injury. Nevertheless, it is hard to overlook that she was the source of the injury." He favored her with a narrow smile. "Wintrow shall educate her, and when she goes ashore, she will be able to do more than lie on her back." A thoughtful frown creased his brow. "I think it is my duty to leave people better than I found them, don't you?"

"When will Etta be leaving?" Vivacia tried to keep eagerness from her voice.

"Well. Our next port is Divvytown. That was her home." He smiled to himself. "But one never knows how things will develop. I shall not force her to leave, of course."

"Of course," Vivacia murmured in reply. He was twining the heavy lock of her black hair in his hand, and the tickling tip of it brushed her bare shoulder.

A package was tucked under his arm, something wrapped in coarse burlap. "Your hair is so lovely," he said quietly. "I thought of you the moment I saw this." He opened one end of it, then drew out a handful of something red. He shook it loose, and length upon length of wide red fabric unfurled, incredibly light and fine. He offered it to her. "I thought you might put it in your hair."

She was flustered. "I have never had such a gift," she marveled. "Are you sure you wish to give it to me? The sea and the wind may spoil it…" Yet as she spoke she twined it through her hands. She lifted it, to place a band of it across her brow. He caught the ends and tied it for her.

"Then I should simply have to bring you more." He cocked his head, and smiled in admiration. "Such a beauty you are!" he said quietly. "My pirate queen."

WINTROW UNBUCKLED THE CARVED WOODEN COVER OF THE BOOK CAREfully. He opened it gingerly, then sighed in awe. "Oh, this is incredible. Look at the detail here." He carried the open volume over to the window where the light fell on the artfully decorated page. "This is exquisite."

Etta came slowly to stand at his shoulder and look down on the displayed page. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's an herbal… a book about herbs, with drawings and descriptions and explanations of how they are to be used. I've never seen one so elaborate." Carefully he turned the page, to expose yet more beauty. "Even in our monastery library, we had nothing so fine as this. This is an incredibly valuable book." He touched his finger lightly to the page and outlined the drawing of a leaf. "See? This is peppermint. Look at the crinkles and tiny hairs on each leaf. Such an eye this artist had."

They were in the small stateroom he had once shared with his father. All signs of that time had been scrubbed away long ago. Now there was only his neatly made bunk, the small fold-down desk and a case full of manuscripts and scrolls and books. Wintrow had begun Etta's lessons in the captain's quarters, but Kennit had soon decided that they made too much clutter with their books, papers and pens. He had banished their studies to Wintrow's room. Wintrow did not mind. Never before had he had complete and unhampered access to so much written work. Certainly, he had never before even glimpsed a book to rival the quality of the one he now held.

"What does it say?" Etta asked reluctantly.

"You can read it," he encouraged her. "Try."

"The letters are all crawly," she complained, but she accepted the book he tenderly transferred into her hands. She knit her brows over it.

"Don't let that discourage you. His hand was very decorative, and some of the characters are formed elaborately. Look only at the basic forms of the letters, and ignore the flourishes. Try it."

Her finger moved slowly across the page, piecing the words together. Her mouth moved as she puzzled them out. Wintrow clamped his jaws together to keep from helping her. After a time, she drew a deep breath and began. "Of all the goodly herbs known, this is the queen. A tea brewed from fresh leaves is best for a closed head…"

She stopped abruptly, and closed the book carefully. When Wintrow glanced up at her face in confusion, he saw her eyes were closed as well. As he watched, tears leaked out from under her lashes.