"I've never heard that before."

"Probably not. It's not a commonly told tale. They say he kept it painted and made it keep still so no one would know what he had.".Brashen shrugged stiffly. "Sounds to me like he had a regular ship, but just lied about it to make people think it was a liveship. Maybe," he added in a more conciliatory tone. He glanced about the deck to be sure they were alone, then shifted the conversation abruptly. "Cap. Remember what we talked about, months ago? About how maybe you'd like to make a little side run into Bingtown if I knew of anyone who could make you a good price on some choice bits?"

Finney gave a short, guarded nod.

"Well, I've just been thinking. If you were to buy that portrait from Faldin, well, the place it would sell best is Bingtown. That's where folk would know what it was and how much it was worth." He crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing. He tried to look like a man well pleased with himself.

"And that's also where a man could get into the hottest water, selling such a thing," Finney pointed out suspiciously.

Brashen affected a casualness he did not feel. "Not if you knew the right people and pitched it the right way. Now, if you came to town, and I hooked you up with the right go-between, why, you could make it seem like you were doing a good deed. Just bringing the portrait home, with a sad tale of what you knew. Leave it to the go-between that such a kind-hearted trader captain deserved a hefty reward for such a turn."

Finney moved a quid of cindin in his lip. "Maybe. But the trip wouldn't be worth it just to unload one piece."

"Of course not! I'm just betting that would be the plum piece of the deal. It might bring you a lot more than you'd imagine."

"Maybe a lot more trouble than I'd imagined, too." Finney scowled into the sunset. After a time, he asked, "What else do you suppose might go there?"

Brashen shrugged. "Anything Bingtown can't make for itself or get from further north. Think spices, teas… Jamaillian spirits and wines. Exotic stuff from the southlands, or good Jamaillian antiques. That sort of thing."

"You know of someone who would be the go-between?"

Brashen tilted his head. "I've thought of a likely candidate." He gave a brief chuckle. "If all else failed, I suppose I could try doing it myself."

Finney wordlessly held out his hand. Brashen took it and in the clasp the deal was sealed. He felt a deep sense of relief. He had a way to carry word back to Bingtown. Surely Ronica Vestrit would have the wherewithal to rescue both her daughter and her ship from these pirates. He glanced back at the Vivacia and Althea apologetically. This flimsy plan was the best rescue effort he could offer. He prayed Althea and the ship would both be well until then.

He swore suddenly and vehemently.

"What's the matter?" Finney demanded.

"Nothing. Just got a splinter under my nail. I'll put the boys to sanding this railing tomorrow." He turned away from his captain and made a pretense of examining his hand.

In the distance, the slim silhouette urinated off the side of the Vivacia.

IT WAS NOT A TRUE TANGLE, SHREEVER REFLECTED TO HERSELF. A TRUE tangle gathered itself to follow a respected leader. These were stray serpents whom they had picked up one or two at a time as the provider moved north and the tangle followed it. The serpents that swam alongside them now shared no camaraderie with Maulkin's tangle. They were simply following the same food source. Still, there was comfort in the company of other serpents. Some of them seemed almost lucid at times. Others were ghost-like in their silence and blank stares. The worst ones were little better than animals, likely to turn venom or fangs on anyone who came too close to food they had claimed. Shreever, Maulkin and Sessurea had learned to ignore those who had reverted to such a bestial level. In truth, their presence was not the hardest to bear. The heart-wringing ones were those who were pathetically close to recalling who they were and what they had been.

The three original serpents of Maulkin's tangle had fallen almost as silent as the newcomers. It was difficult to find topics that did not lead all of them deeper into despair. Shreever could dimly recall earlier times of physical starvation. Too long a fast could make anyone's thoughts become scattered and unfocused. She had her small rituals to keep herself sane. Daily she reminded herself of their purpose. They had come north when Maulkin had known the time was right. She Who Remembers should have greeted them. That one should have renewed all their memories, and should have led them through the next step.

"But what would that be?" she muttered softly to herself.

"Eh?" Sessurea asked sleepily.

The three were anchored together in the midst of a grove of slumbering serpents. There were about a dozen of the other serpents. Only at night did they seem to recall any vestige of civilized ways, and link their coils in slumber as if they were a true tangle. Shreever gripped her thought tightly. "After we find One Who Remembers, and our memories are restored. What happens then?"

Sessurea heaved a sleepy sigh. "If I knew the answer to that, perhaps we would not need to find a memory keeper."

Between them, Maulkin did not even stir. The prophet seemed to dwindle every day. She and Sessurea had become more aggressive in holding on to the food the provider distributed to them. Maulkin refused to forsake the old ways. Even after he had grasped a limp body tumbling through the Plenty, if one of the soulless ones seized it, he would let it go. He would relinquish his rightful claim to food rather than fight for it like an animal. The once bright false-eyes that ran the length of his body were now little more than dappling in his color. Sometimes, he would allow Shreever to bring him food, but as often he turned away from it. She had not had the courage to ask him if he, too, were close to abandoning their quest.

There was a sudden shifting in the forest of sleeping serpents. With dreamlike slowness, a slender, verdantly green serpent wriggled free of the slumbering tangle and languorously rose up to the Lack. Shreever and Sessurea exchanged glances that were at once puzzled and too weary to be curious. The actions of the soulless ones made no sense; there was no future in speculating about his action. Shreever lidded her eyes.

Then, from high above them, came the curiously pure notes of a voice raised in song. For a time, Shreever listened in awe. Each note was true, each word perfectly enunciated. It was not the random piping and roaring any lighthearted serpent might indulge in, but the glorious exultation of one called to sing. She unlidded her eyes.

"Song of Simplicity," Maulkin breathed hoarsely. Sessurea's eyes spun slowly in agreement. Gently the three worked themselves free, to undulate to the top of the Plenty, and then lift their heads out into the Lack.

There, under the light of a full round moon, the green serpent flung back his head and sang. His heavy mane hung lax about his throat. His maw gaped wide in full, carrying voice. Clear and sweet, the words emerged from one who had been mute. Verse after verse he sang of the elegant words of the ancient song of beginnings. In the old days, listeners would have joined in the refrain, to celebrate together the days of warmer Plenty and migrating fish. Now they were voiceless, listening to this blessing, but fearing to join in lest they break it.

The singer was beautiful in his intensity and concentration. His head swayed slowly as he sang, his throat distending and then stretching as he pumped out the deep, rich notes. Shreever did not look at his eyes. They were wide and empty of intent even as he gave voice to this most sacred of songs. Beside her, Maulkin bowed his head. Emotion rippled through him, bringing a brief gleam to his false-eyes. Very slowly, his mane began to stand out about his throat. His venom, once so plentiful and toxic, now barely brimmed to the tips. A single drop fell to sting ecstatically on Shreever's skin. For a long moment, the night was clear, bright and warm with promise.