‘That’s true,’ Sorcor admitted. We watched as the first heavy trunk of Kennitsson’s essentials was lifted and swung over Paragon’s deck. Sorcor’s eyes tracked the trunk’s journey. He gave a small sigh. ‘You want a free hand with the lad, don’t you? Don’t want me stepping in if I think you’re too rough on our young prince.’
‘I do,’ Brashen admitted. ‘I can’t think of him as a lad, let alone as a prince. The ship wants him aboard. You’d like him to learn something of our trade.’ He gave a deprecating laugh. ‘And I’d like a bit of peace aboard this vessel. That’s only going to happen if I treat him like any other hand.’
‘So I told him last night, when his mother was chaining that charm snug to his throat. I don’t think he heard a word we said to him. But I give him over to you.’ A small silence followed Sorcor’s capitulation. The old pirate turned to Barla, who was guiding the heavy trunk down to the deck, and said quietly, ‘Lass, tell them to take that one back. The canvas sea-bag is all we need brought aboard.’ Then he squared his shoulders. ‘Kennitsson and Trellvestrit got along well whenever Vivacia was in port. Wintrow threw them together whenever he could. He wanted your boy to get a feel for our politics and to pick up a bit of polish. Begging your pardon, Wintrow’s words, not mine!’
Brashen gave a wry twist of his mouth. ‘Polish, eh? I’d have said Boy-O had the Trader’s polish already. But no offence taken.’
‘I’d appreciate it if your lad stood by him now. He could teach him your ways, the same way Trellvestrit learned our ways from Kennitsson. He’ll have to learn this deck, and everything above and below it. I know Kennitsson’s in for some rough seas before he fits in here. He’s never lived aboard a ship. Never been …’ He shook his big head. ‘My fault,’ he said hoarsely.
‘I’ll teach him,’ Brashen said in a low voice. ‘He’ll have to learn to bend a bit. But I won’t deliberately break him. The first thing he’ll have to learn is how to take an order.’ He cleared his throat and gave Sorcor an apologetic look. ‘Grit your teeth and stand back, Sorcor.’ Then Brashen drew breath and bellowed, ‘Kennitsson! Your gear is aboard. Come and stow it. Boy-O, show him his hammock and help him square himself away.’
Boy-O came at a run, a grin on his face, which faded when he saw the trunk being lowered back over the side. Barla shrugged and went down the ladder after it. A moment later, one of the new hands appeared, the canvas sea-bag slung over her shoulder. She set it down on the deck as Kennitsson strode up. He had not loitered but neither had he hastened. He looked at Brashen with his eyebrows cocked. ‘My “hammock”?’ he queried, a small smile on his lips as if he were certain the captain had misspoken.
‘Right by mine!’ Boy-O interjected. ‘Grab your sea-bag and let’s take it below.’ I wondered if Kennitsson heard the note of warning in his friend’s voice.
‘Below?’ Kennitsson asked, his eyebrows venturing toward his hairline. His glance flickered to Sorcor and waited for him to intervene.
Brashen slowly crossed his arms on his chest. There was reluctance on Sorcor’s face but no challenge as the old pirate offered, ‘Good voyaging, Captain Trell. May you have smooth seas and a steady wind.’
‘I doubt I’ll get either at this time of year, heading southeast, but I appreciate the wish. Please convey my respects to Queen Etta. I would thank her again for all she has done to equip us for this voyage and to help us make amends with our trading partners.’
‘I’ll be sure she knows you thank her.’ I could see Sorcor’s unwillingness to leave. Behind him, incredulous indignation was building on Kennitsson’s face. Boy-O had picked up the sea-bag.
‘Where are my trunks?’ Kennitsson demanded. ‘Where is my valet?’
‘That’s your sea-bag there, in Trellvestrit’s hands. I packed it myself. Everything you need is in there.’ Sorcor turned slowly and made his way to the side of the ship. Below, the dory that had ferried them out awaited him. Barla popped her head up over the railing. Sorcor shook his head and motioned her to return to the dory. Puzzled, she obeyed. Sorcor straddled the railing beside the rope ladder. ‘Honour your father’s memory. Become a man.’
Kennitsson stared after him, his cheeks going scarlet. ‘I
Brashen spoke in an even voice. ‘Boy-O. Drop it.’ As soon as his son obeyed, he turned to the pirate prince. ‘Can you manage your own sea-bag, sailor? I can tell Prince FitzChivalry to give you a hand with it, if there’s need.’ His voice betrayed no emotion. He was a captain finding the limits of a new hire.
