"But friends of mine call, and we go out. They all, of course, are noble, but some have a bit of spirit, and we're able to get into trouble.

"Not any as exciting as you led me into," she added.

"You've made no mention of your father."

Cosyra reddened a little, and her lips tightened.

"I'm sorry," Gareth said hastily.

"No, no," Cosyra said. "You had no way of knowing. My mother was even more a free spirit than I am. She chose not to marry."

"Oh."

"She had lovers. Ten, maybe twenty. She kept no diary that I've been able to find. One of those lovers, I know not whether he was noble like she was, was my father. I know nothing of him, and my lord the estate manager swears he knows nothing either.

"All of these noble beards and growing ladies," she said, motioning to the pictures, "are of her relatives. Her line went far back in the history of Saros, supposedly to the first man with a piece of jagged flint who held it at his fellow's throat and announced he was better, and the other had best acknowledge it if he didn't want two smiles.

"The story has it we built on this hill even before the king of Saros did. So of course it's expected of me to marry and carry on the tradition. Perhaps one day I'll get my portrait hung on one of these walls, looking properly pissed."

"Well a do you have to do just what's expected?" Gareth asked. "I mean, you slipped out with us. Couldn't you, if you wanted, go out of Ticao, into the country?"

"And not have anyone follow me? Not have anyone name me as Lady Cosyra of the Mount, whereupon I'd have to deal with all the tintibullations as my executor huffed and puffed and dragged me back to my proper station?"

"You could try."

Cosyra looked at him thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I could at least attempt something like that, instead of sitting here feeling sorry for myself."

"I didn't mean to be critical."

"Why not?" Cosyra said. "Everybody else seems like they know how to live my life better than I do."

Gareth, uncomfortable, stood, reaching for his cloak.

"I'm sorry," Cosyra said. "That was an unwarrantedly bitchy thing to say.

"Gareth, I'm very glad that you're doing so well with your uncle, and glad that your voyages have been successful. Believe me, I've kept track."

"Thank you."

"I'm just tired," Cosyra said. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"I'm sorry."

Cosyra shrugged.

"It was a long, deadly dull night to begin with. Too much of it spent with someone who, by the way, is not your friend."

Gareth waited.

"Anthon, Lord Quindolphin's youngest son, fancies himself a great one for courting." Cosyra hid a yawn. "I've not told him, of course, that the highest I think of him and his family is what we did to his sister's wedding. Which, naturally, I've made no mention of."

Gareth slowly shook his head. This damned Quindolphin family seemed hells-bent to weasel into his life from every direction.

Cosyra seemed to read his thoughts.

"I'd rather marry that sister a" or, for that matter, one of those pigs a" than him."

"I'm truly glad of that," Gareth said, and put his cloak on. "I really must go. But may I see you again?"

"Any time you wish," Cosyra said, leading him to the door and opening it. The night wind a no, early morning now a whipped around her. Gareth went past her to the steps.

"Gareth."

He turned, thought for an instant her green eyes were glowing in the night.

"It is very nice to see you again."

He started to smile, and she leaned toward him. On a step higher, she was just at eye-level.

"Very nice, indeed," she said softly, and her lips brushed across his.

Then the door closed, and the gate stood open. He went through it, and as he did, the lamps guttered down into darkness.

Gareth Radnor went down the cobbled streets, not feeling the wind, or the chill.

He knew there could be nothing, of course, between a merchant's nephew a" a seagoing clerk a" and someone like Cosyra. And of course, as young as he was, he hardly wanted complications and ties.

But he slept well that night, and woke with a smile on his lips.

a a a "Have you considered your next undertaking?" Pol Radnor asked politely over breakfast.

"No, Uncle," Gareth said, buttering a roll over a yawn. He'd been late again at Cosyra's a" talking, no more. She'd kissed him that first night, but not again in the three times they'd seen each other.

Occasionally he caught her looking at him with a slightly puzzled expression, which vanished when he turned to her.

He took a bite of the roll, added relish to the slice of ham, cut a fragment.

"I suppose I'll go to sea again in the next few weeks, after I've finished eating your larder bare."

"You'll never manage that," his aunt said.

"Any ideas on what ships, or what ports you'd prefer?"

"Something warm, I think," Gareth said. "That one trip buying furs still freezes my blood. But nothing more specific's occurred to me."

He didn't say that he was thinking of Knoll and Thom, wondering if they'd be interested in going out, wondering how he'd manage to find a berth for them on the same ship, since he still wasn't exactly a hero of the seas, someone a captain would make any concession to sign aboard his ship.

"I find this discussion interesting," Pol said, his face as bland as if he were negotiating for a cargo. "Perhaps we should continue in my study."

a a a "Let me suggest an alternative to returning to the sea," Pol said, without preamble.

"Your aunt is concerned that we've been unsuccessful thus far in having children, in making sure the Radnor name goes down through the ages."

Gareth was a little embarrassed at this frankness.

"Be that as it may, I pointed out to her that you've advanced rather remarkably since you came to live with us. Of course, you've still got more than a bit of wildness, but then, who of us doesn't when we're young? That will pass with time.

"Let me make a suggestion, which will have nothing to do with whether or not Priscian and I have children, for there's more than enough business in this world to richen an entire clan.

"Rather than go back to sea, I would be willing to pay your way for a full course at one of the best seminaries: Tuil, Frenk, even Winhope, although that's most pricey."

"Me, a priest?"

"There are many, many sects, as you should know, many of them not requiring vows of silence, withdrawal, celibacy or diet," Pol said, a bit impatiently. "That should not be a factor in your decision.

"As a licentiate, you would be not only knowledgeable in culture a" which never hurts a businessman, as I've never tired of saying a" but familiar with the ways of business and managing people, almost as thoroughly as if I purchased you an officer's warrant in the military.

"Better still is the people you'd meet at such a seminary, lifelong friends who'll help you in your rise, just as you'll assist them.

"With such training, you'd be more than competent, after some years of seasoning, of assuming responsibility for all that I've been able to build, now and in the future."

Gareth gaped, thinking about being his uncle's heir. Then he thought on, thought of years a" how many he didn't want to think a" of listening to dry, dull voices rasp through dead facts and theories. And then, out of the classroom, associating with those whose every decision would be based on how it could benefit them. He repressed a shudder.

"Uncle," he said, seeking the right way to put things, aware of what an enormous gift he was refusing, "I'm afraid the sea has ruined me.

"I don't think I could sit making notes from a book, or checking a ledger when the wind comes sharp off the ocean, and I could hear the gulls' scream and the distant sound of water."

Pol took a deep breath. "I'm not angry, nor even surprised," he said, but his voice was heavy with disappointment. "That was the real reason I fought to keep you ashore: to keep you from hearing the call of the sea, for all too many friends of mine have heard that gull song, water dance, and the land's promise vanishes for them, and they've no need for safety, comfort, or wealth.

"Most likely I was not being honest with myself from the first day you arrived, for growing up in that village might have already a no, I will not say ruined a worked its way with you.

"Very well, very well," Pol said. "So that's that, at least for the moment, and you'll be seeking a ship. Since you've evidently not decided whose articles you might sign, perhaps you might go to North Basin. There's a new ship, just finishing fitting out, named the Steadfast. A little too sleek for a real carrack, but with room enough for a good cargo."

"Where's it bound?"

"The captain's named Luynes," Pol said. "You might be interested in talking to him."

Gareth, eager to be away from this uncomfortable scene, stood quickly.

"One thing, though, Gareth," his uncle said. "Do us a boon, and don't tell Luynes that you're there at my request."

"Why not?"

"Just call it a favor of the moment. Depending on what you think of the man and his ship, I promise I'll give you a full explanation."

Gareth realized his uncle wore an unfamiliar expression: stealthy cunning.

a a a The Steadfast was round-hulled, about one hundred feet long, a quarter of that wide. It was a three-master, fore- and main mast square-rigged, the mizzen mast at the stern, with a lateen sail. Gareth noted a spritsail could be rigged under the bowsprit. He thought, in a cross sea, with its bluff bow and evidently rounded bottom, it would roll like a drunken bitch. But it probably could come close ashore in shallow waters, which was a virtue for a trader.

Gareth saw with some surprise there were four guns on the main deck, each a demi-cannon, eleven feet long, and with a bore almost seven inches in diameter. Those long guns would be hard to load in a seaway, but were longer-ranged than the usual drakes merchantmen carried, more suited for a warship. Gareth concluded the Steadfast was intended to go into troubled waters.

In the bows, above the main deck, was a fairly small foredeck, and here were a pair of swivel guns. Astern of the main deck were two higher decks, the quarter deck the ship was commanded from, and above that, just over the stern, was a sterncastle, again with two swivel guns.

Interesting.

There didn't appear to be anyone aboard ship. Gareth went down the wharf, stopped at the gangplank of the Steadfast.

"Ahoy the ship."

There was no reply, and Gareth hailed again.

A hatch opened, and a man came out on the quarterdeck.

"Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted."

The man came down the steps to the main deck as Gareth went up the gangplank, dropping down onto the main deck between the two guns. The ship smelt new, of tar, just-aged wood, fresh cordage.

"The name's Luynes," the man said. "Captain. Yours?"

Luynes may have been one of the best-looking men Gareth had ever seen. His hair was dark, worn medium-length, his face square, honest-looking, his eyes penetrating blue. He was tall, taller than Gareth, and built like an athlete. His smile was open, friendly.

"Gareth Radnor."

"A relation of King's Servant Radnor?"

"My uncle."

"Ah. Then you're the purser's man who brought the Zarafshan home. A handy piece of work."

"There were others aboard," Gareth said.

"I like a modest man full well. Come into my cabin, Gareth Radnor, and discuss what brings you to the Steadfast."

Gareth followed Luynes up the companionway and into his cabin. It was fairly large, but outfitted rather spartanly, with a big desk, a chart table, a boxed-in bunk large enough for two people, a dining table, chairs, two cabinets, and a pair of seachests, very battered, securely tied to a pair of ringbolts in the deck.

"A brandy?" Luynes asked.

"No thank you, sir," Gareth said. "Water if you will."

Luynes looked surprised. "A sailor not drinking, and the sun's well up?"

Gareth smiled. Luynes started to pour himself a dram, hesitated, then set the decanter down and poured his cup half full of wine from a different container and watered it.

He nodded to a chair and sat down behind his desk.