Robin Hobb - Ship of Magic

“Ah.” Again the small gesture of his hand toward Kyle. “Then we don't need your father. Only you.” Kennit turned back to Sa'Adar. “That one you may have, as you requested. And those other two.”

There was a splash, and a trumpeting from one of the serpents. Wintrow looked starboard just in time to see two map-faces tip the other Jamaillian sailor over the edge. He went screaming until the white serpent cut his cry short with a snap. Wintrow's own cry of “Wait!” went unheeded. Vivacia gave a wordless cry of horror, and flailed at the serpents, but could not reach them. Map-faces were laying hold of his father. He sprang, not towards them, but at Sa'Adar. He gripped the man by the front of his shirt. “You promised them they would live! If they worked the ship for you through the storm, you promised them they would live!”

Sa'Adar shrugged and smiled down at him. “It's not my will, boy, but that of Captain Kennit. He does not have to keep my word for me.”

“You spin your word so thin, I doubt anyone could be bound by it,” Wintrow cried furiously. He whirled on the men who had seized his father. “Set him free.”

They paid no attention to him as they forced his struggling father to the rail. Physically, Wintrow had no chance against them. He turned back to Captain Kennit, speaking quickly. “Set him free! You have seen how the ship is about the serpents! If you throw one of her own to them, she will be greatly angered.”

“No doubt,” the pirate captain replied lazily. “But he isn't truly one of her own. So she'll get over it.”

“I won't,” Wintrow told him furiously. “And you will soon discover that if you cut one of us, we both bleed.” His father was struggling, but wordlessly and without much strength. Beside the ship, the white serpent trumpeted eagerly. Wintrow knew he had not the strength to prevail against those two men, let alone however many would muster to Kennit's command.

Kennit, however, was another matter. Swift as a snake striking, Wintrow seized the pirate captain by his shirt front. He jerked him forward, so that his crutch fell to the deck and he must depend on Wintrow or fall also. The sudden motion wrung a low cry of pain from the man. The mate sprang forward with a snarl.

“Back!” Wintrow warned him. “And stop those men. Or I'll kick him in that leg and spatter his rotten flesh all over the deck.”

“Wait! Release him!” The command came not from Sorcor, but the woman. The men halted uncertainly, looking from her to Sa'Adar. Wintrow did not waste time speaking to them. Kennit was all but fainting in Wintrow's grasp. Wintrow gave him another shake and growled up into the man's face. “You burn with fever and you stink of decay. As you stand here, on the one leg left to you, you may kill both my father and myself. But if you do, you will not possess my ship for more than a handful of days before you follow us down. And whoever you leave behind upon the Vivacia's decks will perish, too. The ship will see to that. So I suggest we find a bargain between us.”

Captain Kennit lifted his hands slowly, to clutch at Wintrow's wrists with both of his own. The boy didn't care. At the moment, he had it within his power to cause the man incredible pain, perhaps enough pain to kill him with the shock of it. The deep lines in the pirate's face told Wintrow that he, too, knew that. Beads of pain sweat shone on the pirate's brow. For a scant moment, Wintrow's eyes were caught by the odd wrist-brooch the man wore. A tiny face, like to the pirate's own, grinned up at him gleefully. It unsettled him. He looked up again at the man's face, met his eyes and stared deep into their coldness. They returned his gaze and seemed to look deep into the core of him. He refused to be cowed.

“Well? What say you?” Wintrow demanded, with the barest hint of a shake. “Do we bargain?”

The pirate's mouth scarcely moved as, in the softest whisper imaginable, Wintrow heard him say, “A likely urchin. Perhaps something useful can be made of him.”

“What?” Wintrow demanded furiously. Savage anger rose in him at the man's mockery.

An extremely strange look had come over the pirate's face. Kennit stared down at him in a sort of fascination. For an instant, he seemed to recognize him, and Wintrow, too, felt an uncanny sense of having been here, done this and spoken these words before. There was something compelling in Kennit's gaze, something that demanded to be acknowledged. The silence between them seemed to bind them together.

Wintrow felt a sudden prick against his ribs. The woman with the knife said, “Take Kennit gently, Sorcor. Boy, you have missed your chance to die swiftly. All you have bought is that you and your father will die together, each praying to be the first to go.”

“No. No, Etta, stand aside.” The pirate managed his pain well, never losing his educated diction. He still had to take a breath to speak on. “What is your bargain, boy? What do you have left to offer? Your ship, freely given?” Kennit shook his head slowly. “I already have her, one way or another. So I am intrigued. Just what do you think you have to trade with?”

“A life for a life,” Wintrow offered slowly. He spoke knowing that what he proposed was likely beyond his skill to perform. “I have been trained in healing, for I was once promised to Sa's priesthood.” He glanced down at the pirate's leg. “You need the skills I have. You know you do. I'll keep you alive. If you allow my father to live.”

“No doubt you'll want to cut more of my leg off for such a bet.” His question was contemptuous.

Wintrow looked up, searching the older man's eyes for acceptance. “You already know that must be done,” he pointed out to him. “You were simply waiting until the pain of the festering would make the pain of the removal seem like a relief.” He glanced down at the stump again. “You have nearly waited too long. But I am still ready to honor the bargain. Your life for my father's.”

Kennit swayed in his grasp and Wintrow found himself steadying the man. All about them, men were frozen in a tableau of watching and waiting. The map-faces had his father pressed up against the railing, that he might watch the serpent that waited so impatiently.

“It's a poor sort of bet,” Kennit observed weakly. “Up the ante. Your life as well.” He grinned a sickly grin. “So that if I win by dying, we all lose together.”

“You have a strange idea of winning,” said Wintrow.

“Then you include your crew in your wager,” Vivacia suddenly pointed out. “For if you take Wintrow's life from me, I shall see every one of you to a watery grave.” She paused. “And that is the only bargain I offer to any of you.”

“High stakes,” Wintrow observed quietly. “Nonetheless, I accept them if you do.”

“I am scarcely in a position to shake hands upon it,” the pirate pointed out. His tone was as cool and charming as ever, yet Wintrow could see the man's strength fading even as they spoke. A small smile bent his lips. “You do not try to make me agree that if I live, I give your ship back to you?”

It was Wintrow's turn to shake his head slowly. His smile was as small as Kennit's. “You cannot take her from me. Nor could I give her to you. That, I think, is something you must discover for yourself. But your word will suffice to bind me to the rest of our wager. And that of your mate and the woman,” he added. He looked past Kennit to the woman as he added, “And if my father comes to ill from the slaves aboard this ship, I shall take it to cancel the bet.”

“There are no slaves aboard this ship!” Sa'Adar declared pompously.

Wintrow ignored him. He waited until the woman gave a slow nod.

“If you have my captain's word, you have my word,” Sorcor added gruffly.