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and we were due for the off again.
     
    “We had to fly from the Sakkora Stones. I found out at once that mother still lived. I did not hear about Barty until much later. I didn’t know.”
    “And you had no feeling for him?”
    “Oh, yes, I liked him, as one would a puppy.”
    As though it had no bearing on what we were saying, I said: “I was slowly curing him of his ideals of honor. They killed him before I could—” I couldn’t go on. I turned away and stomped off and got my shoulder to a boat and so shoved her savagely out into the water.
    “Come on, you lubbers!” I roared. “We’ve lost one treasure! Let us go and find another!”

Chapter three
A hairy fighting bunch
    Precious little chance we had of finding any more treasure for that day; we sailed between the islands, each one floating on its twin reflection, and entered the mouth of the river, and we saw not a living soul, on the sea, on the land or in the air.
    We might have only rudimentary charts of the north coast of Pandahem, and nothing at all detailed of the navigational hazards here; but we knew where we were well enough. Quite a number of the folk aboard had knowledge of the kingdom of Tomboram outside as well as inside Pando’s kovnate of Bormark.
    The gale, moderating overnight, had not disturbed us once we’d passed into the shelter of that massive uplift of rock, the Sentinel of Bormark. The river was known by two names. This was just another example of the infuriating way in which even simple agreements failed to be reached by two folk, both living not only on the same island but in the same kingdom. Pando’s Bormark to the west called the river She of the Mellifluous Breath. Apgarl Superno’s kovnate of Malpettar to the east called the river He of the Bright Face.
    Fishing villages had to be carefully sited because of the infestations of pirates. Here there had —
    inevitably! — been two, one each side of the river. Both lay in blackened ruins. We sailed past silently, not caring for the ugly memories those heaps of overgrown refuse brought to mind.
    A few birds hopped about mournfully. No doubt the woods were still filled with game. No doubt the insects still sang. We sailed past that desolate scene and if only a few of us reflected on the waste of man’s intemperateness to man, most of us were affected by the sight.
    Captain Linson said to Pompino: “I cannot take you past Pettarsmot, horter.” He’d had that information from one of the slaves we’d freed. The town stood at the end of navigation.
    “Well,” said Pompino with cheeriness that didn’t sit ill on him, “by Horato the Potent! We’ll march the rest of the way!”
    The traitorous thought occurred to me that we’d hired on these mercenaries in Pompino’s home port of Tuscursmot. Most of them were from South Pandahem. We’d picked up a few more folk along the way.
    But everyone served one end only; each and every single one of them. Oh, yes, we burned evil temples and we rallied around the Owner; but — but! The crew had thought the fortune made each one dreamed of. We’d lost the gold, sorcerously melted into slag that burned our pockets and skins. The salve had gone around, believe you me. So, now, why should any of them follow Pompino into the heart of Bormark? Why should they go to Plaxing to find Kov Pando and all the troubles we expected there? For pay — oh, yes, for their silver sinver a day. But when all is said and done, money has its limitations.
     
    I said to Dayra, whom I carefully addressed as Ros: “Care to take a wager on those who will go and those who will stay?”
    She sniffed.
    “Typical! You know them far better than do I—”
    “Ah, yes, but you have the eye to search out their hearts.”
    “I’ll tell you one thing. That barrel of a fellow, Cap’n Murkizon, will go. And if he goes Larghos the Flatch will go. You won’t keep Quendur the Ripper away, and that means Lisa the Empoin will go. Nath Kemchug, Pompino’s Chulik, will