and another man from another ship took it up.
‘Yeah. Let their ship’s boy give it a try. He’s little and quick. I bet he can get past the bear and get our money back for us.’
‘No!’ Wintrow repeated louder, but his voice was lost in the general chorus of assent. It was not just his own shipmates urging him on, but the crowd in general.
Torg swaggered up to him and looked him up and down. He smelled of beer. ‘So,’ he sneered. ‘You think you can win our money back for us? Somehow I doubt it. But give it a try, boy.’ He gripped Wintrow’s arm and dragged him toward the bear’s square. ‘Our ship’s boy wants to give it a try.’
‘No,’ Wintrow hissed at him. ‘I don’t.’
Torg frowned at him. ‘Just get past him and onto his back,’ he explained in an elaborately patient voice. ‘That should be easy for a skinny little weasel like you.’
‘No. I won’t do it!’ Wintrow declared loudly. A chorus of guffaws greeted this, and Torg’s face darkened with embarrassed fury.
‘Yes, you will,’ he declared.
‘Boy doesn’t want to do it. Got no guts,’ Wintrow clearly heard a man say.
The beast-tamer had his animal back in the square. ‘So. Your boy going to try or not?’
‘Not!’ Wintrow declared loudly, as Torg as firmly announced, ‘He will. He just needs a minute.’ He rounded on Wintrow. ‘Look here,’ he hissed at him. ‘You’re shaming us all. You’re shaming your ship! Get in there and get our money back for us.’
Wintrow shook his head. ‘You want it done, you do it. I’m not stupid enough to take on a bear. Even if I got past him and got on his back, there’s no guarantee he’ll give in. Just because he did it before…’
‘I’ll do it!’ Mild volunteered. His eyes were bright with the challenge.
‘No,’ Wintrow objected. ‘Don’t do it, Mild. It’s stupid. If you weren’t humming on cindin, you’d know that. If Torg wants it done, let Torg do it.’
‘I’m too drunk,’ Torg admitted freely. ‘You do it, Wintrow. Show us you got some guts. Prove you’re a man.’
Wintrow glanced at the bear. It was a stupid thing to do. He knew it was a stupid thing to do. Did he need to prove anything to Torg, of all people? ‘No.’ He spoke the word loudly and flatly. ‘I’m not going to do it.’
‘The boy doesn’t want to try, and I’m not going to stand around here all day. Money’s mine, boys.’ The beast-tamer gave an elaborate shrug and grinned around.
Someone in the crowd made an unflattering remark about the Vivacia’s crew in general.
‘Hey. Hey, I’ll do it.’ It was Mild again, grinning as he volunteered.
‘Don’t do it, Mild!’ Wintrow entreated him.
‘Hey, I’m not afraid. And someone’s got to win our money hack.’ He shifted restlessly on his feet. ‘Can’t go off leaving this town believing the crew of the Vivacia’s got no nerve.’
‘Don’t do it, Mild! You’ll get hurt.’
Torg gave him a savage shake. ‘Shut up!’ He belched. ‘Shut up!’ he repeated more clearly. ‘Mild ain’t afraid! He can do it if he wants. Or do you want to do it? Hurry up, decide! One of you has got to win our money back. We’re nearly out of time.’
Wintrow shook his head. How had it suddenly come down to this, to him or Mild getting into a square with a bear to win back someone else’s money in a rigged game? It was preposterous. He looked around at the crowd, trying to find one rational face to side with him. A man caught his gaze. ‘Well, who is it?’ he demanded. Wintrow shook his head wordlessly.
‘Me!’ Mild declared with a grin and danced a step or two. He stepped into the square and the beast-tamer released the bear’s chain.
Later Wintrow would wonder if the tamer had not been irritating the animal somehow the whole time they were waiting. The bear did not lumber toward Mild, nor mince forward on his hobbled legs. Instead he lunged on all fours for the boy, slamming his huge head against him and then gripping him with his huge paws. The bear reared up with Mild yelling and struggling in his grasp. Blunted or not, his claws shredded the young sailor’s shirt until a shout from his owner made him throw the boy aside. Mild landed hard outside the bear’s square. ‘Get up!’ someone yelled, but Mild did not. Even the bear’s owner looked rattled at the violence of it. He grabbed the bear’s chain and tugged hard on it to convince the animal he had control of it.
‘It’s over!’ he declared. ‘You all saw it, it was fair. The bear won. The boy’s out of bounds. And the money is mine!’
There were some grumbles but no one challenged him this time as he trudged off. The bear minced along at his heels. One sailor glanced over at Mild still lying in the dust and then spat. ‘Gutless, the whole lot of them,’ he declared and glared at Wintrow meaningfully. Wintrow returned his glare and then went to kneel in the dust beside Mild. He was still breathing. His mouth was half open and he was drawing in dust with every breath. He had landed so hard, chest first. It would be a miracle if his ribs were not at least cracked.
‘We’ve got to get him back to the ship,’ he said and glanced up at Comfrey.
Comfrey looked down at him with disgust. Then he looked away as if he were not there. ‘Come on, boys, time to get back to the ship.’ Heedless of any injuries Mild might have, he seized the lad by his arm and dragged him upright. When Mild sagged like a rag doll, he scooped up the boy and flung him over his shoulder. The other two sailors from the Vivacia’s crew trailed off after him. None of them deigned to notice Wintrow’s existence.
‘It wasn’t my fault!’ Wintrow declared aloud. But somehow he wondered if it was.
‘Was so,’ Torg pointed out. ‘You knew he was full of cindin. He shouldn’t have been in there, but he had to go because you were too much the coward. Well.’ Torg grinned with satisfaction. ‘Now they all know you for what you are, boy. Before it was just me that knew what a water-arsed coward you were.’ Torg spat into the dusty street and walked away from him.
For a time Wintrow stood alone staring at the kicked over corners of the square. He knew he had done the right thing and made the right choices. But a terrible sense of a lost chance was welling up in him. He suspected he had just lost his opportunity to be accepted as part of Vivacia’s crew. To be considered a man among men. He glanced up at the westering sun, and then hastened to catch up with the men who now despised him.
THE RAINS OF AUTUMN had washed Divvytown almost clean. The lagoon was higher, the channels deeper, and as the Marietta approached home port, the hearts of those aboard her were lighter than they had ever been before. It had nothing to do with the hold full of pirated cargo. While it was a respectable haul, they’d done better any number of times.
‘It’s that we’re someones now, when we come into a port. Folk know us, and turn
