"They freed themselves, Father," Wintrow said stubbornly.

"But you did nothing to stop them."

"Just as I did nothing to stop you from bringing them aboard in chains." Wintrow took a breath to go on, then stopped himself. No matter how he tried to justify what he had done, his father would never accept his reasons. Kyle's words nudged the bruises on Wintrow's conscience. Were the deaths of the crew his fault, because he had done nothing? If that was so, then was he also responsible for the deaths of the slaves before the uprising? The thought was too painful to consider.

In an altered tone he went on, "Do you want me to tend your injuries, or try to find food for you?"

"Did you find the medical supplies?"

Wintrow shook his head. "They're still missing. No one has admitted taking them. They may have been lost overboard during the storm."

"Well, without them, there is little you can do for me," his father pointed out cynically. "Food would be nice, however."

Wintrow refused to be irritated. "I'll see what I can do," he said softly.

"Of course you will," his father replied snidely. His voice lowered abruptly as he asked, "And what will you do about the pirate?"

"I don't know," Wintrow admitted honestly. He met his father's eyes squarely as he added, "I'm afraid. I know I have to try to heal him. But I don't know which is worse, the prospect of him surviving and us continuing as prisoners, or him dying and us with him, and the ship having to go on alone."

His father spat on the deck, an action so unlike him that it was as shocking as a blow.