"On his own ship," Kitai murmured, "Captain outranks Princeps."

Tavi reached the top of the gangplank and spread his hands. "Well?"

Demos, a lean man, slightly taller than average, dressed in a black tunic and breeches, turned to lean one elbow on the rail and study Tavi. His free hand, Tavi noted, just happened to fall within an inch or two of the hilt of his sword. "You destroyed some of my property."

"That's right," Tavi said. "The chains in your hold you used to imprison slaves."

"You're going to replace them."

Tavi rolled one armored shoulder in a shrug. "What are they worth to you?"

"I don't want money. It isn't about money," Demos said. "They were mine. You had no right to them."

Tavi met the man's eyes steadily. "I think a few slaves might say the same thing regarding their lives and freedom, Demos."

Demos blinked his eyes, slowly. Then he looked away. He was quiet for a moment, before murmuring, "I didn't make the sea. I just sail on it."

"Here's the problem," Tavi said. "If I give you those chains, knowing what you're going to do with them, I become a part of whatever those chains are used for. I become a slaver. And I am no slaver, Demos. And never will be."

Demos frowned. "It would seem that we are at an impasse."

"And you're sure you won't change your mind?"

Demos' eyes flicked back to Tavi and hardened. "Not if the sun fell out of the sky. Replace the chains or get off my ship."

"I can't do that. Do you understand why?"

Demos nodded. "Understand it. Even respect it. But that doesn't change a crowbegotten thing. So where are we?"

"In need of a solution."

"There isn't one."

"I think someone's told me that once or twice before," Tavi said, grinning. "I'll replace your chains, if you'll make me a promise."

Demos tilted his head, his eyes narrowing.