“If the child were the richest prince in the world,” Gankis dared to observe. “It's too fragile a thing to give a kid to play with, sir. All it would take would be dropping it once. . . .”

“Yet it seems to have survived bobbing about in the waves of a storm, and then being flung up on a beach,” Kennit pointed out with measured good nature.

“That's true, sir, that's true, but then this is the Treasure Beach. Almost everything cast up here is whole, from what I've heard tell. It's part of the magic of this place.”

“Magic.” Kennit permitted himself a slightly wider smile as he placed the orb in the roomy pocket of his indigo jacket. “So you believe it is magic that sweeps such trinkets up on this shore, do you?”

“What else, Captain? By all rights, that should have been smashed to bits, or at least scoured by the sands. Yet it looks as if it just come out of a jeweler's shop.”

Kennit shook his head sadly. “Magic? No, Gankis, no more magic than the rip-tides in the Orte Shallows, or the Spice Current that speeds sailing ships on their journeys to the islands and taunts them all the way back. It's but a trick of wind and current and tides. No more than that. The same trick that promises that any ship that tries to anchor off this side of the island will find herself beached and broken before the next tide.”

“Yessir,” Gankis agreed dutifully, but without conviction. His traitorous eyes strayed to the pocket where Captain Kennit had stowed the glass ball. Kennit's smile might have deepened fractionally.

“Well? Don't loiter here. Get back up there and walk the bank and see what else you find.”