The crew tugged at the brace lines until the last flutter disappeared from the sail and, with the Storm Sprite rushing madly up the face of the heaving water dune, secured the lines to the belaying pins. The little cog crested the top and raced down the other side, then sped, pitching and crashing, toward the distant caravel. The sailors busied themselves with clearing away the great tangle of lines scattered over the decks, coiling the loose ends and hanging them in their proper places, and paid no heed to the misfortune of their two lost fellows.

"Captain Fowler, what of your lost men? Is there noth- ing you can do for them?"

The half-ore shrugged and did not look at Ruha. "Even if we could find them, I would not turn back." His voice was sharp with restrained anger. "They're the price

Umberlee demanded for letting us come about, and she'd look harshly upon me^f I tried to bring them back."

Ruha felt a terrible emptiness in her stomach, feeling her spell had brought the Storm Sprite around too sud- denly and caused their loss. "Then I am sorry for their deaths."

"For their deaths?" Fowler snapped. "And what of

Storm Sprite? She could have lost the rudder or snapped a yardarm!"

"You care more for boards and cloth than for men's lives?"

The captain's jutting brow rose, and his flat nose twitched uncomfortably. He squared his shoulders and looked forward and did not speak. The crew had finished the tidying of the lines and now stood in the center of the ship, clinging to whatever they could find to keep from being swept away by the cataracts that boiled down the decks each time the bow crashed into another water dune.

When Fowler finally spoke, his gravelly voice was again deliberate and composed. "I doubt the world's going to miss those two. They were cutpurses and mur- derers both, and if Umberlee doesn't take them for her own, I pity the shore they wash up on." The captain peered at Ruha from the corner of his narrow eye, then added, "But I warn you, Storm Sprite is mine. Hiring her does not give you leave to disregard my commands. While a ship is at sea, the captain is lord and master, and those who cross him are filthy mutineers. I could sail into Pros with your rotten carcass hanging from my yardarms, and your friends would not question your punishment."