Ship of Magic Read Free Page A

inordinate amount of coin to commission it. Not everyone who could carve wizardwood would, even if they had the balls to steal some.
    Kennit remembered well the artisan who had worked the tiny face for him. He'd sat for long hours in the man's studio, washed in the cool morning light as the artist painstakingly worked the iron-hard wood to reflect Kennit's features. They had not spoken. The artist could not. The pirate did not. The carver had needed absolute silence for his concentration, for he worked not only wood but a spell that would bind the charm to protect the wearer from enchantments. Kennit had had nothing to say to him anyway. The pirate had paid him an exorbitant advance months before, and waited until the artist had sent him a messenger to say that he had obtained some of the precious and jealously guarded wood. Kennit had been outraged when the artist had demanded still more money before he would begin the carving and spell-setting, but Kennit had only smiled his small sardonic smile, and put coins and jewels and silver and gold links on the artist's scales until the man had nodded that his price had been met. Like many in Bingtown's illicit trades, he had long ago sacrificed his own tongue to ensure his client's privacy. While Kennit was not convinced of the efficacy of such a mutilation, he appreciated the sentiment it implied. So when the artist was finished and had personally bound the ornament to Kennit's wrist, the man had only been able to nod vehemently his extreme satisfaction with his own skill as he touched the wood with avid fingertips.
    Afterwards Kennit had killed him. It was the only sensible thing to do, and Kennit was an eminently sensible man. He had taken back the extra fee the man had demanded. Kennit could not abide a man who would not honor his original bargain. But that had not been the reason he'd killed him. He'd killed him for the sake of keeping the secret. If men knew that Captain Kennit wore a charm to ward off enchantments, why, then they would believe that he feared them. He could not let his crew believe that he feared anything. His good luck was legendary. All the men who followed him believed in it, most more strongly than Kennit himself did. It was why they followed him. They must not ever think that he feared anything could threaten that luck.
    In the year since he had killed the artist, he had wondered if killing him had somehow harmed the charm, for it had not quickened. When he had originally asked the carver how long it would take for the little face to come to life, the man had shrugged eloquently, and indicated with much hand fluttering that neither he nor anyone else could predict such a thing. For a year Kennit had waited for the charm to quicken, to be sure that its spell was completely activated. But there had come a time when he could not wait any longer. He had known, on an instinctive level, that it was time for him to visit the Treasure Beach and see what fortune the ocean would wash up for him. He could wait no longer for the charm to awaken; he'd decided to take his chances. He'd have to once more trust his good luck to protect him, as it always had. It had protected him the day he'd had to kill the artist, hadn't it? The man had turned unexpectedly, just in time to see Kennit drawing his blade. Kennit was convinced that if the man had had a tongue in his head, his scream would have been much louder.
    Kennit set the artist firmly out of his mind. This was no time to be thinking of him. He hadn't come to the Treasure Beach to dwell on the past, but to find treasure to secure his future. He fixed his eyes on the undulating tideline and followed it down the beach. He ignored the glistening shells, the crab claws and tangles of uprooted seaweed and driftwood large and small. His pale blue eyes searched for jetsam and wreckage only. He did not have to go far to be rewarded. In a small battered wooden chest, he found a set of teacups. He did not think men had made