Most of the town stood within hearing range of Phylomon's words, and the rest of the people seemed to be coming.

Wisteria watched the mayor intently. Lady Devarre had taught her girls to try to read a competitor's thoughts just by the way he held his head, the way the nervous lines crinkled near his eyes, the timbre of his voice.

Mayor Goodman obviously knew that there was no threat from pirates and he feared to gather the town. Phylomon could be plotting to turn the townsmen against him.

"As you wish," the mayor conceded with false courage.

"I have often heard good report of the inn of Scandal the Gourmet," Phylomon said, "Is this the town where it lies? Could someone tell him that I'd like a room for the night?"

Scandal's high, bellowing voice cut through the crowd, "You can tell me yourself!" he said, and the townspeople laughed a false, nervous laugh.

"I've heard you have a bed in one of your rooms—a very special bed, guaranteed free from vermin," Phylomon said softly as Scandal shoved the crowd aside, making room for his belly to squeeze through. "Is that room available?"

Ever the showman, Scandal played to the crowd, answering loudly so that everyone could hear. "Well, a bed is only as free of vermin as the man who's sleeping in it. If you want my special bed, you'll have to hike up your breechcloth and let me check for fleas, just like every other customer!"

Phylomon grinned at the game and pulled up his brechcloth, exposing his muscular legs. Scandal grunted and bent over, making a great show of scrutinizing the blue man's skin.

"I hereby declare this man to be totally free of vermin!" Scandal announced, laughing. "And therefore worthy of my finest room——free of charge!" Several people cheered, while others just laughed.

Phylomon said, "Then show me to your inn." Phylomon took the Dryad's hand and helped her rise. Together they made their way across town and up the hill.

The crowd began to disperse.

Wisteria felt unsure of what to make of the blue man's appearance, and wanted to ask her father about it, but she didn't see him in the crowd. She rushed home to the large house on the north end of town.

Her mother was quietly preparing dinner in the kitchen. Her father sat in a large upholstered chair in his study, reading The Sayings, a book of wise words purportedly spoken by Phylomon over the centuries. Wisteria had never seen her father read the book before.

So, she thought, he is preparing to meet him.

Her father, Beremon Altair had graying hair and bright blue eyes. He was a learned man, knowledgeable about arcane mathematics and physical theories that let the Starfarers travel faster than light, a man who'd made a fortune backing shipping ventures in dangerous waters. A man others feared because he, himself, was a rare genetic throwback to the Starfarers—Beremon Altair was a Dicton, one of the few humans left on Anee who carried the extra pair of genetically engineered chromosomes that were the Starfarer's greatest legacy. Beremon could calculate nearly any mathematical problem instantly, and from birth he had known every word in the ancient, universal trade language of the Starfarers, a language from Earth itself, called English.

As a Dicton, Beremon was marked from birth to become a man of power, and he'd lived true to his promise.

Shipping on Anee could be a dangerous gambit. Because of the extreme gravitational pull of the gas giant Thor, Anee's tides could fluctuate by a hundred feet in a few hours. During raging storms, a strong gravitational wind could send a sailing ship a thousand miles from its destination overnight and leave it smashed against a rocky coast.

By applying his knowledge of mathematics to calculate the shifting tides, and finding the precise moment when the gravitational winds would surge, Beremon had reduced the risk to his own ships. Over the years he'd expanded his hold on the shipping industry until, by age forty, he'd become the most powerful shipping magnate and financier in the Rough.

"Father, Phylomon the Starfarer is in town!" Wisteria said loudly. He did not look at her, and showed no surprise.

Beremon said, "I heard the shouting."

"Why would he come here?" Wisteria asked.

"He often travels from continent to continent, studying animal and plant populations, doing what he can to keep nature regular. If he had skin the color of any other man's, we'd think him a vagabond. We'd let him stay in town a day or two, watch our clotheslines and gardens to see what he steals, and the mayor would finally sic his mastiffs on him and send him on his way."

"That's not what I mean," Wisteria said. "I mean, what is he doing here, in this town, now?"

"He doesn't visit towns often," Beremon said. "He tires quickly of us short-lived people who can never attain a mental caliber equal to his. He is a man of great intelligence, and he lives alone, and when men like him live alone, their thoughts begin to travel in strange, eccentric paths. Who am I to guess what he might be thinking? Perhaps he has heard of Scandal's quest? The innkeeper has made no secret of it. Or perhaps his visit is coincidental. I've heard from sailors that he's been in Craal the past few years.

"Down south in Benbow two years ago, he caused quite a stir. It seems that he's taken aback at how slavery has become a fad in the past century. He's begun to enforce some of the laws of our ancestors. If you have time, you might persuade a few friends to begin cutting wood for funeral pyres."

Wisteria's stomach tightened. She'd feared as much—he'd come to kill the mayor and the other people she suspected of being slavers. She feared to speak her next words even more. "Will he kill you?"

Beremon looked up from his book. He smiled weakly. "You think so little of me?"

"I'm sorry," Wisteria said. Yet she knew he was a slaver. When she had been a child, her mother had feuded for several months with a neighbor woman named Javan Tech. Javan had accused Wisteria's mother, Elyssa, of stealing some nails, and no matter what Elyssa or Beremon did to clear their good name, Javan kept trying to prejudice others against them.

Finally, in desperation, Beremon caught Javan and tied her in their basement for a week until he could persuade the mayor to help stash her in the hold of a departing ship. Wisteria herself had helped feed and water the woman.

"Sorry?" Beremon asked. "Don't be sorry. I made one mistake when I was young. Carting that bitch Javan out of town and selling her to Craal seemed a good idea at the time. A fun idea. We got rid of a problem and made some pocket change in the bargain. I still think it was a fun idea. But remember, my Apple, it was only once."

Only once that Wisteria knew of, and once was all that it took. She'd never trusted her father after that, despite the fact that she still loved him. She felt as if a snare was tightening around her own foot.

"I saw Tull today—we talked," Wisteria said. "We didn't kiss. We didn't hug. I wanted to tell you, before you heard it from others."

"I'm not surprised that he found you. The Pwi are like dogs that way, always sniffing at the source of joy. You will not see him socially, of course," Beremon said. "You are the daughter of a Dicton, and if you are lucky you might give birth to a Dicton. Your body is a great asset, and you should marry only into the finest family. I will arrange for a suitable marriage shortly."

"I'm sorry," Wisteria said, backing out of the study. She was not sure if she felt sorry for seeing Tull or sorry because she would be forced to marry a stranger. Talking to her father like this was always unbearable. The look of disgust on his face when he'd learned of her fling with Tull, the guilt she'd felt when she'd fed Javan, the powerful, passionate love she felt for Beremon, her own father, all became so jumbled in her mind that she could not think straight while in his presence.

"Sorry?" Beremon asked. "Sorrow does no one any good. You will, of course, stay away from Tull?"

Wisteria remembered her training at Lady Devarre's School of Merchantry. Her father was offering a good marriage, power. Tull could never give her that. She straightened her back and nodded. "Of course, Father, I will stay away from Tull. I'm sorry."

She closed the door behind her and stood outside the room a moment, letting her pounding heart calm. "Oh yes," she heard Beremon say to himself, "you're always sorry. I fear that you'll be forever sorry."