“Best tend to him,” Devane said to no one in particular. Then: “Matthew! You done?”

“Did you have to do that?” Eurig scowled, as Gregor and a couple of the villagers bent down to pick up the groaning man and carry him away. “It was a damnable thing!”

“I have no time to argue. He was too stupid to realize we’re leaving a pair of fine horses and tack as payment for his boat. And if anyone raises an axe to me,” said Devane, “he is as good as dead, so if that fool survives he can count himself lucky … even without the pig’s snout.”

“I think,” Eurig said, his seamed face as impassive as Devane’s, “that you’re a cursed man.”

“As you please. Matthew, I’m waiting!” Devane’s gaze scanned the villagers who remained on the street, most of them nearly huddled up in a knot behind Eurig. “You!” Devane said. “With the brown cap! Come here!”

“Me, sir?”

“Here!” Devane pointed at the ground before him with the pistol, and the young and terrified man came slouching like a dog expecting at the least to be kicked. “Do you have lice?” Devane asked.

“Sir?”

“Lice! Do you have lice?”

“No sir!”

“Good enough.” Devane plucked the brown woolen cap from the man’s head and held it toward Matthew as the water jug was brought back to its master. “Put that under your hat. You’ll need it against the sea wind,” Devane said, “which I intend to ride like a sonofabitch.”

Matthew took it and saw a couple of small holes in the thin wool, but otherwise it was a welcome addition to his winter wardrobe. He immediately put it on to warm his ears, lice or not, and then topped himself with his tricorn. He was looking down at the scrawl of blood on the dirt where the wounded man had fallen when he realized Devane was already halfway to the chosen boat.

“Wherever you’re goin’,” said Eurig, “you’re in bad company.”

“I’ll leave the musket on the wharf when we pull out,” Matthew answered; he had the gun tucked up under his arm and Devane’s sword still in his hand as protection. “The horses are worth that boat, believe me.”

“Tell that to Ewan’s wife and children,” came the stone-faced reply.

Matthew could say nothing more. He backed away from Eurig and the others, fearing an en masse attack that his swordsmanship or pistolplay could not handle, but the wounding—maiming—of Devane’s victim had done its work on the villagers of Adderlane; they had had enough of violence to last them a lifetime, and when Eurig turned away the others did as well. Matthew walked to the wharf, put the musket down upon the boards and obeyed Devane’s order to first hand over the sword and then cast off. After he’d sheathed the weapon, Devane busied himself inspecting the mainsail, which was furled and not yet raised to the mast. Matthew tossed the lines onto the Pig’s Snout, for want of a better boat title, and then stepped aboard.