Sickness sent him to his shelf at once, for the movement of the ship was becoming more vivid as twilight fell, but sleep had not yet reached him when there was a change of duty, as in the morning, and of those who came tumbling down the ladder, Krotz was one. He was much less the lord of the earth than earlier; no sooner was the lad in place than all the Kjermanash were after him unmercifully, with hoots and ribald remarks, pinching his cheeks and his behind, till at the last the lad, crying; “Let me alone!” flung his arms out so wildly that he caught one of the sailors a clip on the nose and sent him staggering. The fellow snarled like a tiger, all his rough humor dissolved in black bile, and recovering, whipped out a tongue of steel. But Rodvard, without knowing how or why he did so, rolled from his shelf onto the shoulder and arm that held the knife, bearing the man to the floor. The Kjermanash fought upward; Rodvard took two or three nasty blows on the side of the head, as he clung with both his hands to the dagger, and knew with more interest than fear that he must lose in the end to the overbearing strength of the man. But just as he was giving way, a pair of hands beneath the armpits wrenched him clear and flung him against the shelves, while a big foot kicked the knife. “What’s here?” demanded the voice of the bearded mate. “Puke-face, you’ll have a dozen lashes for this, damme if you don’t! You to attack a full-grade seaman!” Said Rodvard, feeling of his head; “He would have knifed Ser Krotz.” “Ser!” The mate barked derision, and his head darted round like a snake’s. “Is this veritable?” All the Kjermanash began cawing together; the mate appeared to comprehend their babble, for after a minute or two of it, he held up his hand with; “Shut up. I see it. This is the sentence—Vetehikko, three days’ pay stopped for knifing. As for you, Puke-face, your punishment’s remitted, but in the future, you’ll sleep in the lazarette to teach you your true status aboard this basket.” He turned to the ladder, and not a word from the Kjermanash for once, but as they glowered among themselves, young Krotz came to throw his arms around Rodvard. “I owe you a life,” he said, at the edge of tears. Said Rodvard; “But I will pay for it.” “Ah, no. I—will surely buy you free.” “I did not know there was status aboard a sea-ship; you said the life on one was free as a bird.” “Why, so it is, indeed, but not for lack of status, which is the natural order of things. Are you an Amorosian?” It nearly slipped off Rodvard’s lips that he was rather of the Sons of the New Day, but Krotz’ words showed how little he would find such a confession acceptable, and he did not trust the Kjermanash; and by another morning, the ship’s motion told on him somewhat less heavily. 17 CHARALKIS: THE DEPTH AND RISE