Stark leaned on the taffrail, watching the dark mass of Shuruun recede into the red mists.
The decks were crowded with the outland slaves, going home. The Lhari were gone, the Lost Ones freed forever, and Shuruun was now only another port on the Red Sea. Its people would still be wolf's-heads and pirates, but that was natural and as it should be. The black evil was gone.
Stark was glad to see the last of it. He would be glad also to see the last of the Red Sea.
The off-shore wind set the ship briskly down the gulf. Stark thought of Larrabee, left behind with his dreams of winter snows and city streets and women with dainty feet. It seemed that he had lived too long in Shuruun, and had lost the courage to leave it.
"Poor Larrabee," he said to Helvi, who was standing near him. "He'll die in the mud, still cursing it."
Someone laughed behind him. He heard a limping step on the deck and turned to see Larrabee coming toward him.
"Changed my mind at the last minute," Larrabee said. "I've been below, lest I should see my muddy brats and be tempted to change it again." He leaned beside Stark, shaking his head. "Ah, well, they'll do nicely without me. I'm an old man, and I've a right to choose my own place to die in. I'm going back to Earth, with you."
Stark glanced at him. "I'm not going to Earth."
Larrabee sighed. "No. No, I suppose you're not. After all, you're no Earthman, really, except for an accident of blood. Where are you going?"
"I don't know. Away from Venus, but I don't know yet where."