Tara’s master didn’t approve.
He’d helped her build the ship.
He’d helped her crew it.
But every time she looked at him she could see through the grey beard of her master how amazingly he disapproved.
“You can’t enlighten people by committing corporal violence on a god,” he said. “Not even a heap.”
She looked at him. It was a serious, pensive look. “Don’t tell Amitabha?”
“If you can do it,” he says, “it won’t work; contrariwise, if it could work, you won’t be able to do it.”
“The point’s not to do it,” she said.
“I just think, if people are always going to be mugged by bandits, that there should be a pirate somewhere, you know, fighting on their behalf.”