Ship of Magic

Her honesty caught Paragon off guard. He had accustomed himself to think of people as givers of pain. They could move about so freely and end their lives anytime they chose; it was hard for him to understand that she could feel such a depth of pain as her voice suggested. For a moment, somewhere in the labyrinths of his memory a homesick boy sobbed into his bunk. Paragon snatched his consciousness back from it. “Tell me about it,” he suggested to Althea. He did not truly want to hear her woes, but at least it was a way to keep his own at bay.

It surprised him when she complied. She spoke long, of everything, from Kyle Haven's betrayal of her family's trust to her own incomplete grief for her father. As she spoke, he felt the last warmth of the afternoon ebb away and the coolness of night come on. At some time she left her rock to come and lean her back against the silvered planking of his hull. He suspected she did it for the warmth of the day that lingered in his bones, but with the nearness of her body came a greater sharing of her words and feelings. Almost it was like they were kin. Did she know that she reached toward him for understanding as if he were her own liveship? Probably not, he told himself harshly. It was probably just that he reminded her of the Vivacia and so she extended her feelings into him. That was all. It was not especially intended for him.

Nothing was especially intended for him.

He forced himself to remember that, and so he could be calm when, after she had been silent for some time, she said, “I have no place to stay tonight. Could I sleep aboard?”

“It's probably a smelly mess in there,” he cautioned her. “Oh, my hull is sound enough, still. But one can do little about storm waters, and blown sand and beach lice can find a way into anything.”

“Please, Paragon. I won't mind. I'm sure I can find a dry corner to curl up in.”

“Very well, then,” he conceded, and then hid his smile in his beard as he added, “if you don't mind sharing space with Brashen. He comes back here every night, you know.”

“He does?” Startled dismay was in her voice.

“He comes and stays almost every time he makes port here. It's always the same. The first night it's because it's late and he's drunk and he doesn't want to pay a full night's lodging for a few hours sleep and he feels safe here. And he always goes on about how he's going to save his wages and only spend a bit of it this time, so that someday he'll have enough saved up to make something of himself.” Paragon paused, savoring Althea's shocked silence. “He never does, of course. Every night he comes stumbling back, his pockets a bit lighter, until it's all gone. And when he has no more to spend on drink, then he goes back and stays on whatever ship will have him until he ships out again.”

“Paragon,” Althea corrected him gently. “Brashen has worked the Vivacia for years now. I think he always used to sleep aboard her when he was in port here.”

“Well, but, yes, I suppose, but I meant before that. Before that, and now.” Without meaning to, he spoke his next thought aloud. “Time runs together and gets tangled up, when one is blind and alone.”

“I suppose it would.” She leaned her head back against him and sighed deeply. “Well. I think I shall go in and find a place to curl up, before the light is gone completely.”

“Before the light is gone,” Paragon repeated slowly. “So. Not completely dark yet.”

“No. You know how long evening lingers in summer. But it's probably black as pitch inside, so don't be alarmed if I go stumbling about.” She paused awkwardly, then came to stand before him. Canted as he was on the sand, she could reach his hand easily. She patted it, then shook it. “Good night, Paragon. And thank you.”

“Good night,” he repeated. “Oh. Brashen has been sleeping in the captain's quarters.”

“Right. Thank you.”

She clambered awkwardly up his side. He heard the whisper of fabric, lots of it. It seemed to encumber her as she traversed his slanting deck and finally fumbled her way down into his cargo hold. She had been more agile as a girl. There had been a summer when she had come to see him nearly every day. Her home was somewhere on the hillside above him; she spoke of walking through the woods behind her home and then climbing down the cliffs to him. That summer she had known him well, playing all sorts of games inside him and around him, pretending he was her ship and she was captain of him, until word of it came to her father's ears. He had followed her one day, and when he found her talking to the cursed ship, he soundly scolded them both and then herded Althea home with a switch. For a long time after that, she had not come to see him. When she did come, it was only for brief visits in early dawn or evening. But for that one summer, she had known him well.