Ship of Magic

She still seemed to remember something of him, for she made her way through his interior until she came to the aft space where the crew used to hang their hammocks. Odd, how the feel of her inside him could stir such memories to life again. Crenshaw had had red hair and was always complaining about the food. He had died there, the hatchet that ended his life had left a deep scar in the planking as well, his blood had stained the wood. . . .

She curled up against a bulkhead. She'd be cold tonight. His hull might be sound, but that didn't keep the damp out of him. He could feel her, still and small against him, unsleeping. Her eyes were probably open, staring into the blackness.

Time passed. A minute or most of the night. Hard to tell. Brashen came down the beach. Paragon knew his stride and the way he muttered to himself when he'd been drinking. Tonight his voice was dark with worry and Paragon judged he was close to the end of his money. Tomorrow he would rebuke himself long for his stupidity, and then go out to spend the last of his coins. Then he'd have to go to sea again.

Paragon would almost miss him. Having company was interesting and exciting. But also annoying and disturbing. Brashen and Althea made him think about things better left undisturbed.

“Paragon,” Brashen greeted him as he drew near. “Permission to come aboard.”

“Granted. Althea Vestrit's here.”

A silence. Paragon could almost feel him goggling up at him. “She looking for me?” Brashen asked thickly.

“No. Me.” It pleased him inordinately to give the man that answer. “Her family has turned her out, and she had nowhere else to go. So she came here.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “Doesn't surprise me. Well, the sooner she gives up and goes home, the wiser she'll be. Though I imagine it will take her a while to come to that.” Brashen yawned hugely. “Does she know I'm living aboard?” A cautious question, one that begged for a negative answer.

“Of course,” Paragon answered smoothly. “I told her that you had taken the captain's cabin and that she'd have to make do elsewhere.”

“Oh. Well, good for you. Good for you. Good night, then. I'm dead on my feet.”

“Good night, Brashen. Sleep well.”

A few moments later, Brashen was in the captain's quarters. A few minutes after that, Paragon felt Althea uncurl. She was trying to move quietly, but she could not conceal herself from Paragon. When she finally reached the door of the aftercastle chamber where Brashen had strung his hammock, she paused. She rapped very lightly on the paneled door. “Brash?” she said cautiously.

“What?” he answered readily. He had not been asleep, nor even near sleep. Could he have been waiting? How could he have known she would come to him?

Althea took a deep breath. “Can I talk to you?”

“Can I stop you?” he asked grumpily. It was evidently a familiar response, for Althea was not put off by it. She set her hand to the door handle, then took it away without opening the door. She leaned on the door and spoke close to it.

“Do you have a lantern or a candle?”

“No. Is that what you wanted to talk about?” His tone seemed to be getting brusquer.

“No. It's just that I prefer to see the person I'm talking to.”

“Why? You know what I look like.”

“You're impossible when you're drunk.”

“At least with me, it's only when I'm drunk. You're impossible all the time.”

Althea sounded distinctly annoyed now. “I don't know why I'm even trying to talk to you.”

“That makes two of us,” Brashen added as an aside, as if to himself. Paragon suddenly wondered if they were aware of how clearly he could hear their every word and movement. Did they know he was their unseen audience, or did they truly believe themselves alone? Brashen, at least, he suspected, included him.

Althea sighed heavily. She leaned her head on the paneled door between them. “I have no one else to talk to. And I really need to ... Look, can I come in? I hate talking through this door.”

“The door isn't latched,” he told her grudgingly. He didn't move from his hammock.

In the darkness, Althea pushed the door open. She stood in the entry uncertainly for a moment, then groped her way into the room. She followed the wall, bracing herself to keep from falling on the slanted deck. “Where are you?”

“Over here. In a hammock. Best sit down before you fall.”

He offered her no more courtesy than that. Althea sat, bracing her feet against the slope of the floor and leaning back against a bulkhead. She took a deep breath. “Brashen, my whole life just fell apart in the last two days. I don't know what to do.”

“Go home,” he suggested without sympathy. “You know that eventually you'll have to. The longer you put it off, the. harder it will be. So do it now.”

“That's easy to say, and hard to do. You should understand that. You never went home.”