Ship of Magic

She hated sneaking about like this, she hated having brief, clandestine meetings with her ship. But it was her only hope of success. She was sure that if Kyle had any notion of her plans, he'd do anything in his power to thwart her. Yet here she was, about to divulge those plans to Wintrow, and all on the basis of a single look exchanged with him. For a brief moment, she had seen her father's sense of honor in the boy's eyes. Now she was going to stake everything on her belief in him.

“Remember, boy, I'm watching you,” Torg's voice boomed nastily in the stillness. When only silence greeted this announcement, he barked, “Answer me, boy!”

“You didn't ask me a question,” Wintrow pointed out quietly. On the docks below, Althea gave the boy marks for guts, if not wisdom.

“You even try to jump ship tonight, and I'll kick your ass until your backbone splits,” Torg threatened him. “You understand me?”

“I understand you,” Wintrow's slight voice replied wearily. He sounded very young and very tired. Althea heard the slight scuff of bare feet, and then the sound of someone settling wearily to the deck. “I am too tired to think, let alone talk,” the boy said.

“Are you too tired to listen?” the ship asked him gently.

Althea heard the indistinct sounds of a yawn. “Only if you don't mind if I fall asleep in the middle of whatever you want to tell me.”

“I'm not the one who wishes you to listen,” Vivacia said quietly. “Althea Vestrit waits on the docks below. She is the one with something to say to you.”

“My Aunt Althea?” the boy asked in surprise. Althea saw his head appear over the railing above her. She stepped silently from the shadows to look up at him. She could see nothing of his face; he was merely a darker silhouette against the evening sky. “Everyone says you just disappeared,” he observed to her quietly.

“Yes. I did,” she admitted to him. She took a deep breath and her first risk. “Wintrow. If I speak frankly with you of what I plan to do, can you keep those plans a secret?”

He asked her a priest's question in reply. “Are you planning on doing something . . . wrong?”

She almost laughed at his tone. “No. I'm not going to kill your father or anything so rash as that.” She hesitated, trying to measure what little she knew of the boy. Vivacia had assured her that he was trustworthy. She hoped the young ship was right. “I am going to try to out-maneuver him, though. But it won't work if he knows of my plans. So I'm going to ask you to keep my secret.”

“Why are you telling anyone at all what you plan? A secret is kept best by one,” he pointed out to her.

That, of course, was the crux of it. She took a breath. “Because you are crucial to my plans. Without your promise to aid me, there is no sense in my even acting at all.”

The boy was silent for a time. “What you saw, that day, when he hit me. It might make you think I hate him, or wish his downfall. I don't. I just want him to keep his promise.”

“That's exactly what I want, also,” Althea replied quickly. “I'm not going to ask you to do anything wrong, Wintrow. I promise you that. But before I can say any more, I have to ask you to promise to keep my secret.”

It seemed to her that the boy took a very long time considering this. Were all priests so cautious about everything? “I will keep your secret,” he finally said. And she liked that about him. No vows or oaths, just the simple offering of his word. Through the palm of her hand, she felt the Vivacia respond with pleasure to her approval of him. Strange, that that should matter to the ship.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She took her courage in both hands, and hoped he would not think she was a fool. “Do you remember that day clearly? The day he knocked you down in the dining room?”

“Most of it,” the boy said softly. “The parts when I was conscious, anyway.”

“Do you remember what your father said? He swore by Sa, and said that if but one reputable captain would vouch for my seamanship, he'd give my ship back to me. Do you remember that?” She held her breath.

“I do,” Wintrow said quietly.

She put both hands to the ship's hull. “And would you swear by Sa that you heard him say those words?”

“No.”

Althea's dreams crashed down through their straw foundations. She should have known it. How could she ever have thought the boy would stand up to his father in a great matter as this? How could she have been so stupid?

“I would vouch that I heard him say it,” Wintrow went on quietly. “But I would not swear. A priest of Sa does not swear by Sa.”

Althea's heart soared. It would be enough, it would have to be enough. “You'd give your word, as a man, as to what he said,” she pressed.