Ship of Magic

“Of course. It's only the truth. But,” he shook his head down at her, “I don't think it would do you any good. If my father will not keep his word to Sa to give me up to the priesthood, why should he keep his word on an angrily sworn oath? After all, this ship is worth much more to him than I am. I am sorry to say this to you, Althea, but I think your hopes of regaining your ship that way are groundless.”

“You let me worry about that,” she said in a shaky voice. Relief was flowing through her. She had one witness, and she felt she could rely on him. She would say nothing to the boy of the Traders' Council and the power it held. She had entrusted him with enough of her secret. She would burden him with no more of it. “As long as I know you will vouch for the truth, that your father spoke those words, I have hope.”

He received these words in silence. For a time Althea just stood there, her hands on her silent ship. She could almost feel the boy through the ship. His desolation and loneliness.

“We sail tomorrow,” he said finally. There was no joy in his voice.

“I envy you,” Althea told him.

“I know you do. I wish we could change places.”

“I wish it were that simple.” Althea tried to set aside her jealousy.

“Wintrow. Trust the ship. She'll take care of you, and you take good care of her. I'm counting on both of you to watch out for each other.” She heard in her own voice the “doting relative” tone that she had always hated when she was young. She pushed it away, and spoke as if he were any young boy setting out on his maiden voyage. “I believe you'll grow to love this life and this ship. It's in your blood, you know. And if you do,” these words came harder, “if you do, and you are true to our ship, when I take her over, I'll make sure there's always a place for you aboard her. That is my promise to you.”

“Somehow I doubt I'll ever ask you to keep it. It's not that I don't like the ship, it's just that I can't imagine-”

“Who are you talking to, boy?” Torg demanded. His heavy feet thudded across the deck as Althea melted back into the ship's shadow. She held her breath. Wintrow wouldn't lie to Torg. She already knew that about him. And she couldn't stand by and let the boy take a beating for her, but she also couldn't risk Torg holding her for Kyle.

“I believe this is my hour with Wintrow,” Vivacia cut in sharply. “Who do you imagine he would be speaking to?”

“Is there someone on the docks down there?” Torg demanded. His bushy head was thrust out over the railing, but both the curve of Vivacia's hull and the deep shadow protected Althea. She held her breath.

“Why don't you haul your fat ass down there and see?” Vivacia asked nastily. Althea clearly heard Wintrow's gasp of astonishment. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. She sounded just like their cocky ship's boy, Mild, in one of his bolder moods.

“Yea? Well, maybe I'll just do that.”

“Don't trip in the dark,” the Vivacia warned him sweetly. “It would be a shame if you went overboard and drowned right here by the dock.” The liveship's peaceful rocking suddenly increased by the tiniest of increments. And in that moment her adolescent taunting of the man took on a darker edge that stood the hair up on the back of Althea's neck.

“You devil ship!” Torg hissed at her. “You don't scare me. I'm seeing who's down there.” Althea heard the thudding of his feet on the deck, but she couldn't decide if he hurried toward the gangplank or away from the figurehead.

“Go now!” Vivacia hissed to her.

“I'm going. Good luck. My heart sails with you.” Althea no more than breathed the words, but she knew the ship did not need to hear her speak so long as she touched her. She slipped away from the Vivacia, staying to the deepest shadows as she fled. “Sa keep them both safe, especially from themselves,” she said under her breath, and this time she knew that she uttered a true prayer.

Ronica Vestrit waited alone in the kitchen. Outside the night was full, the summer insects chirring, the stars glinting through the trees. Soon the gong at the edge of the field would sound. The thought filled her stomach with butterflies. No. Moths. Moths were more fitting to the night and the rendezvous she awaited.