Ship of Magic

Candletown was a lively little trade port on the marrow peninsula. Althea had been here before, with her father. As she stood on the deck of the Reaper and looked around at the busy harbor, it suddenly seemed that if she jumped from the ship and ran down the docks, she must find the Vivacia tied up and her father on board her just as it used to be. He'd be in the captain's salon, receiving merchants from the city. There would be fine brandy and smoked fish and aged cheese set out, and the atmosphere would be one of comradely negotiation as he offered his cargo in exchange for their wares or coin. The room would be both clean and cozy, and Althea's stateroom would be as it once had been, her personal haven.

The sudden ache of longing she felt for the past was a physical pain in her chest. She wondered where her ship was, and how she was faring under Kyle's usage. She hoped Wintrow had become a good companion to her, despite the jealousy that assured her that no one could ever know the Vivacia as well as she did. Soon, she promised both herself and her distant ship. Soon.

“Boy!”

The sharp word came from close behind her, and she jumped before she recognized both Brashen's voice and the teasing snap in the word. Still, “Sir?” she asked, turning hastily.

“Captain wants to see you.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied and jumped up to go.

“Wait. A moment.”

She hated the way he glanced about to see if anyone was near, or even watching them. Didn't he realize that to anyone else that was an obvious signal of something clandestine between them? Worse still, he stepped close to her, to be able to speak more softly.

“Dinner ashore tonight?” He tapped his pouch, so the coins inside gave a jingle. A newly stamped ship's tag hung from his belt beside it.

She shrugged. “If I get liberty, perhaps I will.” She chose deliberately to miss the invitation in his question.

His eyes traveled over her face lingeringly. “That serpent burn is nearly gone. For a time, I feared you'd carry a scar.”

Althea shrugged, refusing to meet the tenderness in his eyes. “What's one more scar on a sailor? I doubt anyone else aboard has noticed it or will.”

“Then you've decided to stay on with the ship?”

“I'll work it as long as we're in port. But I think I've a better chance of getting a ship back to Bingtown from here than from the other little ports the Reaper will visit after this.” She knew she should let it lie at that, but sudden curiosity made her ask, “And you?”

“I don't know yet.” He grinned suddenly at her and confided, “They've offered me second. Almost twice the pay I started out at and it looks much better on a ticket than a third. I might stay aboard her, just for that. I've told them yes, but I haven't signed ship's articles yet.” He was watching her face very carefully as he said, “On the other hand, if we found a sound ship heading back to Bingtown, it might be good to see home again, too.”

Her heart dropped into her belly. No. This mustn't continue. She forced a casual smile to her lips and a laugh. “Now, what are the chances that we'd both end up on the same ship again? Pretty slim, I'd say.”

Still, he watched her so closely. “Depends on how hard we tried,” he offered. He took a breath. “I did put in a word for you here. Said I thought you did more the work of a real sailor than a ship's boy. The first agreed with me. Like as not, that's what the captain wants to see you about, to make you a better offer if you stay on.”

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. Not because she felt grateful, but because she felt the first sparks of anger kindling. Did he think she needed his “good word” to be seen as an able-bodied seaman? She was well worth the wages they, paid a regular hand, especially as she could skin, too. She felt as if he'd cheated her of her dignity and her own worth, by putting in his good word. She should have stopped at that, but heard herself add, “I think they've seen that about me already.”

He knew her too damn well. “I didn't mean it that way,” he hastily apologized. “Anyone can see you're worth your pay. You were always a good sailor, Althea. And your time on the Reaper has made you an even better one. If I had to work rigging in a storm, I'd choose you to be up there with me. A man can count on you, aloft or on deck.”

“Thank you,” she said again, and this time it came out even more awkwardly, for she meant it. Brashen did not give out compliments casually. “I'd best report to the captain if I want to keep his good opinion of me,” she added, as a way to be quickly away from him.

She turned away from him, but he called after her, “I've got liberty. I'm off to the Red Eaves. Good food, and better ale and cheap. See you ashore.”