Ship of Magic

Night after night, Althea sprawled upon the wooden deck and dreamed with her ship. Even by day, she lay there, her cheek pressed firmly to the plank, musing on her future. She became attuned to the Vivacia, from the shuddering of her wooden body as she strained through a sudden change in course, to the peaceful sounds the wood made when the wind drove her on a steady and true course. The shouts of the sailors, the light thunder of their feet on her decks were only slightly more significant than the cries of the gulls who sometimes alighted on her. At such times it seemed to Althea that she became the ship, aware of the small men who clambered up her masts only as a great whale might be aware of the barnacles that clung upon it.

There was so much more to the ship than the folk that worked her. Althea had no human words to express the fine differences she now sensed in wind and current. There was pleasure in working with a good steersman, and annoyance in the one who was always making minute and unnecessary adjustments, but it was a surface thing compared to what went on between the ship and the water. This concept that the life of a ship might be larger than what went on between her and her captain was a major revelation to Althea. In the space of a handful of nights, her whole concept of what a ship was underwent a sea-change.

Instead of an enforced confinement to her quarters, the days she spent closeted in her room became an all-involving experience. She recalled well a day when she had opened her door to find it blazing morning rather than the soft evening she had expected. The cook had been so bold as to take her by the shoulder and shake her when she had drifted off into a daydraam in the galley on one of her visits for food. Later she had been annoyed by an incessant tapping at her door. When she opened it, she had found not Kyle, but Brashen standing outside it. He looked uncomfortable at questioning her but still demanded to know if all was well with her.

“Certainly. I'm fine,” she replied and tried to shut the door on him. He stiff-armed it ajar.

“You don't look fine. The cook told me you looked like you'd lost half a stone of weight and I'm inclined to agree. Althea, I don't know what went on with Captain Kyle, but the health of the crew is still part of my duty.”

She looked at his knit brow and dark troubled eyes and saw only an interruption. “I'm not part of the crew,” she heard herself saying. “That is what happened between Captain Kyle and myself. And the health of a mere passenger is not your concern. Leave me be.” She pushed at the door.

“The health of Ephron Vestrit's daughter is my concern, then. I dare to call him friend as well as captain. Althea. Look at yourself. You've not brushed your hair in days, I'd say. And several of the men have said that when they have seen you on deck, you drift like a ghost with eyes as empty as the space between the stars.” He actually looked worried. Well he might. The slightest things could set off a crew that had endured too long under too strict a captain. A bewitched woman wandering about the decks might precipitate them into anything. Still, there was nothing she could do about it.

“Sailors and their superstitions,” she scoffed, but could not find much strength to put into her voice. “Leave it, Brashen. I'm fine.” She pushed again at the door, and this time he let her close it in his face. She'd wager that Kyle knew nothing of that visit. She had once more arranged herself on the deck and, closing her eyes, sunk into communion with the ship. She felt Brashen standing outside the door for a few moments longer, and then sensed him hastening away, back to his proper tasks. By then Althea had already dismissed him and was considering instead the water purling past her bow as the pure wind drove her slicing forward.

Days later, the Vivacia tasted the waters of home, recognized the current that gently swept her towards Trader Bay and welcomed the sheltered waters of the bay itself. When Kyle ordered out two boats to draw the Vivacia into anchorage, Althea found herself rousing. She rose to peer out through the glass. “Home,” she told herself, and “Father.” She felt an answering thrum of anticipation from the Vivacia herself.