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She clambered awkwardly up his side. He heard the whisper of fabric, lots of it.

It seemed to encumber her as she traversed his slanting deck and finally fumbled her way down into his cargo hold.

She had been more agile as a girl. There had been a summer when she had come to see him nearly every day.

Her home was somewhere on the hillside above him; she spoke of walking through the woods behind her home and then climbing down the cliffs to him.

That summer she had known him well, playing all sorts of games inside him and around him, pretending he was her ship and she his captain, until word of it came to her father’s ears.

He had followed her one day, and when he found her talking to the cursed ship, he soundly scolded them both and then herded Althea home with a switch.

For a long time after that she had not come to see him.

When she did come, it was only for brief visits in early dawn or evening.

But for that one summer, she had known him well.

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 unsettling. They 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 him.

When she finally reached the door of the aftercastle chamber where Brashen had strung his hammock, she paused.

She rapped very lightly on the panelled 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.

The 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 panelled 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.’

Brashen gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Didn’t I?

I tried. They just threw me out again. Because I had waited too long.

So. Now you know you are getting good advice.

Go back home while you still can, while a bit of crawling and humble obedience will buy you a place to sleep and food on your plate.

Wait too long, let the disgrace set in, let them get used to life without the family trouble-maker, and they won’t have you back, no matter how you plead and crawl. ’

Althea was silent for a long time. Then, ‘That really happened to you?’

‘No. I’m making it all up,’ Brashen replied sourly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Althea said after a time. More resolutely she went on, ‘But I can’t go back. At least, not while Kyle’s in port. And even after he’s gone, if I do go back, it will only be to get my things.’

Brashen shifted in his hammock. ‘You mean your dresses and trinkets? Precious relics from your childhood? Your favourite pillow?’

‘And my jewellery. If I have to, I can always sell that.’

Brashen threw himself back in the hammock.

‘Why bother? You’ll find you can’t drag all that stuff around with you anyway.

As for your jewellery, why not pretend you already got it, sold it piece by painful piece and the money is gone and now you really have to find out how to live your own life.

That’ll save you time, and any heirloom stuff will at least remain with your family.

If Kyle hasn’t seen to having it locked up already. ’

The silence that followed Brash’s bitter suggestion was blacker than the starless darkness that Paragon stared into. When Althea did speak again, her voice was hard with determination.

‘I know you’re right. I need to do something, not wait around for something to happen. I need to find work. And the only work I know anything about is sailing. And it’s my only path to getting back on board Vivacia. But I won’t get hired dressed like this…’

Brashen gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Face it, Althea. You won’t get hired no matter how you are dressed. You’ve got too much stacked up against you. You’re a woman, you’re Ephron Vestrit’s daughter, and Kyle Haven won’t be too happy with anyone who hires you, either.’

‘Why should being Ephron Vestrit’s daughter be a mark against me?’ Althea’s voice was very small. ‘My father was a good man.’

‘True. That he was. A very good man.’ For a moment Brashen’s tone gentled.

‘But what you have to learn is that it isn’t easy to stop being a Trader’s daughter.

Or son. The Bingtown Traders look like as solid an alliance you can imagine, from the outside.

But you and I, we came from the inside, and the inside works against us.

See, you’re a Vestrit. All right. So there are some families that trade with you and profit, and other families that compete with you, and other families that are allied with those who compete with you…

no one is an enemy, exactly. But when you go looking for work, it’s going to be, well, like it was for me.

Brashen Trell, eh, Kelf Trell’s son? Well, why don’t you work for your family, boy?

Oh, had a falling out? Well, I don’t want to get on your father’s bad side by hiring you.

Not that they ever come right out and say it, of course, they just look at you and put you off and say, “come back in four days”, only they aren’t in when you come back.

And those that don’t get along with your family, well, they don’t want to hire you, either, ’cause they like seeing you down in the dirt.

’ Brashen’s voice was winding down, getting deeper and softer and slower.

He was talking himself to sleep, Paragon thought, as he often did.

He’d probably forgotten that Althea was even there.

Paragon was overly familiar with Brashen’s long litany of the wrongs and injustices suffered by him.

He was even more familiar with Brashen’s caustic self-accusations of idiocy and worthlessness.