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.
‘So how did you survive?’ Althea asked resentfully.
‘Went to where it didn’t matter what my name was. First boat I shipped out on was Chalcedean. They didn’t care who I was, long as I would work hard and cheap. Meanest set of rotten bastards I ever shipped with. No mercy for a kid, no, not them. Jumped ship in the first harbour we put into. Left that same day, on a different boat. Not much better, but a little. Then we… ’ Brashen’s voice trailed off. For a moment Paragon thought he had fallen asleep. He heard Althea shifting about, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the slanted deck. ‘… by the time I came back to Bingtown, I was a seasoned hand. Oh, was I seasoned. But still the same old damn thing. Trell’s boy this, and Trell’s son that… I’d thought I’d made something of myself. I actually tried to go to my father and patch things up. But he was not much impressed with what I’d made of myself. No, sir, he was not. What a horse’s ass… so I went to every ship in the harbour. Every ship. No one was hiring Kelf Trell’s son. When I got to the Vivacia, I kept my scarf down low on my brow and kept my eyes on the deck. Asked for honest work for an honest sailor. And your father said he’d try me. Said he could use an honest man. Something about the way he said it… I was sure he hadn’t recognized me, and I was sure he’d turn me off if I told him my name. But I did anyway. I looked at him and I said, “I’m Brashen Trell. I used to be Kelf Trell’s son.” And he said, “That won’t make your watch one minute shorter or longer, sailor.” And you know. It never did.’
‘Chalcedeans don’t hire women,’ Althea said dully. Paragon wondered how much of Brashen’s tale she had truly heard.
‘Not as sailors,’ Brashen agreed. ‘They believe a woman aboard ship will draw serpents after you. Because women bleed, you know. Lots of sailors say that.’
‘That’s stupid,’ she exclaimed in disgust.
‘Yeah. Lots of sailors are stupid. Look at us.’ He laughed at his own jest, but she did not join him.
‘There are other women sailors in Bingtown. Someone will hire me.’
