At least Al could truthfully say that he had been sick. The Tempest Free had barely pulled out of the harbor when the nausea began. He laid in bed, a bucket next to his head, for a full twenty minutes. Then, for about ten, he was just queasy and could sit up. Finally, it dissipated.

The remaining one day, twenty-three hours, and thirty minutes was spent in happy bliss.

He had sold his remaining alley novels in Hanala. He’d kept his editor’s copy as a memento of a job well done for Lady Amirelsa and filled a small, silk purse with a wood chip, a stone from Mount Kalista, and a lock of Mian’s hair and used it as a bookmark. Everything else he had dumped. Well, not the cutlery and the frying pan and a bunch of other things, including the ax. But, a lot.

It had been freeing for him to shuck off Gheny and give himself a fresh start. This was his life now, moving forward and across the sea. He was sad that their life tucked away in Aviz hadn’t materialized, but was rather happy to not be at the mercy of his mother’s whims and help. And he was incredibly pleased not to be going back to Whitney, though he hoped Burdet had straightened her life up and was taking care of Marnie.

He was a traveler, an adventurer, a wanderer of magnitude. Now, if he could only get their guide to lead them.

Anla knocked on their door and he stopped practicing with his ax. She came in, her face speaking so much. “He didn’t say ‘yes’ to my plan,” he surmised.

“No,” she said, taking off her cloak.

“Did he…are you back together, at least?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Al sighed something that was almost a growl. “No, it’s just…suspended, not over, I guess.”

“What happened to the speech?”

“I saw him and…everything I had prepared slipped away. I missed him, Al. I missed him too much to be angry with him.”

“Tell me he said he loves you.”

“He did,” she said, a ghost of a smile on her face. “Our cause isn’t lost. He’s just in a difficult position and has a hard choice to make.”

“Do you think he’ll make the right one?”

She rubbed her nails together. “We can’t make him turn to us, but we can sell our position. He needs to know that if he leaves Arvarikor and stays with us that we will never make the same mistakes again. We need to show him that we will be careful, meticulous, and ruthless when it comes to protecting our secrecy.”

“I’ll have to think on that,” he said. “For now, I’m going to stretch my legs and see the world from something larger than a porthole.”

As he stepped out of his room, he heard a noise that made him flinch. He took a few deep breaths and stepped out onto the main deck where a group of people clustered around the decks and the sides of the ship. In the middle was a slight man, about the same height and weight as Al, cracking a whip at the masts.

“Ah, Mr. Auslen, so glad to see you’re feeling better just in time for the entertainment,” Captain Mayard said.

“Yes, feeling much better. What’s he doing?”

“Bloody hell if I know. It’s one of his pet projects.”

A sailor leaned in and spoke.“Think someone should let Abri in that there aren’t any actual rats in the rat lines or crows in the crow’s nest?”

“He paid for this time fairly. I’ll let him have his fun.”

“What, precisely, is he trying to accomplish?” Al asked.

“He said something about ‘reducing time’. My guess is he thinks that he can crack his whip and wrap it round a yard, then swing from mast to mast like some Thrayisian monkey.”

“And you have no problem with him doing this?” Al asked, whip cracks punctuating the air.

“He’s worn me down. He was assigned my first mate seven legs ago and he immediately proposed an experiment. Not this one, something else involving training birds to relay messages or something like that. I told him he was free to do as he wished, so long as he insured.”

“Assured?” Al asked.

“No, insured. I’m not going to let a man crack a whip at my sails without making sure I can replace them mid-route. He has a full, extra main course stowed away, just in case he slices this one to ribbons. Not sure how he got it, but he fulfilled his end of the deal, so I have to let him try.”

“Captain, you could just have him try on Ilden,” another sailor said. Al thought for a moment he and the other sailor were brothers, since they looked so much alike, but there were a few key differences that made it clear they were not related and not enough to distinguish them from each other.

“I admit I had considered it.”

“Sir…” the other man, presumably Ilden, said.

“Then I remembered that you’re probably the only man daring enough to caulk the devil…”

“…and other men…”

The captain cleared his throat and nodded towards the passengers. “And tell me why I shouldn’t put you up there, Encran? Perhaps you have some chore you should be doing, so that I don’t get any ideas.”

“Aye, aye,” he said, slipping away.

“How is Mrs. Auslen doing?” the captain asked, quirking his eyebrow up.

“Very well, thank you. We’re doing much better.”

“Wonderful. May I introduce some of my crew?” He pointed out a series of men, who were standing around, gawking at the first mate’s attempts to wrangle a mast. “And this is Ilden.”

Al leaned in. “How exactly do you tell him and…Encran, was it…apart?”

“I don’t. I lump them collectively until one opens their mouth.”

“I see. And how are the passengers?”

“Thus far cordial. Smooth sailing, as they say.”

The crowd dispersed when a frustrated, but undaunted, first mate quit for the day, the back of his shirt soaked with sweat. The captain declared it was “sun over the yardarm” and invited the passengers for a drink, sitting for a few minutes to chat with his fares.

Al took that opportunity to introduce himself to the other guests. While most of them seemed pleasant and polite, none were as interesting to speak to as Ilden and Encran.

“Have you seen him, yet?” Encran asked him, standing on the forecastle.

“’Him’? Which one are you referring to? The trirec?” Al asked.

“No, and there are two trirecs, just so you know. I’m talking about the tall fellow.”

“Tall fellow?”

As if on cue, Telbarisk walked out from under the forecastle. “Blimey, I’d say he could reach up and touch the yard without trying.”

“Don’t tell Abri that,” Ilden said. “It’d break his heart.”

“What do you think made him like that?” Encran asked.

As Al still loved to educate people, he had to bite his tongue.

“We should ask him,” Ilden said. “Oy, tall fellow!” Tel turned around. “Why are you so tall?”

“Tall? I’m actually short,” he said, to which the three of them laughed.

“You’re taller than anyone aboard here. Why?”

He explained his past, giving Al amused looks, until Encran suddenly said, “There’s a siren aboard, gentlemen. Block your ears else you go down to visit Queyella sooner rather than later.”

“Immune,” Ilden said.

“Oh, that’s Maya, my wife,” Al said. He waved her over and she greeted the men briefly, before strolling off to another deck.

“That’s your wife? No wonder you kept her locked up in your room.”

* * *

Al had almost perfected the art of listening and speaking. Most of the conversations he held with the other passengers were met with his full focus and volleyed appropriately. But, on one or two occasions, he spent too much time observing and there would be a rude lapse in the discussion that he would apologize for and make up for with zeal in whatever the topic was being discussed.

It’s just that he found the stolen looks he’d see between Anla and Raulin to be almost unbearably longing.

It was at dinner that he had a stroke of brilliance. The older Aroukean couple, Mr. and Mrs. Gouren, were speaking about the looks of people. “It is easy to judge people, but to judge one correctly is hard,” Mr. Gouren said, sipping on his brandy. “Most happen to put their personal prejudices before understanding that one’s true nature will always shine through. Take you for instance, young man. Some of my colleagues back home would see you were of darker skin and therefore think of you as a thief or a brute. Not I, though. I knew you were of upstanding character just by your expressions, your mannerisms.”

“Not like those dreadful masked men,” his wife inputted.

“You believe them to be brutish, ma’am?” Al asked.

“Well, you know what they do. They handle seedy business.”

“But, does one’s job dictate one’s character?”

“An excellent question,” Mr. Gouren said. “I’m of the opinion that the character can become warped over time. Perhaps a young pickpocket can be rehabilitated, but an older thief not so.”

“I have to disagree,” Al said. “I think there’s always a chance. And not necessarily does one’s career define how they are at the core.” He sipped on his wine, a fine vintage from the vineyards of Arvonne called bruslis. “I’d like to propose a bet.”

“Oh?” Mr. Gouren asked.

“Yes. I postulate that a trirec is a good man outside his professional duties, that aside from his contracts, he is someone to befriend. If my lovely wife wouldn’t mind joining…” He looked at Anla.

“I’m in agreement,” she said. “What would you have me do?”

“Sir?” Al asked, waving his hand at Raulin. He stopped a conversation he was having with Atelo and looked up. “Sir, may I ask a favor of you?”

Raulin stood from his seat and walked over. The Gourens stiffened, but said nothing at his approach. Al continued his cheery demeanor, standing and shaking his hand. “Fiar Auslen. I was wondering if you knew much about Arvonne.”

Anla choked back a laugh. “’Know much about Arvonne’?” Raulin asked.

“Yes. My wife and I plan on journeying there from Kitstuar and it occurs to me that neither of us speak the language. I have no head for it, but my wife is an intelligent woman. I’m sure she’ll take to it quickly. What do you say? Would you be so kind as to teach my wife Arvonnese? I’ll pay you well.”

“One moment,” he said. He returned back to his table, spoke with Atelo, then returned. “I cannot accept payment for your offer, but I would be happy to teach your wife Arvonnese. It’s not a hard language. I’m sure she will be able to speak it fluently by the time we disembark.”

“Excellent!” Al said. “Feel free to use our room for a more private place.”

“Thank you,” Raulin said, bowing. Anla stood and let him to their cabin, looping the door open.

“Do you think that was at all wise?” Mrs. Gouren asked. “He could kill her or…or worse.”

“I think if he wanted to, he would have attempted it by now. And we’re on a ship, ma’am. It would be very hard to escape him if he wanted to do someone harm.” He took another sip, smirking. “No, I feel that I’ve made a safe bet and gotten something for it.”