There's a special kind of magic to the galley after the sun goes down. Outside, the water is an expanse of churning darkness, the tall peaks of the archipelago like a row of sentinels watching from a distance. But in here, the light is amber and warm and the air is thick with steam, smoke, savory fragrances and lively chatter.

We drink honey ale from big tankards while we wait for our dinner—a tradition, apparently. The biologists compare new injuries and the stories that go with them, while Beatrice pulls a face and shouts for the doctor. Again I get the sense of being a bystander to something wonderful and just outside my grasp.

Then comes the food. Grilled salmon drizzled in lemon butter and sparkling with chunky sea salt crystals, crusty herb bread, scallop and leek chowder, and salad. Thanks to Beatrice's tour earlier, I know that most of the vegetables come straight from the onboard garden. The fish, of course, is fresh-caught. Once we're all served, the ship's cook joins us, and I'm relieved to find that he's an amiable fellow with a big gut, a ready smile, and a long hair pulled back in a braid.

After dinner, I give in to Beatrice's coaxing and follow her and some of the others up to top deck for drinks and star-gazing. "We have to stay up at least until one," Beatrice informs me. "That's when they feed the...well, I want you to see for yourself."

I eye her warily. "Is it something scary? Because I've had kind of a rough few days, and—"

"Oh no, not at all!" Beatrice laughs, putting up her hands. "Nothing like that. It's beautiful, you'll see. I think it'll inspire you."

Ship's Cook Edric shows up a few minutes later with a big, dusty bottle in one hand and a stack of glasses.

"Ooooh," Beatrice coos. "Is that the Saint Lumin's?"

Edric nods, grinning. "The oldest bottle we have."

"Oh, very nice," Bee approves, putting a hand out for her glass.

We lounge around, most either hanging over the rail or sitting sprawled out on the floorboards. The Saint Lumin's turns out to be a very strong and absolutely delicious liquor with a flavor somewhere between coconut, dark chocolate, and absolute bliss. I'm nursing my third glass. Beatrice points out different constellations for the those of us paying attention. Two of the researchers break out into laughter a few paces behind her. They fall against each other, arms tangling about on another. A heartbeat later they're making out. Bee turns her head to see what I'm looking at and sighs.

"I miss Rhaj," she grumbles, taking another swig of her drink. "I miss the club and bars and dates. I even miss work"

"I miss E.J," I say without thinking. The instant the words leave my mouth, heat rushes to my face. Beatrice's whips around to look at me so fast I'm afraid she might snap something.

"Oh?" Her eyebrows shoot up her face, lips pulling into a huge smile. "Of course you do. I knew you loved her."

"I—what?" I choke on my drink, and she reaches over to pat me soundly on the back. "I just...really care about her a lot," I croak a moment later when I regain my breath. "I haven't known her that long yet, but—"

"But she's special." Beatrice's eyes search mine, and I can tell they see straight through me.

"You can talk to me about her, you know. It's ok. I want her to have someone. Someone right for her. I've been excited ever since I found out you knew her. I had a feeling." I realize a few moments after the fact that she's reached out to clasp both my hands in hers.

"You really think we're right for each other?"

She smiles. "Well, I haven't known you for very long, but I've had my hopes. You're sweet and talented, and very much her type."

I open my mouth to say something—I'm not even sure what—when someone blows what sounds like a conch.

"Oh! It's time," says Beatrice, grasping my arm and pulling me towards the stern.

Most of the ship's crew and residents are gathered below us on the low rear landing deck, bundled up against the cold.

"Here they come," whispers Beatrice, pointing off at the water. There's a glimmer of light I take at first to be the reflection of the moon—but the moon is on the other side of the sky. The lights grow closer, purple and blue and green.

"What are they?" I breathe. Some of the biologists start tossing kitchen scraps from buckets into the water, and the things flow closer.

"Auroric eels," Bee says. "They live nowhere else in the world but these waters." As she speaks, they come within the ship's wake and begin snapping up the morsels of food. Their long, translucent bodies are lined top and bottom with rippling fins. Bioluminescence pulses through them in waves, outlining their skeletons and organs in glowing color. I guess that the smallest among them is about as long as three of myself laid end-to-end.

"Wow," I breathe for what feels like the thousandth time this week.

~*~

Days pass and I hear almost nothing from E.J. Just infrequent, brief updates letting me know she's still alright, that she can't tell me much. Beatrice insists she's hardly heard from her either.

My anxiety over her wellbeing makes it difficult to enjoy what would otherwise be a magical experience. The sort of thing my past self would've drooled with envy at the thought of. Every time I catch myself beginning to enjoy something, I can't help but wonder how much better it'd be if E.J. were there to share it with me.

Quickly I settle into a new rhythm of life, one set by the shared rituals of my shipmates. Every day I work on my art and share meals with whoever shows up for them. Every day after dinner we all go up to top deck for drinks, and almost every night after I wind up in Bee's room.

I know what the rest of the crew must think, and I don't mind. But just like with everything else, it's the same every night. As soon as we get to the privacy of the stateroom, we just talk. We talk about E.J. We talk about Otherside dynamics. We talk about art and life and what we'll do once this whole assassination thing blows over. And then, of course, we speculate.

Who's trying to kill E.J, and why? There are a number of obvious reasons, but which is it? And how did they get through her defenses?

More than once, I wonder out loud how safe we really are, out on this ship. And every time, Beatrice assures me with complete confidence that we are. "There are workings on this boat you've never even dreamed of," she'd said once, almost starry-eyed. "It can't be located, it can't be approached by sea or air. And even if they managed to get to us, the defensive and offensive workings are state-of-the-art. I can't go into details, of course."

Our nightly talks always end the same way; with us going out together to watch the eel feeding. Sometimes, other things show up. Every time we see something new, I make a wish.

I'm wishing on some sort of blobby, blue-green jellyfish creature about ten days into my stay at sea when Beatrice fixes me with a look.

"What? Is there a spider on my face?" It's unnerving, really, how many spiders there are at sea.

"Ashwyn, do you want to get married someday?"

"Wh—what?"I bluster. "I don't...I guess so. Yes. Why do you ask?"

She shrugs a bit, looking back out towards the water and the glowing eels. "Just curious," she says coolly, but her lips twitch upward at the corners.

"Come on, Bee. Really. Why?"

Another shrug. "It's just, I don't want to. Ever. It was one of the big sticking points between me and E.J. It's really important to her, you know. To find the 'The One,' then marry her and only her. J's a soppy, hopeless, monogamous romantic at heart. Just don't ever tell I told you that."

I grip the railing.

"Oh."

~*~

Hours later, I'm laying awake in bed thinking about E.J. and art and making art of E.J. when a scream breaks the early morning quiet.

Beatrice.

There's muffled shouting from throughout the ship. I throw on my robe and tumble wildly out of my room. Feet pound the boards as I and who knows who else erupt from our rooms and dash towards hers. Edric is the first one to get there—dressed in pajamas and armed with a kitchen knife. The windows in the stateroom are open, letting in the breeze. The bed is tossled and empty.

She's gone.