“We noticed you didn’t take the boat out today.”

“Didn’t feel well.”

“Well, yes, that’s what I thought. So Harrikin and I, we’re going to take it out tomorrow and see if we can’t get some fish or some of those water gophers that we saw a few days ago. Or even one of those gallators. The dragons seem to think they’re tasty. Any kind of fresh meat for the keepers and crew would be welcome.”

She noticed he wasn’t asking Greft if he could take it. He was telling him that they were going to do it. Harrikin wasn’t speaking, but he stood ready to back Tats up. Greft looked from one to the other. His voice was low and serious as he said, “Don’t like loaning my gear. No.”

“It’s keeper gear,” Tats said.

“And a keeper boat,” Harrikin added.

Greft looked from one to the other. “Gear was issued to me. I took care of it, stowed it right. That’s why I’ve still got it.” She marked how he said only the words he needed, and she suspected that speaking was painful, or an effort.

“Luck,” Tats insisted. “Just luck, Greft. You weren’t the only keeper who stored his gear tight. You were just lucky enough that your boat washed up where it was found. That’s all. It’s not fair for you to hold it back from everyone.”

“It’s mine.”

Tats lowered his voice slightly. “I seem to remember standing near an elk that Thymara had killed and hearing you sing a different tune about how things should be shared out.”

Tarman was not a large vessel. Silence rippled out from Tats’s words. The conversation on the roof of the deckhouse stilled. Heads turned.

“That was different.” Greft tried to clear his throat. He leaned over the side and spat, but it didn’t come off his mouth cleanly. He wiped his ragged sleeve across his mouth, looked from Tats to Harrikin. “No. Or fight now.”

Tats and Harrikin exchanged glances. Tats spoke for them. “No fight, Greft. I know you’re not a healthy man. And I don’t want to cross Leftrin about fighting on his deck. I didn’t come to you to start a fight. I came to let you know that tomorrow we’re taking the boat and the gear out at first light, to try to get some serious hunting and fishing done. No insult intended, but you’re not holding up that end of things anymore. So, for the good of us all, Harrikin and I are stepping up to it. And we need to use the boat and gear.”

Greft turned away from them to look out over the water again. “No,” he said in a neutral but factual voice. Did his back dare Tats to attack him? If so, Tats refused the bait.

“Just saying that’s what is going to happen,” Tats said quietly. He glanced again at Harrikin, who nodded. As one, they turned away from Greft and sauntered off down the deck. Whispers in the dark behind them turned into muted conversation. Thymara stayed where she was, staring out over the water and darkness. She did not care for Greft, but she felt heartsick it had come to this.

Greft seemed to feel her regard. “Funny?” he asked her in a voice gone harsh.

“No,” she replied shortly. “Tragic. I’m sorry this happened to you, Greft. For what it’s worth, you have my pity.”

When he turned to face her, the blue in his eyes shone with anger. “Keep your pity for yourself. Useless, stupid whore.”

The insult stunned her, not just for the seething vehemence in his voice but because it baffled her. Useless? Stupid? Whore? Greft had turned and was walking away before she realized that it wasn’t intended to make sense, only to insult. He’d actually expected her to be enjoying his downfall. “You don’t know me at all,” she said into his absence. She glanced toward the other keepers. “I don’t think anyone does anymore.”

The other keepers had resumed their activities. Alum was trying to give Boxter a haircut, with helpful advice from Kase and Lecter. Davvie was watching and laughing. Tats was sitting with Harrikin; Sylve was leaning against Harrikin. All three were talking softly about something. “I miss you, Rapskal,” she said to the night. “I miss having a friend.”

An unexpected echo bounced back to her. Stop being stupid. You have a dragon. You no longer need human companions. Go to sleep.

“Good night, Sintara,” she muttered and went to take the dragon’s advice.

THE RIVER WAS GONE. It was time to admit that. Leftrin wasn’t sure what to properly call this body of water that he was on, if it could be termed a body of water at all. For three days, Tarman had been making agonizingly slow progress. They followed the dragons, but he doubted that they had any sense of where they were going. Were they following the main channel? Was there a main channel? The current was barely a current anymore. He watched the dawning light reflected in the still surface of the water, broken only by the faint stirring of the reeds and rushes as the morning wind passed through them.