She sounded almost ashamed as she replied, “Yes. I remember that too, very clearly.”

“Probably not as clearly as I. But then, you probably have a greater variety of memories to choose from.” He added petulantly, “One does not gather many unique memories, hauled out on a beach.”

“I am sure you had a great many adventures in your day,” Althea offered.

“Probably. It would be nice if I could remember any of them.”

He heard her come closer. From the shifting in the angle of her voice, he judged she had sat down on a rock on the beach. “You used to speak to me of things you remembered. When I was a little girl and came here, you told me all sorts of stories.”

“Most of them were lies, most likely. I don't remember. Or maybe I did then, but no longer do. I think I am getting vaguer. Brashen thinks it might be because my log is missing. He says I do not seem to recall as much of my past as I used to.”

“Brashen?” A sharp edge of surprise in her voice.

“Another friend,” Paragon replied carelessly. It pleased him to shock her with the news he had another friend. Sometimes it irritated him that they expected him to be so pleased to see them, as if they were the only folk he knew. Though they were, they should not have been so confident of it, as if it were impossible a wreck such as he might have made other friends.

“Oh.” After a moment, Althea added, “I know him as well. He served on my father's ship.”

“Ah, yes. The . . . Vivacia. How is she? Has she quickened yet?”

“Yes. Yes, she has. Just two days ago.”

“Really? Then it surprises me you are here. I thought you would rather be with your own ship.” He had had all the news from Brashen already, but it gave him an odd pleasure to force Althea to speak of it.

“I suppose I would be, if I could,” the girl admitted unwillingly. “I miss her so much. I need her so badly just now.”

Her honesty caught Paragon off guard. He had accustomed himself to think of people as givers of pain. They could move about so freely and end their lives anytime they chose; it was hard for him to understand that she could feel such a depth of pain as her voice suggested. For a moment, somewhere in the labyrinths of his memory a homesick boy sobbed into his bunk. Paragon snatched his consciousness back from it. “Tell me about it,” he suggested to Althea. He did not truly want to hear her woes, but at least it was a way to keep his own at bay.

It surprised him when she complied. She spoke long, of everything, from Kyle Haven's betrayal of her family's trust to her own incomplete grief for her father. As she spoke, he felt the last warmth of the afternoon ebb away and the coolness of night come on. At some time she left her rock to come and lean her back against the silvered planking of his hull. He suspected she did it for the warmth of the day that lingered in his bones, but with the nearness of her body came a greater sharing of her words and feelings. Almost it was like they were kin. Did she know that she reached toward him for understanding as if he were her own liveship? Probably not, he told himself harshly. It was probably just that he reminded her of the Vivacia and so she extended her feelings into him. That was all. It was not especially intended for him.

Nothing was especially intended for him.

He forced himself to remember that, and so he could be calm when, after she had been silent for some time, she said, “I have no place to stay tonight. Could I sleep aboard?”

“It's probably a smelly mess in there,” he cautioned her. “Oh, my hull is sound enough, still. But one can do little about storm waters, and blown sand and beach lice can find a way into anything.”

“Please, Paragon. I won't mind. I'm sure I can find a dry corner to curl up in.”

“Very well, then,” he conceded, and then hid his smile in his beard as he added, “if you don't mind sharing space with Brashen. He comes back here every night, you know.”

“He does?” Startled dismay was in her voice.

“He comes and stays almost every time he makes port here. It's always the same. The first night it's because it's late and he's drunk and he doesn't want to pay a full night's lodging for a few hours sleep and he feels safe here. And he always goes on about how he's going to save his wages and only spend a bit of it this time, so that someday he'll have enough saved up to make something of himself.” Paragon paused, savoring Althea's shocked silence. “He never does, of course. Every night he comes stumbling back, his pockets a bit lighter, until it's all gone. And when he has no more to spend on drink, then he goes back and stays on whatever ship will have him until he ships out again.”