So the only question that remained was what she was going to do with the rest of the evening, and the night to follow. She held up her mug to get a tavern maid's attention. As the girl filled it, Althea pasted a sickly grin on her face. “I'm more tired than I thought,” she said artlessly. “Can you recommend a quiet rooming house or inn? One where I can get a bath as well?”

The girl scratched the back of her neck vigorously. “You can get a room here, but it's not quiet. Still, there's a bath house down the street.”

Watching the girl scratch, Althea decided that even if the tavern were silent, she wouldn't want to sleep in one of their beds. She hoped to get rid of any vermin she'd acquired on the ship, not invite more. “A quiet place?” she asked the girl again.

The girl shrugged. “The Gilded Horse, if you don't mind paying well for what you get. They've got musicians there, too, and a woman who sings. And little fireplaces in the best rooms, I've heard. Windows in some of the rooms, too.”

Ah. The Gilded Horse. Dinner with her father there, roast pork and peas. She'd given him a funny little wax monkey she'd bought in a shop, and he'd told her about buying twenty casks of fine oil. A different lifetime. Althea's life, not Athel's.

“No. Sounds too expensive. Someplace cheap and quiet.”

She frowned. “Don't know. Not many places in this part of town are quiet. Most sailors, they don't want quiet, you know.” She looked at Althea as if she were a bit strange. “There's the Red Eaves. Don't know if they have baths there, but it's quiet. Quiet as a tomb, I heard.”

“I heard of that place earlier,” Althea said quickly. “Anywhere else?”

“That's it. Like I said, quiet isn't what most sailors come to town to find.” The girl looked at her oddly. “How many places do you need to hear about?” she asked, and then took the coin for the beer she had poured and sauntered off.

“Good question,” Althea conceded. She took a slow drink of her beer. A man who smelled badly of vomit sat down heavily next to her. Evening was coming on and the tavern was starting to fill up. The man belched powerfully and the smell that wafted toward her made her wince. He grinned at her discomfiture and leaned confidentially closer. “See her?” he demanded of Althea as he pointed to a sallow-faced woman wiping a table. “I did her three times. Three times, and she only charged me for the once.” He leaned back companionably against the wall and grinned at her. Two of his top teeth were broken off crookedly. “You ought to give her a go, boy. She'd teach you a few things, I'd wager.” He winked broadly.

“I'm sure you'd win that wager,” Althea agreed amiably. She drank off the last of her beer and rose. She took up her sea-bag again. Outside it had begun to rain. A wind was sweeping in with it, and it promised heavier rainfall soon. She decided to do the simplest thing. She'd find a room that suited her, pay for it, and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow was soon enough to think of something significant to do. Such as find a shipboard job that would take her back to Bingtown as swiftly as possible.

Bingtown. It was home. It would also mark the end of her dream of recovering the Vivacia. She pushed that thought aside.

By the time it was fully dark, she had sampled six different rooming houses. Almost all the rooms were over taverns or tap rooms. Every one of them had been noisy and smoky, some with whores on the premises for the convenience of those staying there. The one she settled on was no different from the others, save that there had just been a brawl there. The city guard had come, temporarily driving out the more lively customers. Those who remained after the brawl seemed either worn out or sodden. There were three musicians in a corner and now that the paying customers were mostly dispersed, they were playing for themselves. They talked and laughed softly, and occasionally stopped in mid-piece to go back and try something a different way. Althea sat close enough to listen in on their intimacy and far enough away not to intrude. She envied them. Would she ever have friends like that? She had enjoyed her sailing years aboard ship with her father, but there had been a price. Her father had been her only real friend. The captain and owner's daughter could never fully share the deep friendships of the forecastle crew. When she was at home, it was much the same. She had long ago lost touch with the little girls she had played with as a child. Married by now, most of them, she thought. Probably to the little boys they had spied on and giggled about. And here she was, in ragged sailor-boy togs in a foreign port in a run-down tavern. And alone. With no prospects save crawling home with her tail between her legs.