“Ship? Vivacia?”

She turned her head slowly and looked back and up. It was Gantry, standing on her foredeck and leaning on the rail to speak to her.

“Vivacia? Could you stop that, please? It's unnerving the whole crew. We're two hands short today; they didn't come back from liberty. And I think it's because you've frightened them off.”

Frightened. What was so frightening about isolation and loneliness and serpents no one else ever saw?

“Vivacia? I'm going to have Findow come play his fiddle for you. And I've got liberty myself today for a few hours, and I promise you I'll spend every moment of it looking for Wintrow. I promise you that.”

Did they think that would make her happy? If they found Wintrow and dragged him back to her, forced him to serve her, did they think she would be content and docile? Kyle would believe that. That was how Kyle had brought Wintrow aboard her in the first place. Kyle understood nothing of the willing heart.

“Vivacia,” Gantry asked with despair in his voice. “Please. Please, can you just stop rocking? The water is smooth as glass today. Every other ship in the harbor is still. Please.”

She felt sorry for Gantry. He was a good mate, and a very able seaman. None of this was his fault. He shouldn't have to suffer for it.

But then, neither should she.

She made an effort to find her strength. He was a good sailor; she owed him some small explanation. “I'm losing myself,” she began, and then heard how peculiar that sounded. She tried again. “It's not so hard, when I know someone is coming back. But when I don't, it suddenly gets harder to hold on to who I am. I start thinking . . . no. Not thinking. Almost like a dream, but we liveships cannot sleep. But it's like a dream, and in the dream I'm someone else. Something else. And the serpents touch me and that makes it worse.”

The man only looked more worried now. “Serpents,” he repeated doubtfully.

“Gantry,” she said in a very faint voice. “Gantry, there are serpents here in the harbor. Hiding down at the bottom in the muck.”

He took a deep breath and sighed it out. “So you told me before. But, Vivacia, no one else has seen any sign of them. So, I think you might be mistaken.” He paused, hoping for a response.

She looked away from him. “If Wintrow were here, he would feel them. He'd know I wasn't being foolish.”

“Well,” Gantry said reluctantly. “I'm afraid he's not here. And I know that makes you unhappy. And maybe it makes you fearful, just a bit.” He paused. His voice took on a cajoling tone, as if she were a nervous child. “Maybe there are serpents down there. But if there are, what can we do about them? They're not hurting us. I think we should both just ignore them, don't you?”

She turned her head to stare at him, but he would not meet her gaze. What did he think of her? That she was imagining serpents? That her grief at Wintrow abandoning her was making her crazy? She spoke quietly. “I'm not mad, Gantry. It is ... hard ... for me to be alone like this. But I'm not going crazy. Maybe I'm even seeing things more clearly than I used to. Seeing things my own way, not a ... Vestrit way.”

Her efforts to explain only confused him. “Well. Of course. Uh.” He looked away from her.

“Gantry, you're a good man. I like you.” She almost didn't say the words. But then she did. “You should get onto a different ship.”

She could smell the sudden fear in his sweat when he spoke to her. “Now, what other ship could compare to you?” he asked her hastily.

“After sailing aboard you, why would I want to take ship on another?” False heartiness in his voice.

“Maybe because you want to live,” she said in a very low voice. “I've a very bad feeling about this voyage. A very bad feeling. Especially if I must make it alone.”

“Don't talk like that!” he said roughly, as if she were an unruly hand. Then, in a calmer voice, he offered, “You won't be alone. I'll be here with you. I'll go and tell Findow to come fiddle for you, shall I?”

She shrugged. She had tried. She fixed her eyes on the distant spire of the Satrap's palace.

After a while, he went away.

She had been afraid Captain Tenira would recognize her. She had danced with his son at the Winter gathering, three years ago. But if the Bingtown Trader saw any resemblance between Athel the sailor and Althea the daughter of Ephron Vestrit, he gave no sign of it. He looked her up and down critically, then shook his head. “You've the look of a good sailor to you, boy. But I've told you. I don't need another hand. My crew is full.” He spoke as if that settled the matter.