“Yes. Do that,” the agent said absently. He was already shuffling papers on his desk, Brashen dismissed from his mind. “And come ready to sail, for if we want you, we shall want you right away. Good day.”

Brashen stood slowly. “That is swash. You won't say if you want me or how much you'll pay me, but I should be on my toes to leave if you wink at me. I don't think so.” You're being stupid, some rational part of himself was yelling. Shut up, shut up, shut up! But the words were out and he knew he'd only look stupid as well as rude if he tried to recall them now. He tried to put an arch civility into his tone as he added, “Good day to you, sir. I regret we couldn't do business together.”

The ship's agent looked both insulted and worried. “Wait!” he exclaimed almost angrily. “Wait.”

Brashen halted and turned to him, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

“Let's not be hasty.” The man's eyes shifted in indecision. “I'll tell you what we can do. I'm going to talk to the Reaper's man sometime today. If he says all's square with you, then we'll pay you the same wages you had there. That's fair.”

“No. It's not.” Having adopted a hard-nosed stance, he had no choice but to stick with it. And he didn't really want the agent to chat with anyone from the Reaper. “On the Reaper I was a third. If I sign with the Springeve, I'll be the mate. Not the captain, nor a sailor before the mast. The mate, who is held liable for anything that goes wrong aboard. The Springeve may be a smaller vessel, but it's a bigger job. The crew on a trader has to be worked harder and faster than the crew on a slaughter ship. And I'll wager the Springeve brings in more coin than the Reaper ever did, if she's worth her salt at all. If I sail as mate on the Springeve, I'll want the same wages the last mate was paid.”

“But he had years of experience on her!” the agent squeaked.

“I've years of experience as a mate on the Vivacia, a substantially larger vessel. Come. Pay me what you paid the last man. If you made money with him, I'll guarantee you'll make just as much with me.”

The agent sank back into his chair. “You've the arrogance of a good mate,” he conceded grudgingly. “All right. Come ready to sail, and at mate's wages. But I warn you, if you show badly, the captain will put you off at the next port, no matter how small it is.”

“I'll do you one better, as I'm an honest man and a hard worker,” Brashen offered. “I'll report to the ship now. If she's to leave day after tomorrow, I'll want at least that much time to be sure all aboard is stowed right, and to make sure the crew understands I'm the mate now. It give the captain a full day to test my mettle. He doesn't like how I do things, he tells me to walk. Is that fair?”

It was the right time to offer him such a concession. It let the agent save a bit of his pride as he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and then nodded. “That's fair. You know where the Springeve is tied up?”

Brashen grinned at him. “Do I look the sort of man who'd ask for a position aboard a vessel I hadn't seen? I know where she's tied. I and my sea-bag will be aboard her, should you change your mind about me. But I don't think you will.”

“Well. All right. Good day to you, then.”

“Good day.”

Brashen left the man's office, shutting the door firmly behind him. Once outside, he walked briskly down the street, a man with a purpose. He was relieved to find that his sea-bag was still in a straw pile behind the livery stable where he had slept last night. Now if that had been stolen, he would have been in a real fix. He opened it and glanced through it quickly, to be sure that nothing had been filched from it. Not that he had much of value in there, but what was his was his. He poked through the bag. His cindin supply was still there. It was dwindling, but it would be enough. He wouldn't be using it while he was on duty, anyway. He never used cindin on duty. Like as not, he'd set it aside and not even use it while he was aboard. After all, for the years he had been on board the Vivacia, he hadn't used it at all, not even when he had liberty on shore.

Thinking of the Vivacia woke a dull pang in him. When he'd lost his place on her, he'd lost a lot. He tried to imagine how things could have been if Ephron Vestrit hadn't sickened. He knew he'd still be sailing aboard her. Althea, too. The thought of her jabbed him. He didn't even know where she was in this dirty town. Stupid and stubborn, that was him. There had been no reason, really, to stalk off like that on that night. So she'd said they didn't even know one another. That was just words, he knew better, she knew better.