Gantry, Kyle's first mate, stood on the foredeck, hands on hips. He started at the sight of her. He'd recently been in some kind of a tussle. The side of his face had swelled and just begun to purple. She dismissed it from her mind; it was the mate's job to keep the crew in line and the first day back in port could be a contentious one. Liberty was so close, and shore and deck crews did not always mingle well. But the scowl he wore seemed to be directed at her. “Mistress Althea. What do you here?” He sounded outraged.

At any other time, she'd have afforded the time to be offended at his tone. But now she simply said, “My father is dying. I've come to prepare the ship to receive him.”

He looked no less hostile, but there was deference in his tone as he asked, “What do you wish done?”

She lifted her hands to her temples. When her grandfather had died, what had been done? It had been so long ago, but she was supposed to know about these things. She took a deep calming breath, then crouched down suddenly to set her hand flat atop the deck. Vivacia. So soon to quicken. “We need to set up a pavilion on deck. Over there. Canvas is fine, and set it so the breezes can cool him.”

“What's wrong with putting him in his cabin?” Gantry demanded.

“That's not how it's done,” Althea said tersely. “He needs to be out here, on the deck, with nothing between him and the ship. There must be room for all the family to witness. Set up some plank benches for those who keep the death watch.”

“I've got a ship to unload,” Gantry declared abruptly. “Some of the cargo is perishable. It's got to be taken off. How is my crew to get that done, and set up this pavilion and work around a deck full of folk?” This he demanded of her, in full view and hearing of the entire crew. There was something of challenge in his tone.

Althea stared at him, wondering what possessed the man to argue with her just now. Couldn't he see how important this was? No, probably not. He was one of Kyle's choosing; he knew nothing of the quickening of a liveship. Almost as if her father stood at her shoulder, she heard her voice mouth the familiar command he'd always given Brashen in difficult times. She straightened her spine.

“Cope,” she ordered him succinctly. She glanced about the deck. Sailors had paused in their tasks to follow this interchange. In some faces she saw sympathy and understanding, in others only the avidity with which men watch a battle of wills. She put a touch of snarl in her voice. “If you can't deal with it, put Brashen in charge. He'd find it no challenge.” She started to turn away, then turned back. “In fact, that's the best solution. Put Brashen in change of the setting up for Captain Vestrit. He's his first mate, that's fitting. You see to the unloading of your captain's cargo.”

“On board, there can be but one captain,” Gantry observed. He looked aside as if not truly speaking to her, but she chose to reply anyway.

“That's correct, sailor. And when Captain Vestrit is aboard, there is but one captain. I doubt you'll find many men on board to question that.” She swung her eyes away from him to the ship's carpenter. As much as she currently disliked the man, his loyalty to her father had always been absolute. She caught his glance and addressed him. “Assist Brashen in any way he requires. Be quick. My father will arrive here soon. If this is the last time he sets foot on board, I'd like him to see the Vivacia ship-shape and the crew busy.”

This simple appeal was all she needed. Sudden understanding swept over his face, and the look he gave to the rest of the crew quickly spread the realization. This was real, this was urgent. The man they had served under, some for over two decades, was coming here to die. He'd often bragged that his was the best hand-picked crew to sail out of Bingtown; Sa knew he paid them better than they'd have made on any other vessel.

“I'll find Brashen,” the carpenter assured her and strode off with purpose in his walk. Gantry took a breath as if to call him back. Instead, he paused for just an instant, and then began barking out orders for the continued unloading of the ship. He turned just enough that Althea was not in his direct line of sight. He had dismissed her. She had a reflex of anger before she recalled she had no time for his petty insolence just now. Her father was dying.

She went to the sailmaker to order out a length of clean canvas. When she came back up on deck, Brashen was there talking with the ship's carpenter. He was gesticulating at the rigging as they discussed how they'd hang the canvas. When he turned to glance at her, she saw a swollen knot above his left eye. So it was he whom the mate had tangled with. Well, whatever it had been, it had been sorted out in the usual way.