“Not again,” Althea groaned. “What did I miss?”

Brashen took a breath as if to speak, then clamped his jaws and shook his head.

Althea rubbed her temples. “At least, he was talking to you again?” She offered the words to Amber hopefully.

“Not to us,” Amber said dejectedly. “He had lots of things to say to the work crew, though. Mostly nasty whispered stuff, before he got onto how their children would be born without legs and blind, because they'd worked near a cursed ship.” In bitter admiration, she added, “He was very descriptive.”

“Well. That's creative. At least he didn't throw any more timbers after the first one.”

“Maybe he's saving some for tomorrow,” Brashen pointed out.

They shared a discouraged silence. Then Amber asked sadly, “Well. Have we given up, then?”

“Not quite yet. Let me finish this cup of tea while I ponder how hopeless it all is,” Brashen replied. He frowned as he turned to Althea. “Where were you this morning, anyway?”

She didn't look at him as she answered. Her voice was cool. “Not that you have a right to ask, but I went to see Grag.”

“I thought Tenira was still in hiding. Price on his head, and all that.” Brashen's voice was very detached. He sipped his tea and looked at the water.

“He is. He found a way to send me word. I went to see him.”

Brashen shrugged one shoulder. “Well, at least that solves one problem. When we run out of money, you can always turn him in to the Satrap's ministers. We can use the reward to hire still another work crew.” He showed his teeth in a grin.

Althea ignored the remark to tell Amber, “Grag said he wished he could offer help to me, but his own situation makes everything difficult. His family got a fraction of what the Ophelia's cargo was worth. And they have resolved not to trade in Bingtown or Jamaillia until the Satrap rescinds the unfair tariffs.”

“Didn't the Ophelia sail a few days ago?” Brashen asked determinedly.

Althea nodded. “She did. Tomie thought it best to take her out of Bingtown Harbor before any more galleys arrived. The Satrap's tariff ministries have been making threats to seize the ship. They are now claiming that the Satrap can regulate where liveships trade, and that Rain Wild goods can be sold only in Bingtown or Jamaillia City. I doubt that they could enforce that, but Tomie saw no sense in waiting for trouble. The Tenira family will continue to battle them, but he won't put Ophelia in the middle of it.”

“If it was me,” Brashen said speculatively, “I'd take her up the Rain Wild River. Nothing except another liveship could follow her up there.”

He cocked a head. “That's the plan, isn't it? Grag will be smuggled upriver on another liveship to rejoin them there. Am I right?”

Althea gave him a sidelong glance and a shrug.

Brashen looked offended. “You don't trust me?”

“I promised not to tell anyone.” She looked at the water.

“You think I'd pass the word about?” He was outraged. What kind of a man did she think he was? Did she really think he would let his rivalry with Grag go that far?

“Brashen.” She sounded at the end of her patience. “It is not that I don't trust you. I gave him my word to keep silent. I intend to keep it.”

“I see.” At least, she was finally speaking directly to him. A question burned in him. He cursed himself, but asked it anyway. “Did he ask you to go with him?”

Althea hesitated. “He knows I have to stay here. He even understands that I have to sail when the Paragon goes.” Althea scratched her chin, then scraped at the dirt on her cheek. Irritably, she added, “I wish I could make Keffria understand that. She's still squawking to Mother that it isn't proper. She doesn't approve of me being down here to help. She hates the way I dress when I come down here to work. I don't know what she would approve. Perhaps I should sit at home and wring my hands in distress.”

Brashen knew she was trying to change the subject. He couldn't leave it alone. “Sure, Grag knows that you have to go after Vivacia. But he still asked you to come with him, didn't he? He still wanted you to go. You probably should. Cut your losses. Wager on the winner. None of the Traders really expects we'll succeed. That's why none of them have offered help. They think it would be a waste of time and money. I'll bet Grag had all kinds of sound reasons why you should abandon us, including that we'll never get this derelict off the sand.” Brashen thudded his heels on the ship's hull. He felt a sudden, irrational rush of anger.