Lavoy took Althea’s place on the railing. Amber withdrew slightly. Jek wished Paragon a subdued, “Good night, ship,” before sauntering quietly away. Althea knew she should hasten to Brashen’s summons, but she did not like to leave Amber and Lavoy alone in such proximity. If something happened, it would be Amber’s word against his. And when a mate declared something was so, the word of a common sailor meant nothing at all.

Althea firmed her voice. “Carpenter. I want the latch on my cabin door repaired tonight. Little jobs should be seen to in calm weather and quiet times, lest they become big jobs during a storm.”

Amber shot her a look. In reality, Amber had been the one to point out that the door rattled against the catch instead of shutting tightly. Althea had greeted the news with a shrug. “I’ll see to it, then,” Amber promised her gravely. Althea lingered a second longer, wishing the carpenter would take the excuse to get away from Lavoy. But she didn’t, and there was no way Althea could force her without igniting the smoldering tension. She reluctantly left them together.

The captain’s quarters were in the stern of the ship. Althea knocked smartly, and waited for his quiet invitation to enter. The Paragon had been built with the assumption that the captain would also be the owner, or at least a family member. Most of the common sailors made do with hammocks strung belowdecks wherever they could find room. Brashen, however, had a chamber with a door, a fixed bed, a table and chart table and windows that looked out over the ship’s wake. Warm yellow lamplight and the rich smells and warm tones of polished wood greeted her.

Brashen looked up at her from the chart table. Spread before him were his original sketches on canvas scraps as well as Althea’s efforts to formalize his charts on parchment. He looked tired, and much older than his years. His scalded face had peeled after he was burnt by the serpent venom. Now the lines on his forehead and cheeks and beside his nose showed even more clearly. The venom burn had taken some of his eyebrows as well. The gaps in his heavy brows made him look somewhat surprised. She was grateful that the spray of scalding poison had not harmed his dark eyes.

“Well?” Brashen suddenly demanded, and she realized she had been staring at him.

“You summoned me,” she pointed out, the words coming out almost sharply in her discomfiture.

He touched his hair, as if he suspected something amiss there. He seemed rattled by her directness. “Summoned you. Yes, I did. I had a bit of a talk with Lavoy. He shared some ideas with me. Some of them seem valuable, yet I fear he may be luring me to a course of action I may regret later. I ask myself, how well do I know the man? Is he capable of deception, even…” He straightened in his chair, as if he had abruptly decided he was speaking too freely. “I’d like your opinion on how the ship is being run of late.”

“Since the serpent attack?” she asked needlessly. There had been a subtle shift in power since she and Brashen had stood together to drive the serpent away. The men had more respect for her abilities now, and it seemed to her that Lavoy did not approve of that. She tried to find a way to phrase it without sounding as if she criticized the mate. She took a breath. “Since the serpent attack, I have found my share of the command easier to manage. The sailors obey me swiftly and well. I feel that I have won their hearts as well as their allegiance.” She drew another breath and crossed a line. “However, since the attack, the first mate has chosen to tighten discipline. Some of it is understandable. The men did not react well during the attack. Some did not obey; few jumped in to assist us.”

Brashen scowled as he spoke. “I myself noted that Lavoy did not assist us. His watch was well begun and he was on the deck, yet he did not aid us at all.” Althea felt her stomach jump nervously. She should have noticed that. Lavoy had stood it out while she and Brashen fought the serpent. At the time, it had seemed oddly natural that they two would be the ones to stand before the serpent. She wondered if Lavoy’s absence had any significance, beyond his being afraid. Had Lavoy hoped that she, Brashen, or even both of them might be killed? Did he hope to inherit command of the ship? If he did, what would become of their original quest? Brashen was silent again, obviously letting her think.

She took a breath. “Since the serpent attack, the first mate has tightened discipline, but not evenly. Some of the men appear to be targeted unfairly. Lop, for one. Clef for another.”

Brashen watched her carefully as he observed, “I would not have expected you to have much sympathy for Lop. He did nothing to aid you when Artu attacked you.”

Althea shook her head almost angrily. “No one should have expected him to,” she declared. “The man is a half-wit in some ways. Give him direction, tell him what to do, and he performs well enough. He was agitated when Artu… when I was fighting Artu off, Lop was leaping about, hitting himself in the chest and berating himself. He genuinely had no idea what to do. Artu was a shipmate, I was the second mate and he did not know whom to choose. But on the deck, when the serpent attacked, I remember that he was the one with the guts to fling a bucket at the creature and then drag Haff to safety. But for Lop’s action, we’d be short a hand. He’s not smart. Far from it. But he’s a good sailor, if he’s not pushed past his abilities.”