make Magiere wish to spend time with him. Hearing voices, he turned toward the stern.

Just below the ship's elevated rear squatted four sailors playing cards by lantern light. Now and again, they passed a large gourd, stained dark around the neck from years of wear by rough, sweaty hands. Leesil forgot the lingering seasickness, his mind now better occupied.

In addition to the lean, weathered captain, the schooner boasted a first mate, eleven hands, and a cabin boy. These four were apparently off duty, and a round or two of cards might be distracting. Leesil walked over but didn't sit down uninvited.

"I don't suppose there's D'areeling wine in that gourd?" he asked with an overinnocent smile.

One sailor with a missing ear and only three fingers on his right hand paused and looked up.

"Of course, and we'll make you a roast pheasant with almond gravy for a late supper."

The others laughed, but no one asked him to join the game. They sat on small casks or piles of canvas and rope and used an old empty crate for a playing table. One large, off-white sail flexed above them in the breeze.

This was a rough life, and Leesil had already surmised that most sailors found passengers to be little more than a necessary annoyance, if not an outright inconvenience. However, he knew the most common way to find acceptance at any gaming table, and he gently clinked the coins in his hand.

"Well, wine or no," he said, "this damned seasickness won't let me rest. Could an honest and sleepless fellow join your game for a while?"

The sailors exchanged glances, probably thinking him a witless ne'er-do-well riding on some recent rise in fortune. The earless man handed him the gourd.

"Don't ask what's in it. We make it out of whatever's handy."

Leesil smiled broadly, playing the fool, and took a long pull on the gourd. He regretted it immediately.

The liquid burned down his throat and tasted like rancid potatoes. His empty stomach lurched, threatening to expel what he'd just swallowed. The sailors laughed again, and the youngest with salt-crusted blond hair grabbed an empty box and pushed it toward Leesil.

"You'll get used to it," he said good-naturedly, while shuffling the cards. "You play Jack o‘ Knives?"

Leesil had been playing Jack o‘ Knives when Chap was a pup still peeing on the floor.

"Hmmm, I may have," he said. "Tell me the rules again?"

While the rules were explained, he took another long pull on the gourd.

He lost the first game on purpose with a small bet, and his third pull on the gourd actually made him feel better. The burning lessened, and there was no desire to retch. His head felt lighter, and he suddenly didn't care that Magiere wanted him out of the cabin. Why should he care?

And he took another gulp.

He won the second hand, making it look like a spot of luck. No one seemed suspicious, and the one-eared sailor handed him the gourd again. Leesil knew better than to drink while gambling, but whatever was in the gourd drowned some of the nausea. He'd been thrown out of his cabin and deserved a little indulgence.

His head began to swim, and his fifth hand of cards held nothing of note.

Leesil decided to bluff, and built the pot up with a few extra coins to scare off those with too little to lose. The youngest sailor called him and took half the money Magiere had given him.

No matter. He'd just win it back.

He took another drink from the gourd.

Alone in the cabin, lying in the lower bunk while Chap dozed on the floor, Magiere puzzled over Leesil's outburst.

Though he was seasick, he wasn't given to childish fits of temper. He'd snapped at her and stormed out. That wasn't like him.

He was the type to keep arguing until she wanted to strangle him or stuff a wad of wet wool in his mouth to shut him up. She'd briefly considered following him and then changed her mind. Was he worried about the coming days and too proud to admit it? She quickly rejected that thought. Leesil didn't fear anything he could fight.

Magiere unbelted her falchion and laid it on the floor next to Chap, who watched her with miserable crystalline eyes.

"Oh, don't be so tragic," she said. "He's just seasick. He'll be fine once we reach Bela."

She rolled over and ignored the little voice in the back of her mind.

Leesil knows you‘re avoiding him… feels you pushing him away.

No. He didn't like being fussed over. Her