"It means anyone named Alec."

"And this is "bow." It's as if these little marks have power. I look at them and the things they stand for

just pop into my head, like magic. That one there doesn't look anything like a bow, yet now that I know the sounds of the letters, I can't look at it without seeing a bow in my head."

"Try this." Seregil wrote out "Alec's Black Radly bow" and read it aloud, pointing to each word in turn.

Alec followed along, grinning. "Now I picture my own bow. Is it magic?"

"Not in the sense you mean. Ordinary words simply preserve ideas. Still, you have to be careful. Words can lie, or be misunderstood. Words don't have magic, but they have power."

"Well, the mayor of Wolde wrote a letter to the mayor of Boersby and it said something like "Aren Windover and his apprentice stole my money. Capture them and I'll reward you." Because the mayor of Boersby knows the mayor of Wolde, he reads and believes. Did we steal the money?"

"No, we just went through those rooms and you—"

"Yes, yes," Seregil snapped, cutting him short. "But the point is that a few words on a piece of paper were all it took to convince the mayor of Boersby that we did!"

Seregil stopped suddenly, realizing he was practically shouting. Alec shrank back, looking as if he expected a blow. Seregil pressed his palms down on his knees and took a deep breath.

The headache was back from wherever it had been lurking, and with the pain came an extraordinary surge of anger.

"I'm not feeling very well, Alec. Why don't you go above for awhile?" It was an effort to speak calmly.

Jaw set in a stubborn line, Alec strode out without a word.

Sinking his head into his hands, Seregil wrestled with the sudden, inexplicable surge of conflicting emotions. He wanted to go after him, try to explain and apologize, but what was he going to say?

Sorry, Alec, but for just a moment there I really wanted to throttle you?

"Damn!" He stalked around the confines of the tiny cabin. The pain in his head swelled to a blinding ache. Beneath the pain, a vague urge began to resolve itself into an almost sensual feeling of need.

It flowed through him, drawing his lips back from his teeth in a terrible, vulpine smile, filling every fiber of him with the desire to lash out. He wanted to grasp. He wanted to strike. He wanted to rend and tear—

He wanted—

And then, in a final searing flash, it was gone, taking the worst of the headache with it. When his vision cleared he found himself grasping the hilt of the penknife they'd been using. Somehow he'd driven it into the tabletop with such force that the little blade had snapped in two.

He didn't even remember picking it up.

The room seemed to spin slowly around him as he stood looking down at the broken knife.

"Illior help me," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm going mad!"

Hurt and confused, Alec paced the deck.

Until last night Seregil had treated him with nothing but kindness and good humor; if not always communicative, he'd certainly been evenhanded and generous.

Now out of the blue, this coldness.

The shock of the morning's events gradually faded, allowing worry to replace his anger. This was what Seregil had been trying to warn him of last night, he realized. Of course, he had only Seregil's word that this was some new aberration; what if he'd been crazy all along?

And yet he couldn't forget his conversation with Micum Cavish back in Boersby. Alec had trusted Micum from the start, and this behavior just didn't fit with what he'd told him that night. No, Alec decided, Seregil wasn't to blame for this behavior.

He didn't have to get me out of Asengai's, he reminded himself sternly. I've said I'll stand by himthrough this and I will!

Nonetheless, he couldn't help wishing that Micum had come south with them.

Alec wandered the deck disconsolately that night, ignoring the questioning looks the sailors exchanged as he passed.

Seregil's erratic behavior had continued throughout the day. Still unable to eat that evening, he'd grown more agitated and irritable as the night wore on.

Alec had tried to talk to him, calm him, but only succeeded in upsetting him more. Seregil had finally ordered him out again, speaking slowly through clenched teeth.

It was too cold to sleep above, so Alec retreated to the companionway, his back to the cabin door. He was just dozing off when Rhal came below.

"What are you doing out here?" the captain asked in surprise. "Is something amiss with your lady?"

The lie he'd rehearsed earlier came out smoothly enough. "My snoring disturbed her sleep, so I came out here," Alec replied, rubbing his stiff neck.

Rhal frowned down at him a moment, then said,

"You're welcome to my bunk. It doesn't look like I'll be needing it, not with this weather."

"Thank you, but I think I better stay close, in case she needs me," Alec replied, wondering at this unexpected generosity.

Just then a hoarse cry came from inside the cabin, followed by what sounded like a struggle.

Scrambling to his feet, Alec tried to prevent Rhal from rushing in. "No! Let me—"The burly captain thrust him aside like a child.

Finding the door bolted, Rhal kicked it open and took a step inside.

Behind him, Alec watched with alarm as the man stopped abruptly, then reached for the long knife at his belt.

"What the hell is this?" growled the captain.

Alec let out a small groan of dismay.

Haggard and white, Seregil stood swaying in the far corner, sword in hand. His nightgown was torn down the front, effectively dashing any illusion of Lady Gwethelyn. For a moment it looked as if he might attack. Instead, he shook his head slightly and tossed his sword down on the bunk.

Waving one thin hand, he motioned for them to enter.

Alec moved to Seregil's side. Rhal remained where he was by the broken door.

"I'll ask you this once," he said slowly, his voice dark with anger. "Whatever it is you're up to, has it endangered my ship or my crew?"

"I don't believe so."

Rhal sized the two of them up for a long moment. "Then what in the name of Bilairy are you doing waltzing around in women's rigging?"

"There were some people I needed to get away from. If I tell you any more, then you will be in danger."

"Is that so?" Rhal looked skeptical.

"Well, I'd say it was either political or you've got one angry husband after you. The Darter wasn't the only ship at Boersby that night. Why load this onto me?"

"I heard you were a man of honor."

"Horse shit!"

Seregil smiled slightly. "But it's no secret that you've no great love for Plenimar."

"That's true enough." Rhal took another long look at him. "I see what it is you're aiming to make me believe. Assuming I buy it, which isn't saying I do, it still doesn't explain all the mummery that's gone on since you came aboard. You've played me for a cully, and I don't care much for that!"

Seregil dropped wearily onto the bunk. "I'm not going to explain my motives; they don't concern you. As for your attentions to the late Lady Gwethelyn, the boy and I both did everything we could to discourage you."

"I'll grant that, I suppose, but it's still my inclination to escort the pair of you over the side."

"You'd have a bit of explaining to do to your crew, wouldn't you?" Seregil suggested with a meaningful lift of an eyebrow.

"Damn you!" Rhal ran a hand over his beard in frustration. "If any of my men find out about this—the story would travel the length of the river before spring!"

"That's easily avoided. We dock at Torburn tomorrow. Lady Gwethelyn can disembark there, pleading ill health. I understand there are some wagers riding on whether or not she'll give you a tumble? If you like, I can be seen emerging from your cabin in the morning, winsome smile playing about my lips—"