"How else do you expect me to be?" Paragon retorted. "Joyous that they've dragged me out here? All excited to go off on a hare-brained rescue mission with them?"

He felt the boy's shrug. "Ya could be."

"I could be?" Paragon snorted. "I'd like to know how."

"S'easy. Ya decide t'be."

"You decide to be happy? I should just forget everything that has been done to me, and be happy? Tra-la-la-la? Like that?"

"Ya could." He heard the boy's nails against his scalp. "Lookit me. I coulda hated everyone o' 'em. I decided t'be happy. Decided ta take what I could get. Make a life outer it." A pause. "S'not like I'm gonna get another life. Gotta make this'n work."

"It's not that simple," Paragon snapped.

"Could be," Clef insisted. "In't no harder than decidin't'be mad allus."

The boy sauntered away slowly. His bare feet scuffed lightly on the deck. "But it's a lot funner," he called back over his shoulder.

WATER STREAMED DOWN THE INSIDE PLANKING. THE CANVAS WAS SUCKED into place and the flow was slowing. The caulkers were working swiftly and efficiently, with more skill than Althea had expected from them. The men on the pumps concerned her. They were tiring. She had gone to find Brashen, to ask him if he had replacements for them. She ran into him as he came down a ladder. Behind him were several burly men from the barge. Before she could even speak, he tossed his head at them. "The shore crew is on the barge now. They're to spell your men on the pumps. How are we holding?"

"We're keeping up with it, and even gaining a little. The wood is swelling fast, but wizardwood does that. If he were any other liveship, I'd say he could apply himself a bit and close up half the leaks. But with Paragon, I fear even to ask him." She took a breath, waited until the pump crew was out of earshot, then added very softly, "For fear he would do exactly the opposite. How is he?"

Brashen scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "I don't know. When we were getting him off the beach, he was yelling out suggestions and commands as if he were eager to be afloat again. But like you, I'm afraid to assume that is so. Sometimes all it takes to plunge him into a foul temper is to assume that he is in a good mood."

"I know what you mean." She met his eyes, commiserating. "Brashen, what have we let ourselves in for this time? While he was on the beach, and he was our only hope, it seemed a viable plan. But now that we are out here… do you realize how completely we are in his power? He holds our lives in his hands."

For a moment, the sailor looked very tired. His shoulders sank in discouragement. Then he drew in a deep breath. "Don't stop believing in him now, Althea, or we are all lost. Don't show him any sign of fear or doubt. Paragon is more child than man. When I give Clef an order, I don't watch him to see if he'll obey. I'd never let him believe he had more power over me than I had over him. Boys can't deal with that. They'll keep groping for the limits until they find them. They only feel safe when they know where the boundaries are."

She tried to smile at him. "You speak from experience?"

The smile he returned her was a sickly one. "By the time I found the boundaries, I had fallen off the edge of the world. I won't let that happen to Paragon." He stood still for a moment, and she thought he might say more to her. Then he shrugged his shoulders, turned and hastened after the pumpers.

It reminded her she had work of her own. She moved swiftly through the ship, checking on the workers caulking the hull. Mostly, they were reinforcing and tightening work that had been done while the Paragon was on shore. In a few places, they were even removing oakum to allow the planks to swell shut. Like most Rain Wild ships, Paragon had been well and tightly constructed, his planking designed to withstand the seething water of the Rain Wild River, as well as the vagaries of ocean waves. The workmanship had withstood even the neglect of thirty years. The gray wizardwood planks actually seemed to recall how they had been fitted together. Perhaps, she dared to hope, Paragon was co-operating after all. A liveship could do much to maintain himself, if he chose to do so.

It seemed strange to move through the ship. It was the first time in all the years she had known him that his decks were level under her feet. Satisfied that her work crew was well occupied, she made a quick tour of the ship. The galley was a mess. The stove had broken loose of its stove-pipe and slid across the small room, trailing soot. Like as not, it would have to be repaired if not replaced. The master stateroom had suffered likewise. Amber's chests of belongings had spilled. A vial of scent had fallen and smashed, leaving the room reeking of lilac. As Althea stood looking about, the future became real to her. Amber would have to move her things out of here, and assume the humbler quarters befitting the ship's carpenter.

Then Brashen would move in.

She had reluctantly accepted that he must captain this ship. She did not agree with any of his arguments. Her reasons were more personal. When they recovered Vivacia, she would need to be able to step off Paragon's deck and assume command there. If she were captain of the Paragon, that would prove very unsettling to a ship that was already flighty. Whoever sailed out as Paragon's captain must stay with him for the return journey. It would have to be Brashen.

She still felt a twinge of regret as she closed the door on the chamber. Paragon had been built in the old style. The captain's quarters were by far the finest ones on the ship. Amber had done a great deal to restore the lavishly carved cabinet work and window frames. A bit of carpet covered the ill-conceived hatch she had cut between the cabin and the hold. The stained-glass windows had suffered cracks and portions of the glass were missing, but that was a minor detail. Their money would go first to pay for functional repairs.

She moved on to consider the first mate's cabin. This would be hers. Much smaller than the captain's quarters, it was still palatial in comparison to crew quarters. She had a fixed bunk, a fold-down desk and two cupboards for her possessions. A third chamber, not much bigger than a good-sized closet, was intended for the second mate. Crew quarters were hooks in the forecastle where hammocks could be strung, and little more than that. The older liveships had not taken the crew's comfort into consideration. Cargo space had been their main goal.

When she went on deck, she found Brashen pacing about. He was restless, and yet triumphant. He turned to her immediately. "We're holding steady. There's still water coming in, but no more than a two-man pump crew can keep up with. I think by tomorrow morning, he'll have tightened up. We've a bit of a list, but proper ballast should handle that." There was a light in his face she had not seen since he had sailed on Vivacia under her father. His step was brisk. "Nothing has cracked, nothing sprung. Our luck on this is almost too good to believe. I knew live-ships were tough, but this beats all. Any other ship that had been beached for thirty years would be rot and kindling."

His exuberance was contagious. She followed as he strode about the ship, pausing to shake a railing to see how much give it had in it, or open and shut a hatch to see if it was still square. There was still a great deal of work to do on the Paragon, but most of it would be refitting rather than rebuilding. "We'll stay with the barge for a while, to let his wood swell. Then we'll move him to the west wall to finish."

"With the other liveships?" Althea asked uneasily.

Brashen rounded on her in a manner almost challenging. "Where else? He is a liveship."

She spoke as bluntly. "I fear what they may say to him. That a thoughtless remark may set him off into one of his frenzies."