"So. What did he do? Tell the captain?" Grag asked when the silence had lengthened.

"No. Nothing like that. He was just… watchful. That's the word, I suppose. I had a tough time on that ship. Knowing he was watching me scrabble just to keep up made me feel… humiliated."

"He had no right to do that to you," Grag observed in a low voice. Two sparks of anger burned deep in his eyes. "Your father took him on when no one else would. He owes your family. The least he could have done was protect you rather than mock your efforts."

"No. It wasn't like that, not at all." Suddenly she was defending Brashen. "He didn't mock me. Mostly he ignored me." When Crag's expression became even more indignant, she hastily clarified, "That was how I preferred it. I did not want special treatment. I wanted to make it on my own. And I did, eventually. What bothered me was that he was a witness to how hard I had to struggle… I don't know why we're even talking about this."

Grag shrugged. "You brought it up, not I. There had always been a bit of speculation as to why your father took Brashen Trell on when his own family had given up on him. He'd been in enough trouble over the years that when his father threw him out, no one was really surprised."

"What kind of trouble?" Althea heard the avidity in her own question and toned it down. "I was just a girl when that happened, with little interest in Bingtown gossip. Years later, when he hired aboard the Vivacia, my father did not speak of it. He said a man deserves to be judged on who he is, not who he was."

Grag was nodding to himself. "It wasn't a noisy scandal. I know about it mostly because we schooled together. It started out in small ways. Pranks and silliness. As we got older, he was always the boy who would slip away when the master's back was turned. At first, it was just to avoid lessons, or go to the market and buy sweets. Later he was the boy who seemed to know more than the rest of us about things like girls and cindin and dice games. My father still says it was Trell's own fault his son went bad. Brashen always had too much money to spend and too much free time to amuse himself. No one drew a line with him. He'd get into mischief, like gambling more money than he had, or being drunk somewhere public in the afternoon, and his father would drag him home and threaten him."

Grag shook his head. "He never carried out his threats. A day or so later, Brashen would be on the loose, doing the same things again. Trell always said he was going to cut off his credit, cane him or make him work off his debts. However, he never did. I heard his mother would always weep and faint when his father tried to punish him. He got away with everything that he did. Until one day Brashen came home and found the door closed to him. Just like that. Everyone, including Brashen, thought it was a bluff. We all expected the storm to blow over in a day or so. It didn't. A few days later, old man Trell made it known that he had officially recognized his younger son as his heir and disowned Brashen entirely. The only surprising thing about the whole affair was that Trell finally drew a line and stuck to it.

"For a time, Brashen was around town, staying wherever he could, but he soon wore out his welcome and ran out of money. He got a reputation for leading younger boys into trouble and wild ways." Grag grinned knowingly. "Both I and my younger brother were forbidden to associate with him. Soon no one wanted to be connected with him. Then he disappeared. No one knew what became of him." Grag made a wry face. "Not that anyone much cared. He left many debts behind him. By then folk knew he did not intend to pay them off. So he was gone. Most people felt Bingtown was a better place without him." Grag looked aside from her. "After he left, there was a rumor that a Three-Ships girl was carrying his child. The baby was stillborn; a mercy, I suppose. The girl was still ruined."

Althea felt faintly ill. She hated to hear Grag so disparage Brashen. She wanted to deny what he said of the man, but he obviously spoke with an insider's knowledge of the truth. Brashen had not been an ill-used, misjudged youth. He had been a spoiled eldest son without discipline or morals. Her father had taken him on years later and, under her father's control, he had become a decent man. Without her father, he had reverted. She had to admit to herself that was true. The drunkenness, the cindin. The whoring around, she added harshly to herself.

Ruthlessly she stripped the truth of her foolish embroideries. She had been pretending he had been infatuated with her when he bedded her. The truth was that she had been behaving like a slut and she'd found the partner she deserved. To prove it to herself, all she had to do was think about how they had parted. The moment he realized that she had come to her senses and was not going to allow him her body, he had turned against her. Shame flooded her. How could she have been so stupid and foolish? If he ever returned to Bingtown and spoke of what they had done, she would be ruined, just like the Three-Ships girl that he had left in his wake.

Grag was unaware of her discomfort. He had crouched down by a chest at the foot of his bed and was rummaging inside it. "I'm ravenous. Since I have this supposed toothache, Cook has only been bringing me soup and bread to sop in it. Would you care for some dried fruit? Jamaillian apricots or dates?"

"I've no appetite. Thank you."

Grag stopped his rummaging and swiveled to face her with a grin.

"Now that's the first time you've sounded like a proper Bingtown Trader's daughter since you came aboard. I don't know whether I'm relieved or disappointed."

Althea wasn't sure if she was flattered or insulted. "What do you mean?"

"Oh. Well." He brought the package of fruit out and sat down on his bunk with it. He patted the place beside him and she sat down. "There. You see," he exclaimed triumphantly. "Not only are we alone and unchaperoned, behind a closed door, but you fearlessly sit down on my bed beside me. When I told you Brashen left a woman pregnant, you do not go pale or rebuke me for speaking of such things. You look thoughtful."

He shook his head, bemused. "You wear your hair sensibly on deck, I've seen you wipe your hands down your shirt front, and you went barefoot and trousered the whole time you were pretending to be a ship's boy. Yet I can still remember a very feminine woman in my arms, perfumed like violets, and dancing as gracefully as… well, as gracefully as you scamper up the rigging. How do you do it, Althea?" He leaned back against the bulkhead, but the way he looked at her seemed to bring him closer to her. "How do you move so easily in both worlds? Where do you really belong?"

"Why must it be one or the other?" she countered. "You are both a capable seaman and the son of a Bingtown Trader. Why should not I have both sets of skills?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "There. That is not the answer one would expect from a Trader's daughter, either. At least, not one of our generation. A proper girl would be simpering over my compliment to her dancing, not asserting her ability to be a good sailor. You remind me of the tales Ophelia tells. According to her, there was a time when the women worked right alongside the men, in every trade, and sometimes excelled them."

"Anyone who knows the history of Bingtown knows that when our ancestors came to the Cursed Shores, each one had to scrabble for a living. You know that as well as I do." She felt a bit annoyed with him. Did he think she was improper?

"I know it," he admitted quietly. "But there are a lot of women in Bingtown who would no longer admit that."

"Mostly because it is no longer fashionable. Mostly because their fathers or brothers would be ashamed of them if they did."

"True. However, watching you, I have come to see that they are false, not just to history but to life. Althea. Of late, my parents have been urging me to seek a wife. I was born late in their lives; they'd like to see grandchildren before they are too old to enjoy them."