As abruptly, she straightened herself. "No time for that." She ducked to peer at herself in a mirror on the table, then snatched up a ragged scarf and tied it about her head and over her ears. The tool tote was concealed inside a market basket. She tucked her earrings up out of sight. "There. Let's go. We'll slip out the back way. On the street, take my arm, lean close and leer at me like a nasty sailor. That way we can talk as we go."

Althea was amazed at how well the ruse worked. Those folk who took any notice of them at all turned aside in disgust. Althea continued the tale of her journey. Once or twice, Amber made small sounds as if she would interrupt, but when Althea paused she would insist, "No, go on. When you are finished, that is the time for questions." Never had anyone listened to her so intently, absorbing her words as a sponge soaks in water.

When they approached the tariff docks, Amber pulled Althea aside for a moment. "How will you introduce me to the ship?" she asked.

"I'll have you follow me aboard. I haven't discussed this with Captain Tenira yet." Althea frowned to herself as she suddenly realized how awkward all this could be. "You'll have to meet Captain Tenira and Grag before I take you forward to meet Ophelia. I honestly don't know how friendly they will be, to you or to the idea of someone not of Bingtown working on their ship."

"Trust me to handle them. I can be charming when it is required. Now, forward."

Althea was unchallenged at the ship's ramp. She gave a furtive look around and then made a show of beckoning Amber forward. The two tariff guards on the dock spotted her immediately. One made a grimace of distaste while the other brayed out a knowing laugh. Neither one interfered as the ship's boy smuggled his doxie aboard.

The seaman on watch aboard the Ophelia raised an incredulous eyebrow, but at a sign from Althea, he bit his tongue. He escorted them to the door of Captain Tenira's cabin and stood by while Althea tapped.

"Enter," Tenira called. Althea jerked her head at Amber and she followed her in. The captain had been busy with a pen and parchment at his table while Grag stood looking out the windows. "What's this?" Captain Tenira demanded incredulously while Grag's mouth twisted in distaste.

"I am not what I look, sir," Amber replied before Althea could utter a word. Her voice was so genteelly modulated, her accent so pure, that no one could have doubted her. "Please excuse that I come disguised. It seemed prudent. I've been a friend of Althea's for some time. She knows I can be trusted. She has told me of your encounter on your way here. I am here not just to lend my support to your defiance of the tariffs, but to see if I can repair the damage that was done to Ophelia's hands."

In one breath, she had smoothly stated everything that Althea would have stumbled over expressing. Then she stood quietly, hands clasped demurely in front of her, her spine straight, her eyes meeting theirs unashamedly. The two men exchanged a glance. The first words out of Captain Tenira's mouth shocked Althea.

"Do you really think you can do something for Ophelia's hands? It pains me to see her ashamed of their appearance."

There was a depth of emotion in the man's voice when he spoke of his ship that touched Althea's soul.

"I don't know," Amber replied honestly. "I know little of wizardwood. My small experience of it tells me that it is exceedingly fine-grained. The very density of it may have preserved her from taking deep harm. But I will know only when I look at her hands, and perhaps not even then."

"Then let us go forward and look," Tenira immediately declared. He gave an almost apologetic look at Althea. "I know you bear tidings for me from your mother. Do not think I under-value them. But Ophelia is my ship."

"She must come first," Althea agreed. "It was in my mind also, when I asked my friend Amber to accompany me."

"That is so like you," Grag observed warmly. He was so bold as to touch Althea's hand. He sketched a bow toward Amber. "Anyone that Althea calls friend, I am honored to know. It is the only credential you need with me."

"My son recalls me to my manners. Forgive me, lady. I am Captain and Bingtown Trader Tomie Tenira of the liveship Ophelia. This is my son, Grag Tenira."

Althea realized sharply that she did not know Amber's family name. But before she could stumble through that introduction, Amber spoke. "I am Amber the bead-maker, an artisan of Rain Wild Street. I look forward to meeting your ship."

With no more ado, Captain Tenira led the way. Ophelia was obviously simmering with curiosity. She looked Amber up and down with a scandalized restraint that brought a grin to Althea's face despite herself. As soon as Amber's presence was explained, the ship showed no hesitation at turning to her and presenting her scorched hands for inspection. "Do you think you can do anything for me?" she asked gravely.

It was the first time Althea had had a clear look at the damage. The tarry fireballs had clung to her fingers as they burned her. It had licked up the inside of Ophelia's left wrist. Her patrician hands looked like those of a scrub maid.

Amber took one of the ship's large hands in both her own. She ran her gloved fingertips over the scorched surface lightly, then rubbed at it more firmly. "Tell me if I hurt you," she added belatedly. Her brow was furrowed with concentration. "A most peculiar wood," she added to herself. She opened the tote of tools and selected one. She scraped lightly at one blackened fingertip. Ophelia gave a sharp intake of breath.

"That hurts?" Amber asked immediately.

"Not as humans hurt. It feels… wrong. Damaging."

"I think there is sound wood just below the scorched surface. Working with my tools, I could remove what is blackened. I might have to reshape your hands a bit; you would end up with slimmer fingers than you have now. I could keep a good proportion, I believe, unless the damage goes much deeper than I think. However, you would have to endure that sense of damage, unflinching, while I did my work. I do not know how long it would take."

"What do you think, Tomie?" the ship demanded of her captain.

"I think we have little to lose by trying," he said gently. "If the sensation becomes unbearable, then Mistress Amber will stop, I am sure."

Ophelia smiled nervously. Then a wondering look came into her eyes. "If your work on my hands is successful, then perhaps something could be done about my hair as well." She lifted a hand to touch the long loose curls of her mane. "This style is so dated. I have often thought that if I could contrive ringlets around my face and…"

"Oh, Ophelia." Tomie groaned as the others laughed.

Amber had kept possession of one of Ophelia's hands. Her head was still bent over it, examining the damage. "I may have great difficulty in matching the stain. Never have I seen stain that mimics so well the color of flesh without obscuring the grain of the wood. Someone told me that a liveship creates its own colors as it awakens." She met Ophelia's eyes without self-consciousness as she asked, "Will that happen again, if I have to plane so deep that I expose uncolored wood?"

"I do not know," Ophelia replied quietly.

"This will not be the work of an afternoon," Amber said decidedly. "Captain, you will have to give your watch permission to let me come and go. I shall keep this same guise. Is that acceptable?"

"I suppose so," the captain conceded grudgingly. "Though it may be hard to explain to other Traders why such delicate work is entrusted to a slave, or why I use a slave's labor at all. I oppose all slavery, you know."

"As do I," Amber replied gravely. "As do many, many folk in this town."

"Do they?" Tomie replied bitterly. "If there is any great public outcry about it, it has escaped me."