Althea had no answers to any of that. She lifted her mug and took a long drink. When she set it down, Amber was smiling at her. "Go back to your tale, and finish it for me. Put in the serpent when you come to him, and tell me as much about him as you can. I promise to be a good listener." Amber tipped a small measure of golden brandy into her own glass and leaned back expectantly.

Jek was right. The beer pitcher had been emptied twice and Amber's bottle of brandy was seriously lightened before the tale was told. Amber went over Althea's account of the serpent attacking the ship several times. She seemed interested in how its spittle had eaten through cloth and flesh, and nodded to herself at Brashen's assertion that it was not a mere predatory attack, but a thinking creature bound on vengeance. Nevertheless, Althea sensed that nothing in that part of her tale rang Amber's interest as the wizardwood arrow had. At last, even Amber's questions seemed to run out. The flames in the grate had burned low. Althea returned from a trip to the back-house to find Amber spilling the last of the brandy into two small glasses. Carved wooden holders, obviously the work of Amber's hands, twined ivy leaves around the glasses.

"Let us drink," Amber proposed. "To all that is right with the world. To friendship, and good brandy."

Althea lifted her glass but could not think of anything to add to the toast.

"The Vivacia?" Amber suggested.

"I wish her well, but until her decks are under my feet again, she is tangled with all that is most wrong in my world."

"To Grag Tenira?" Amber proposed facetiously.

"That is also too complicated."

Amber grinned broadly. "To Brashen Trell!"

Althea groaned and shook her head, but Amber raised her glass anyway. "Here's to irresponsible men who give in to their passions." She drained off her brandy. "So women can claim it was none of their doing."

This last she uttered just as Althea had given in and was tossing her brandy down. She choked and sputtered. "Amber, that's not fair. He took advantage of me."

"Did he?"

"I told you," Althea replied stubbornly. Actually, she had told Amber very little, other than to admit with a shrug that it had happened. At the time, Amber had let it pass with but a raised eyebrow. Now she met Althea's glare with a steady gaze and a small knowing smile. Althea took a breath. "I had been drinking, and drugged beer at that, and I'd taken a good blow to the head. Then he gave me some of his cindin. And I was cold and wet and exhausted."

"All of that was true of Brashen as well. I'm not finding fault, Althea. I don't think either of you needs to make excuses for what happened. I think you shared what you each needed most. Warmth. Friendship. Release. Acknowledgment."

"Acknowledgment?"

"Ah, so you agree to the first three without question?"

Althea didn't answer the question. "Talking to you is a balancing act," she complained. Then, "Acknowledgment of what?" she demanded.

"Of who you are. What you are." Amber's voice was soft, almost gentle.

"So you think I'm a slut, too." The effort at putting humor in her voice fell flat.

Amber considered her for a moment. She tipped back on her chair, balancing it on two legs. "I think you know what you are. You don't need my opinion. All you have to do is look at your daydreams. Have you ever fancied yourself settled down, a wife and mother? Ever wondered what it will be like to carry a babe within you? Do you dream of taking care of your wee ones while awaiting your husband's return from sea?"

"Only in my worst nightmares," Althea heard herself admit with a laugh.

"So. If you never truly expect yourself to be a settled wife, do you expect that you will live all your life knowing nothing of men?"

"I hadn't given much thought to it." She pulled her beer mug closer.

Amber snorted. "There is a part of you that thinks of little else, did you but care to admit it. You simply don't want to accept the responsibility for it. You'd like to pretend it is just something that happens to you, something a man tricked you into doing." She returned her chair to the floor with a thump. "Come on," she invited Althea. "The tide is rising and I've an appointment." She gave a small belch. "Walk with me."

Althea rose. She could not decide if Amber's words had offended or amused her. "Where are we going?" she asked as she accepted a ragged coat.

"The beach. I want you to meet a friend of mine. Paragon."

"Paragon? The ship? I know Paragon well!"

Amber smiled. "I know you do. He spoke of you one night. It was a slip of his tongue and I gave no sign of recognizing your name. However, even if he hadn't, I would have known. You left signs of your stay aboard him. They were mixed in with Brashen's things."

"Like what?" Althea demanded suspiciously.

"A little hair comb I had seen you wearing the first time I noticed you. It was left perched on a window ledge, as if you had stood there to fix your hair and then forgotten it."

"Ah. But what have you to do with the Paragon?"

Amber measured her reaction as she said, "I told you. He's my friend." More cautiously, she added, "I'm in the process of buying him."

"You can't!" Althea declared, outraged. "The Ludlucks cannot sell their liveship, no matter how he has disgraced himself!"

"Is there a law against it, then?" Amber's voice was inquisitive, nothing more.

"No. There has never been any need to make such a law. It is the tradition of Bingtown."

"Many of Bingtown's most venerated traditions are giving way before the onslaught of the New Traders. It is not publicly noised about, but anyone in Bingtown who cares about such things knows that the Paragon is up for sale. And that bids from New Traders are being considered."

Althea was silent for a time. Amber put on a cloak and drew a hood well up over her pale hair. When Althea spoke, her voice was low. "If the Ludluck family is forced to sell Paragon, they will sell him to other Old Traders. Not a newcomer like you."

"I wondered if you would point that out," Amber replied in a conversationally even voice. She lifted the bar on the back door and opened it. "Coming?"

"I don't know." Althea preceded her out the door, then stood in the dark alley as Amber locked up. The last few minutes of conversation with Amber had taken a decidedly uncomfortable turn. Most unsettling was the feeling she had that Amber had deliberately engineered this small confrontation. Was she trying to test their friendship? Or was there some larger agenda behind her needling? She chose her words carefully.

"I don't think you are less, or not as good as I am, simply because I am Trader born and you are not. Some things are the sole province of the Bingtown Traders, and we guard those things jealously. Our liveships are very special. We feel the need to protect them. It would be hard to make an outsider understand all that our liveships are to us."

"It is always difficult to explain that which you don't understand yourself," Amber retorted quietly. "Althea, this idea has to break through, not just to you but to all the Bingtown Traders. To survive, you will have to change. You will have to decide what things are most important to you, and preserve those things. You must accept the allies who share those values, and not be so suspicious of them. Above all, you must relinquish your claims to things that don't belong to you. Things that don't belong even to the Rain Wild Traders, but are the rightful heritage of all."

"What do you know about the Rain Wild Traders?" Althea demanded. She peered at Amber in the dimness of the alley.

"Precious little. Your close-mouthed Bingtown traditions have seen to that. I suspect they plunder the cities of the Elderlings of their treasures, and claim that ancient magic as their own. Bingtown and the Bingtown Traders act as a shield to conceal a people unknown to the rest of the world. Those people delve deep into secrets they cannot grasp. They dismantle the hard-won knowledge of another folk and time, and market it as amusing trinkets. I suspect they destroy as much as they pilfer. Come on."