Brashen stretched, rolling his shoulders and spreading his arms. When he rocked forward, his left hand rested on Althea's shoulder. He inclined very slightly toward the other man, and gently confided, "What a pity. I do." He smiled before he went back to Maystar's conversation, but left his arm across Althea's shoulder. She tried for a disarming smile and shrugged her free shoulder.

"No offense meant," the man said a bit stiffly.

"None taken," she assured him. A warm flush rose to her face when, down the table, Jek caught her eye and dropped her a slow congratulatory wink. Damn Brashen! Had he completely forgotten that they were trying to keep this a secret? Yet, she could not deny that she took keen pleasure in the weight of his arm across her shoulder. Was this what he had been speaking of, the comfort of publicly claiming one another? Once they returned to the ship, they would both have to disavow this as a sham, as part of their overall ploy to gain information. But for now… She relaxed into him, and felt the solid warmth of his body, his hip against hers. He shifted slightly to accommodate her.

The pirate drained off his beer. He set the mug down with a thump. "Well, Maystar, I see little threat from these folk. Noon's well past now, and I've still a day's work to do."

Maystar, in the midst of a long-winded tale, dismissed him with a wave. The man gave Althea a farewell nod, rather curt, and left. With his departure, several others also made their excuses and left. Brashen gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. Well done. They'd established they were no risk to Divvytown.

Rain still streamed down the tavern window. The uniform grayness of the day had disguised the passage of time. Brashen patiently heard Maystar's tale out to the end, and then made another show of stretching. "Well, I could listen to you all day; it's a pleasure to hear a man who can properly spin a yarn. Unfortunately, that won't fill my water barrels. I'd best put some of my crew to that, but I've noticed that the old water dock is gone completely. Where do ships take on water now? And I've promised the crew a bit of fresh meat if there's any to be had. Be kind to a stranger, and steer me to an honest butcher."

But Brashen was not rid of Maystar that easily. The garrulous harbormaster told him where to take on water, but then went on to discuss at great length the relative merits of the two butchers in Divvytown. Brashen interrupted the man briefly, to put Jek in charge of the others. They could take their shore time now, but he warned them that he expected the ship's casks to be filled before noon tomorrow. "Be back at the docks by nightfall. The second's coming with me."

When a boy came running to tell Maystar that his pigs were loose again, the old man hurried off, uttering oaths and threats against the hapless swine. Brashen and Jek exchanged a look. She stood up, stepping over the bench she'd been seated on. "Care to show me where we can fill our ship's casks?" she asked the man she'd been talking with, and he agreed readily. Without further ado, the crew dispersed.

Outside the tavern, the rain was falling determinedly, driven by a relentless wind. The streets were mud, but they ran straight. Brashen and Althea walked in silent companionship down a wooden walkway; a ditch beneath it rushed with rain water draining from the street down to the harbor. Few of the structures boasted glass windows and most were tightly shuttered today against the downpour. The town had not the elegance or beauty of Bingtown, but it shared Bingtown's purpose. Althea could almost smell the commerce here. For a town burnt to the ground not so long ago, it had recovered well. They passed another tavern, this one built of raw timbers, and heard within it a minstrel singing with a harp. Since they had anchored, another ship had come into the lagoon and tied up at the pier. An ant line of men with barrows was unloading the cargo from the ship to a warehouse. Divvytown was a prosperous lively trade port; folk everywhere thanked Kennit for that.

The people hurrying along the walkway to escape the rain wore an amazing variety of garb. Some of the languages she overheard she did not even recognize. Many folk wore tattoos, not just on their faces, but on arms, calves and hands. Not all face tattoos were slave marks: some had decorated themselves with fanciful designs.

"It's a declaration," Brashen explained quietly. "Many bear tattoos they cannot erase. So they obscure them with others. They dim the past with a brighter future."

"Odd," she muttered quietly.

"No," he asserted. She turned in surprise at the vehemence in his voice. More quietly, he went on, "I understand the impulse. You don't know how I've fought, Althea, to try to make folk see the man I am instead of the wild boy I was. If a thousand needle pricks in my face would obscure my past, I'd endure it."

"Divvytown is a part of your past." There was no accusation in her voice.

He looked around the busy little port as if seeing another place and time. "It was. It is. I was last here on the Springeve, and that was none too honest an operation. But years ago, also, I was here. I had only a few voyages under my belt when pirates took the ship I was on. They gave me a choice. Join them or die. I joined." He pushed his wet hair back and met her eyes. "No apologies for that."

"None are needed," she replied. The rain on his face, the drops glistening in his hair, his dark eyes and the simple nearness of him suddenly overwhelmed her. Something of her rush of emotion must have shown on her face, for his eyes widened. Heedless of who might see, she seized his wet hand. "I can't explain it," she laughed up at him. For an instant, just looking at him was all she needed in the world.

He squeezed her hand. "Come on. Let's buy some stuff and talk to people. We do have a reason to be here."

"I wish we didn't. You know, I like this town and I like these people. In spite of every reason that I shouldn't, I do. I wish we could just be here, on our own like this. I wish this were our real life. Almost, I feel like I belong here. I'll bet Bingtown was like this, a hundred years ago. The rawness, the energy, the acceptance of folk for who they are; it draws me like a candle draws a moth. Sa forgive me, Brashen, but I wish I could kick over every responsibility to my name and just be a pirate."

He looked at her in astonished silence. Then he grinned. "Be careful what you wish for," he cautioned her.

It was a strange afternoon. The role she played felt more natural than reality. They bought oil for the ship's lanterns and arranged to have it sent down to the dock. At another merchant's, Althea selected herbs and potents to restock Paragon's medicine chest. Impulsively, Brashen tugged her inside a dry goods store and bought her a brightly colored scarf. She bound her hair back with it, and he added hoop earrings embellished with jade and garnet beads. "You have to look the part," he muttered in her ear as he fastened the catch of a necklace.

In the clouded mirror the shopkeeper offered, she caught a glimpse of a different Althea, a side of herself she had never permitted into the daylight. Behind her, Brashen bent to kiss the side of her neck. When he glanced up, their eyes met in the mirror. Time rocked around her, and she saw the wild, runaway Bingtown boy and the willful virago who had scandalized her mother. A likely pair; piracy and adventure had always been their destiny. Her heart beat faster. Her only regret for this moment was that it was a sham. She leaned back against him to admire the glittering necklace on her throat. They watched themselves in the mirror as she turned her head and kissed him.

At each place they went, one or the other would turn the conversation to Kennit or his liveship. They gathered nuggets of information about him, both useful and trivial. Like legends; each teller added personal embellishments to their stories of Kennit. His boy-priest had cut off his mangled leg, and Kennit had endured it without making a sound. No, he had laughed aloud in the face of his pain, and bedded his woman scarce an hour later. No, it was the boy's doing: the pirate king's prophet had prayed and Sa himself had simply healed Kennit's stump. He was beloved of Sa; all knew that. When evil men had tried to rape Kennit's woman, right here in Divvytown, the god had protected her until Kennit appeared to slay a dozen men single-handedly and carry her off from her imprisonment. Etta had lived in a whorehouse, but kept herself only for Kennit. It was a love story to make the most hardened cutthroat weep.