And there was her other painful subject. She didn’t want to think about Rapskal’s death and she didn’t want to waste time thinking about Greft’s stupid plan for their lives.

‘You won’t finish it that way’

Tats’ voice called her back from her pondering. She considered her clumsy attempt to shape a piece of wood into an oar. She knew next to nothing about wood-working, but even she could see that she was making a bad job of it.

‘It’s just busy work anyway,’ she complained. ‘Even if I get this to where someone can use it, the river will eat it in a matter of days. Even our old oars were beginning to soften and fuzz at the edges, and they’d been treated against the acid water.’

‘Even so,’ Tats said. ‘When the ones we’re using now give out, the oars we’re carving now will be our only spares. So we’d best have some.’ His effort did not look much better than hers, except that he was further along with it. ‘Any oar or paddle is better than none,’ he comforted himself as he looked at his handiwork. ‘Would you brace this for me while I try to use the draw-knife on it?’

‘Of course.’ She was happy to set her own tools down. Her hands were tired and sore. She braced the half-finished oar as Tats went to work with the draw-knife. He handled the tool awkwardly, but still managed to shave a short curl of wood from the oar’s handle before the tool bounced over a knot.

‘I’m sorry about the other day,’ he said quietly.

They hadn’t spoken about it since the incident. He hadn’t tried to put his arms around her or kiss her since then; he probably knew the reception he’d get. His face wasn’t as battered as Nortel’s had been but a black eye was still fading, ‘I know,’ she said shortly.

‘I told Nortel he had to apologize to you.’

‘I know that as well. I suppose that means you won.’

‘Of course!’ He seemed insulted that she had to ask.

He’d stepped right into her trap. ‘What you won, Tats, was a fight with Nortel. You didn’t win me.’

‘I know that, too.’ From being apologetic, he was moving towards angry.

‘Good,’ she said, biting the word off short. She picked up her chisel again, trying to decide where to set the blade to take another chunk out of the wood when Tats cleared his throat.

‘Um. I know you’re angry at me. Would you still hold the oar while I try to shape it?’

That wasn’t really the question he was asking. She picked up the end of the oar and braced it again. ‘We’re still friends,’ she said. ‘Even when I’m angry with you. But I don’t belong to you.’

‘Very well.’ He placed the draw-knife carefully and then drew it down the shaft of the oar. She watched how his brown hands gripped the handles of the tool, how the muscles in his forearms stood out. This time the curl of wood he shaved away was longer. ‘Let’s turn it this way,’ he said, and guided the oar through a half turn. As he set the draw-knife to it again, he asked, ‘What would I have to do to win you, Thymara?’

It was a question she had never considered. As she thought about it, he said into her quiet, ‘Because I’m willing to do it. You know that.’

She was startled. ‘How can you be willing to do something when you don’t even know what I might ask?’

‘Because I know you. Maybe better than you think I do. Look, I’ve done some stupid things since we left Trehaug. I admit it. But—’

‘Tats, wait. I don’t want you to think that I’m going to give you a list of tasks you have to do. I won’t. Because I wouldn’t know what those things would be. We’ve been through a lot lately. You’re asking me to make a big decision. I’m not playing a game when I say that I don’t think I’m ready to make that decision. I’m not waiting for you to do something or give me something or even be something. I’m waiting for me. There’s nothing you can do to change that. Nothing Greft can do.’

‘I’m not like Greft,’ he said, instantly insulted.

‘And I’m not like Jerd,’ she replied. For a moment, they stared at one another. Thymara narrowed her eyes and firmed her chin. Twice Tats started to speak, and then paused. Finally he said, ‘Let’s just make this oar, shall we?’

‘Good thought,’ she replied.

Evening was falling as Sedric emerged from his room. He’d spent the day alone and in darkness, for his last candle had burned down to nothing and he hadn’t wanted to ask anyone for another one. He’d fasted as well. He’d half-expected Davvie to come tapping on his door with a tray of food, but that hadn’t happened. Then he’d recalled that Carson had told him he’d be keeping the boy clear of him. Just as well. Just as well if everyone stayed clear of him, he’d thought. Then he’d heard the self-pity in that statement and despised himself.

Hungry, thirsty and bleak of spirit, he emerged onto the deck as the sun was going down. He found the barge nosed up in a creek bed, one of numerous tributaries that fed the Rain Wild River. Sometimes the water they offered was clear and almost free of acid. It seemed to be the case with this one, for most of the keepers and crew had gone ashore, leaving the ship almost deserted. When he paused at the railing to look, most of the boys were engaged in a water fight. The stream was shallow and wide, the water running swiftly over a sculpted sandy bed. The shirtless keeper boys were stooping to splash one another, laughing and shouting. The last light of the summer’s end sun glinted on their scaled backs. Green, blue and scarlet glints ran over them, and for one brief instant, he saw beauty in their transformations.

Beyond the youths, he saw Bellin kneeling by the stream as Skelly poured a stream of water over her soapy hair. Good. At least now there would be plenty of fresh water to replenish their supplies.

The dragons, too, were enjoying the water. Their gleaming hides showed that their young tenders had given them a good grooming. Relpda was among them, shiny as a copper coin. He wondered who had groomed her, and felt guilty. He should take better care of Relpda. He didn’t know how. He scarcely knew how to take care of himself, let alone anyone else.

The beach near the stream mouth was not large, but there was enough room for the dragons to be comfortable for the evening and for the keepers to have a bonfire. The fire was small now but as he watched, two of the keepers approached with a branchy evergreen log and tossed it onto the flames.

For a moment he thought they’d smothered the fire; then the darker smoke of burning needles rose, followed by a sudden leap of tongues of flame. The sweet smell of burning resin perfumed the evening air. The wave had left plenty of firewood scattered along the banks of the river. So. They would build a large fire for the night, and the keepers would be sleeping ashore.

He sniffed the air and realized that the smell of baking fish rode on the bonfire smoke. His stomach rolled over with an audible gurgle. He was suddenly horribly hungry and thirsty as well. He wondered where Alise and Leftrin were. They were the last people he wished to encounter right now, Alise because of what she knew about him and Leftrin because of what he knew about the man. It troubled him that he had not found a way to tell Alise yet. He didn’t want to talk to her at all, let alone dash her dreams. But he would not betray her again. He would not stand by and watch her deceived.

He crossed the deck quietly, almost surreptitiously. At the door of the deckhouse he paused and listened. All was quiet within. Almost everyone had gone ashore, he imagined, to take advantage of the opportunity to bathe, to enjoy themselves at the bonfire and to share hot fresh food. He opened the door and entered as silently as a scavenging rat. As he had hoped, a large pot of coffee was on the back of the small iron stove in the galley. The only light in the room came from the fire gleaming through the door crack of the stove. A covered pot was muttering; probably the eternal fish soup that was always kept simmering for the crew. He’d seen water and fish and vegetables added to the pot; he could not recall that he’d ever seen it emptied and washed. No matter. He felt as if he were still hungry from his days of isolation. Hungry enough to eat anything.