Now, three weeks from home, Gally was itching to perform. Alix felt lousy about it. Not just that her girl was aching, but because she’d been away so long on Alix’s account, having tagged along on her postal route for a holiday. Yes, Alix decided, something must be done. She would see Gally’s smile again, and soon. She just had to figure out how.
She vowed it silently to herself, then moved to her girl’s side and threw an arm around her shoulders. “The Ruby Sea, Gally girl. Ever think you’d see it?”
Gally gave her a squeeze in return. “I have seen it. Twice, actually, and I almost saw it a third time when Mother brought me as far as Port Vale. We were half a mile from the sea, but she marched us straight home as soon as her business was done.”
Alix’s fingers twitched. If she ever met Gally’s mum, there would be hard words for certain. But she just grinned and said, “This ain’t that. It’s a holiday, darling. I dare you to relax.”
“I should check on our things.” Gally gave her a little smile, more of an attempt than the genuine article. “I know you don’t want your clothes getting wet, and I’d rather the ink in my books not run.”
“No lollygagging. It’s nearly sunset and that ain’t a thing to miss.”
Gally stepped away, trailing her hand down Alix’s arm until only their fingers touched. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Alix watched her stroll away across the deck, enjoying the view no less than ever but feeling just a dash of concern.
Mariamber sailed as regular as a halfling’s meal-clock, and her master, the squint-eyed, brown-cheeked dwarf whose name wound up being Captain Axe, kept strict time as well. Alix approved. For one thing, she liked a fellow who cared about a job well done, and for another it meant they set sail as the sun tumbled away down the western skies.
The master had explained about a following tide and the land breeze springing up in the evening, and how these would ease their way. Normally the particulars of adventuring intrigued Alix, but as she stood on the quarterdeck, leaning on the taffrail and watching the sun wobble and redden down toward the horizon, practical matters felt far away.
She was sunk in these thoughts when Gally appeared at her side, mimicking her lean on the rail and setting one soft hand atop hers.
“We should socialize,” Gally said.
“You’re all the company I need.”
“We’ve been three weeks on the road together. Aren’t you sick of me yet?”
“Never.”
Gally snorted and pulled her away from the rail, toward their fellow passengers. Four others were making the day-long sail to the Isles of Azure, and they stood chatting amicably in the red wash of sunset—or so it seemed, until Alix’s eye began to pick out the tensions in the scene. She glanced at Gally, whose eyebrows quirked behind the thick frames of her glasses. She’d noticed it too.
The others had split into two pairs. By the weather rail, a tall elf stood monologuing, jeweled rings flashing on his fingers as he emphasized each point with a flap of the hand. His hair spilled like molten gold down the back of trim purple robes. His victim was a lean, tough-looking human woman in fitted black leathers, her hair in a steel-gray bun. But her eyes weren’t on the elf’s as he droned on—they were watching every flash of those rings.
The other two passengers were more openly agitated. Alix pinned them immediately as a pair of human priests, but they were otherwise two men as different as you could hope to find. One was big-boned and ruddy-cheeked, clad in a habit the blue-green of the ocean. The other looked like a sparrow: hunched and fragile in an oversized robe of sand-tan wool that pointed up the spareness of his frame. He held a small brass funnel to his ear, into which the big priest addressed himself.
“If I had known you’d be aboard, I’d have taken the next ship.”
“If I knew you’d be aboard, I’d have stayed on dry land!” rejoined the little priest.
“I shall complain to Captain Axe at once,” said the first priest. “You’d think a man of the sea would know better.”
“I shall complain to the captain first! I shall—shall—”
But his tantrum was cut short by the greening of his face and a sudden rush to the rail, where he heaved his head and chest far out over the sea and noisily let loose the contents of his stomach.
“Should be an entertaining voyage,” Alix said to Gally, who was watching this display with her eyebrows raised. “Let’s introduce ourselves.”
Gally followed with a roll of the eyes and the hint of a smile as Alix presented herself to the priest in blue. “Friend of yours?”
“Hardly!” boomed the priest, his red face reddening further. “I would never consort with a priest of Siffft. Their conversation is as dry as their god.”
“You must worship the Sea King Pantelever, then,” said Gally, adjusting her spectacles.
The priest bowed to her. “Your pronunciation is excellent, madam. Are you a sailor?”
“A bard. Gally Chaparral of Lackmore.”
“Father Ubb of the Most Moist Church of Pantelever, Duke of Damp Corners and King of the Sea.” The priest gave a deep bow, then indicated his puking rival with the jerk of a thumb. “That weak-stomached fellow said his name was Draskis. Claims to be a bishop. He follows Siffft of the Sands, naturally.”
Alix, who found religious hair-splitting tedious, nodded at the bejeweled and droning elf. “Who’s the silk stocking?”
“His name is Cloth-of-Gold,” said little Bishop Draskis, wiping his mouth with a sleeve as he approached. His other hand held the listening trumpet tightly to his ear. “Spelled with hyphens—he insisted. Whether his mother named him that or he adopted it later, I can’t tell you.”
“It’s a fitting name,” Gally said.
“The woman is called Chiss,” said Father Ubb loudly. He seemed miffed that Alix and Gally had turned their attention to his rival. “We don’t know her story.”
At the sound of her name, Chiss turned and joined Alix’s group without excusing herself to Cloth-of-Gold. The tall elf hesitated for a moment, looking affronted, then followed her.
“Pleased to meet you,” Chiss said, extending her hand to Gally. “Did I hear you’re a bard? I’ve never much cared for music. It all sounds like caterwauling to me. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”
“Not at all.” Gally shook Chiss’s hand with admirable grace. “Music isn’t for everyone.”
“Only folks with souls,” said Alix, bristling on her girl’s behalf. “But I suppose life’s dull without someone to be wrong. Take the pair of padres here—I expect they’ll have more fun bickering at each other than watching the sunset.”
“I’m a bishop,” said Draskis morosely.
