and a dagger thrust had left a harsh scar above his right eyebrow. He wore a doublet, breeches, and boots. A red kerchief kept his long hair from his eyes.
Jherek didn't say anything, keeping his hands busy.
'I'm caught in a bit of a muddle,' the captain admitted as he went on.
'Why?' Jherek asked.
'A crewman of mine making advances against a woman on my ship, he's a crewman going to get a taste of the cat.'
Jherek knew Finaren was referring to the cat-o'-ninetails he kept for ship's discipline. 'Very well,' he said.
'Very well?' Finaren repeated after a moment.
'Aye,' Jherek said.
'You'd let me take the hide from your back, and we both knowing that pretty little tramp is lying like a rug?'
'I didn't say she was lying,' Jherek pointed out.
'Lad,' Finaren said, 'we both know she's lying. You've never offered any man or woman-or beast, that I know of-anything in the way of an insult. Even them that you've killed in a fight you've never slurred before, during, or after.'
Jherek said nothing, feeling bad that his ill luck was affecting Finaren as well. 'I was looking at her,' he admitted. 'Maybe if I hadn't been doing that, she wouldn't have embarrassed herself.'
'Valkur's brass buttons, boy!' Finaren exploded. 'You're a seaman. You spend a netful of your life away from kith and kin, and the sight of a good woman. Even a sailor clinging to a sinking spar would gaze on Umberlee with favor, and her the cold bitch goddess she is that spares no man venturing out on the ocean. When we go out on the salt as a way of life, we know what we're giving up.'
'I'm sorry,' Jherek said.
A lump swelled in his throat as the confusion touched him. In every situation he truly believed there was a right thing to do, a fair thing. But for the life of him, he couldn't see what it was in this instance.
'Every manjack on this ship has been looking at them women,' Finaren growled, 'including meself. A fiery little wench like that, she gets a man's blood up. Trouble is, she knows it too, the little tart. She could've had any man on this cog, yet she went out of her way to reach for you.'
'Captain, I didn't mean for any of this to happen,' Jherek said. 'I've tried to stay away from the Amnians as you suggested.'
It had been easy, in fact, since the merchants had partied constantly since being aboard ship and Jherek had never liked being around loud, raucous people. Drinking seemed to blur the lines of polite society, and take away even the rules a lot of good people stood by when they were sober.
'I know, lad. We've just got a wicket of trouble to deal with. The girl's father is demanding some kind of recompense.'
'I could offer him an apology.'
'That's good of you, but he's looking for something more along the monetary lines. I'm loath to give it to him. I can be a tight-fisted old miser meself, and I believe he knows what really happened betwixt you and that little tramp. He also knows I daren't tell him off without proof of it.' He looked away, turning his attention back to the ship he'd spent so much of his life on.
Below, two members of the ship's crew sat in chairs mounted on the aft deck. Most of Butterfly's supply of fresh fish was taken up in nets, but swordfish had been spotted running on the salt earlier. The meat was a delicacy, but the swordfish had a habit of tearing up nets. The sailors sat in the chairs and fished with hooks. It was a lot of work, but it saved the nets. The fishing had also become something of a pastime aboard ship, and men gambled over who would be the first to land a catch.
'Well, lad,' Finaren said after a short time, 'it's my problem to think on. I just wanted to get the right of it from you.'
Jherek nodded, understanding full well the predicament the captain was in. 'If there's anything I can do, let me know. I'll gladly do it.'
Finaren looked at him with fondness, then dropped a heavy hand on Jherek's shoulder. 'Aye, lad, I know that you would. You've been more honest with me than any man I've ever sailed with.' He shook his head. 'You've enough weight to bear, young Jherek, without dealing with the bilge offered by a selfish and conceited twit of a girl. No, I'll stand up and take care of this. Nobody's going to ramrod this ship but me. You just steer clear of any further encounters with those Amnians. I'll not have you spilling some young fop's guts and garters across my deck because he's trying to show out for Merchant Lelayn.'
'Aye, captain.'
'Have you had anything to eat, lad?'
'Not since morningfeast.'
'The mid-day meal was an hour ago, lad.'
'I didn't want to come down.'
Finaren nodded. 'I know. You stand steady up here. I know you like the solitude anyway. I'll have Cook put together a kit and have it sent up.'
'Thank you.'
'Faugh. It's nothing, lad. Not many men would have let that girl slap them and walk off the way you did. Nor would they have kept a civil tongue in their heads.'
Jherek also knew of no other sailors who carried the dark secret he did. If that secret were to get out, it would see him clear of sailing-if it didn't get him killed outright. Captain Finaren had hired him on in spite of knowing the truth.
Yeill was wrong, Jherek knew, love did exist. He knew that because he loved the old sea captain for the way he accepted him in spite of the birthright that marked him. He watched Finaren nimbly descend to the lower decks, bellowing out orders to the ship's crew at once.
Some of the tense knot gripping Jherek's stomach released. He took a moment to himself and said a small prayer to Ilmater, the Crying God, asking for the strength to go on, then he returned to his work on the rigging.
By late afternoon, only an hour or so short of eveningfeast, the winds deserted Finaran's Butterfly. She slowed to the point of becalming, which was bad enough, but then the Amnians started drinking and partying again, deciding they were bored.
Jherek sat in the crow's nest, curled up with a novel of chivalric romance Malorrie had suggested. He'd also brought a treatise on civil disobedience that he fully intended to discuss with Malorrie when he reached Velen. The whole thought of civil disobedience, for the right reasons and under auspicious circumstances, was confusing. Jherek had read it twice during the voyage, and it still didn't set any easier on his mind. Right was right, and to suggest that it might not be right at times was too much for him to think on.
Taking a pause in the book, holding his place with a finger, he leaned over the edge of the crow's nest and looked down at the cheering and screaming Amnians thronging the ship's stern. His reading was getting increasingly harder as the roil of dark clouds coming in from the west took away his light. He wondered if they were in for another storm.
'Umberlee take the lot of them,' Hagagne grumbled, climbing up the rigging to reach Jherek.
Hagagne was in his late thirties, a sallow man with loose skin that never seemed to quite brown enough and left him constantly reddened and peeling. He was bald on top and had an unruly fringe of hair around his head.
'What's going on?' Jherek asked the sailor.
'They've decided to fish,' Hagagne answered, perching on the edge of the crow's nest as Jherek made room.
Jherek watched as deckhands brought the two fishing chairs out and set them up. Yeill and one of the Amnian young men sat in the chairs and belted themselves in with the leather restraint straps.
'They saw Marcle and Dawdre fishing earlier,' Hagagne said, 'and decided it would be great sport.'
Jherek knew Marcle and Dawdre had done all right for themselves, bringing in ulauf and whitefish on the long poles as well as the swordfish. A lot of meat had been salted and put back in the ship's larder.
'They've even got a wager going on,' Hagagne said with a harsh laugh.