Patric turned and walked back toward her. "I'm going below," he said softly. "All of a sudden I am very tired." Indeed his voice sounded cracked and weary. Any sign of his earlier good humor had faded.
Kitiara gestured that he should go ahead without her. She wanted to stay on deck a little longer.
It wasn't until several minutes later that Kit heard a sound and realized there was someone else on deck. Peering forward, Kit saw the elf whom she had noticed in the passenger quarters. He was standing on the forecastle, braced with his back against a mast, facing her. Even at that distance Kit had the distinct feeling that the elf had been watching Patric and her, and that in his eyes lurked something threatening.
* * * * *
The next morning Strathcoe reported to La Cava and Kit that Patric had come down with the flux. For two days he remained in his cabin, seeing no one but his faithful servant. As this was the case, and Strathcoe's communication abilities were limited, Kit learned very little about Patric's condition. On the third day, he was back on deck for his morning stroll, a trifle wan and dispirited, but otherwise apparently none the worse. Yet both knew there had been a shift in their feelings toward each other. Kit resolved to talk to Patric about how she might get back to Abanasinia once they landed at Gwynned, but the young noble evaded her. He began to take evening meals in his cabin, alone with Strathcoe. When they chanced to pass on board, Patric's eyes would not meet Kit's. At the same time, the weather had also changed. Clouds hung like gray stones in the sky, and days passed without a glimpse of the sun. Yet the temperature remained stupefyingly hot. A great storm was apparently threatening, but it hung always on the horizon, never breaking.
With Patric alienated from her, Kit spent more time alone, or with Lurie and the other sailors. She enjoyed their rough competition and would challenge them to knife-throws or races to the top of the rigging. Although she was smaller than the men, she proved herself more than their equal at those feats, often beating Lurie and the other champions among them. She sometimes felt La Cava's eyes on her during these times. Kit sensed he understood what had transpired between her and Patric better than she did, but he said nothing.
Lolling on the deck many afternoons, when work dwindled and the games often stopped, Kitiara found herself thinking about where she would go next. She considered returning to Solace, remembering Raist's prediction that she would be back soon enough. Kit wondered what was happening to her brothers. They were so young—Raistlin so vulnerable, and Caramon so foolish. Yet she knew they had, of necessity, become remarkably self-sufficient. Well, she had done her best. Let the gods smile on them. She would return sometime, but not right away.
In her heart, Kitiara wanted to continue traveling and resume her search for her father. But years had passed since she had received any even vague indication of his whereabouts—somewhere in the North. Where would she begin to look?
Late one night, unable to fall asleep, Kitiara came upon La Cava and Lurie together on deck. She perked up when she saw them. She had been meaning to trap the ship's enigmatic captain into a conversation. There was a certain subject she wanted to pursue. Now, she marched right up to them. As La Cava tried to move away, Kit boldly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. A slight smile played on the captain's lips. He nodded some signal to Lurie, who moved away from them but remained on deck, idly gazing out at the sea. La Cava himself stepped back from Kit and relaxed his stance, letting her know that she had his attention, for the moment.
"What is on your mind, Miss Kitiara?" asked La Cava in that elegant but mildly ironic way he had of addressing her.
"Captain," she said directly, "the day we met—"
"Yes?" La Cava raised an eyebrow.
"I had the distinct impression that you had heard of my father. Gregor Uth Matar."
"I said otherwise."
"You said otherwise, but as I say, I had a distinct impression." Her chin was set determinedly, and her eyes blazed. Yes, the more she had pondered it, the more she felt that La Cava knew something about her father. His face had betrayed something, but perhaps he hadn't wanted to mention anything in front of Patric. La Cava reached into his pocket and withdrew a pipe. From his other pocket he took out a pouch of tobacco and deftly tamped it into the pipe's bowl. Putting the pouch away, he brought out a stone and flint and struck it sharply. In the flare of light, Kit could see what she knew was behind La Cava's cavalier facade, a ferocious personality reined in by age and wisdom.
La Cava turned and leaned against the railing, drawing smoke from his pipe. He, too, looked out across the sea— the mirror image of Lurie, down the railing several paces. Sailing men often find comfort or inspiration by leaning against a ship's railing and staring at the sea.
Kitiara took this as an invitation. She drew closer to La Cava and leaned against the railing too. Only Kit was looking up at La Cava, not out at the sea.
"I had a distinct impression," she repeated for the third time.
"You are most persistent, Kitiara," said La Cava, turning his head slightly to look at her. His tone had softened and had dropped some of its formal politeness. "Stubborn, really. You are determined to get something out of life, but you have no idea what it is you want. Stubbornness is a quality I admire, but I think it
