up on the deck? More light to see by?”
Maklavir tossed his head with a diffident air. “All that salt spray? No thank you. I’d much rather squint a bit down here than get soaked above decks.”
Kara ducked, moving down past the tightly-spaced boxes and barrels in the hold. “I just—” she paused for a moment, uncertain what to say. “I haven’t seen you much since we left New Marlin last night.”
Maklavir turned back to his needle and thread. “Well...I’ve been rather busy.” He gave Kara a sidelong glance. “Where’s Joseph, then? Feeling any better?”
Kara shook her head. “Still sick to his stomach.” She moved over next to Maklavir, and sat down on a nearby crate. “I got over it in the first couple hours, but I think he was up all night.” She gave a little smile. “It’s terribly embarrassing for him.”
“Is it?” said Maklavir, unsuccessfully trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. “That’s really too bad.”
“So,” Kara said softly, “I imagine it must have been hard to leave Shawnor so abruptly. It seemed you were really hitting it off with that tavern maid—”
Maklavir threaded the needle, straining to see in the dim light of the hold. “Were we? You know, I can’t even remember her name.” He gave Kara a forced smile. “I can’t for most of them, you know.” He sighed. “Seems as though I have a girl in every town we go to.”
Kara’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she didn’t respond immediately. She looked down at the trousers Maklavir was repairing. “Are...you all right, Maklavir?”
The diplomat stabbed the needle through the fabric of the pants. He gave another artificial smile. “Why of course, Kara. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
Kara’s eyes followed Maklavir’s movements as he sewed the patch on to the pants. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just that you’ve seemed a little...distant for the last couple of days.” She glanced around at the dark interior of the ship’s hold. “It feels like you’ve been, well, hiding down here since we left Shawnor. And then back at the inn you seemed to suddenly disappear on us, ever since you and I had breakfast together—”
“I assure you,” said Maklavir as he pulled the needle and thread through the cloth, “I am perfectly fine. Couldn’t be better.”
“Okay,” said Kara doubtfully. She eyed Maklavir carefully for a moment.
The diplomat continued to sew, ignoring her.
“So,” Kara said again, “we have some time to kill on the way over to Redemption.”
“That we do,” Maklavir said as he jabbed with the needle again. “And for once we won’t have to dodge marauding cultists, bloodthirsty bandits, or rampaging armies. We should be careful, or we might accidentally end up enjoying ourselves.”
A large, heavy book thumped down on the floor next to Maklavir’s foot.
The diplomat looked up, surprised. “What in Zanthora is that?”
Kara gave a slight shrug. “Got it from the captain. It’s a book of fairy tales, from Llewyllan.” She smiled sweetly. “Has pictures, too. Full page.” She picked up the book, flipping it open. “This one’s my favorite. An ogre.” She pointed to the picture of the grotesque creature and laughed. “Isn’t he absolutely hideous?”
Maklavir gave the picture a cursory glance. “Yes, absolutely horrid.” He gave a confused raise of his eyebrows. “But what does that have to do—”
“Well,” said Kara, closing the book and looking shyly down at the deck, “we made each other a deal, a long time ago. Back in Merewith, in that underground temple, remember?”
Maklavir stopped sewing. He didn’t say anything.
Kara waited a moment for the response that didn’t come. She pushed a loose strand of red hair out of her face. “You promised to teach me to read, and I would teach you to pick locks.”
“Yes,” said Maklavir dully. “I remember.”
“Things got complicated quickly,” said Kara with a note of sadness in
Maklavir tossed his head with a diffident air. “All that salt spray? No thank you. I’d much rather squint a bit down here than get soaked above decks.”
Kara ducked, moving down past the tightly-spaced boxes and barrels in the hold. “I just—” she paused for a moment, uncertain what to say. “I haven’t seen you much since we left New Marlin last night.”
Maklavir turned back to his needle and thread. “Well...I’ve been rather busy.” He gave Kara a sidelong glance. “Where’s Joseph, then? Feeling any better?”
Kara shook her head. “Still sick to his stomach.” She moved over next to Maklavir, and sat down on a nearby crate. “I got over it in the first couple hours, but I think he was up all night.” She gave a little smile. “It’s terribly embarrassing for him.”
“Is it?” said Maklavir, unsuccessfully trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. “That’s really too bad.”
“So,” Kara said softly, “I imagine it must have been hard to leave Shawnor so abruptly. It seemed you were really hitting it off with that tavern maid—”
Maklavir threaded the needle, straining to see in the dim light of the hold. “Were we? You know, I can’t even remember her name.” He gave Kara a forced smile. “I can’t for most of them, you know.” He sighed. “Seems as though I have a girl in every town we go to.”
Kara’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she didn’t respond immediately. She looked down at the trousers Maklavir was repairing. “Are...you all right, Maklavir?”
The diplomat stabbed the needle through the fabric of the pants. He gave another artificial smile. “Why of course, Kara. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
Kara’s eyes followed Maklavir’s movements as he sewed the patch on to the pants. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just that you’ve seemed a little...distant for the last couple of days.” She glanced around at the dark interior of the ship’s hold. “It feels like you’ve been, well, hiding down here since we left Shawnor. And then back at the inn you seemed to suddenly disappear on us, ever since you and I had breakfast together—”
“I assure you,” said Maklavir as he pulled the needle and thread through the cloth, “I am perfectly fine. Couldn’t be better.”
“Okay,” said Kara doubtfully. She eyed Maklavir carefully for a moment.
The diplomat continued to sew, ignoring her.
“So,” Kara said again, “we have some time to kill on the way over to Redemption.”
“That we do,” Maklavir said as he jabbed with the needle again. “And for once we won’t have to dodge marauding cultists, bloodthirsty bandits, or rampaging armies. We should be careful, or we might accidentally end up enjoying ourselves.”
A large, heavy book thumped down on the floor next to Maklavir’s foot.
The diplomat looked up, surprised. “What in Zanthora is that?”
Kara gave a slight shrug. “Got it from the captain. It’s a book of fairy tales, from Llewyllan.” She smiled sweetly. “Has pictures, too. Full page.” She picked up the book, flipping it open. “This one’s my favorite. An ogre.” She pointed to the picture of the grotesque creature and laughed. “Isn’t he absolutely hideous?”
Maklavir gave the picture a cursory glance. “Yes, absolutely horrid.” He gave a confused raise of his eyebrows. “But what does that have to do—”
“Well,” said Kara, closing the book and looking shyly down at the deck, “we made each other a deal, a long time ago. Back in Merewith, in that underground temple, remember?”
Maklavir stopped sewing. He didn’t say anything.
Kara waited a moment for the response that didn’t come. She pushed a loose strand of red hair out of her face. “You promised to teach me to read, and I would teach you to pick locks.”
“Yes,” said Maklavir dully. “I remember.”
“Things got complicated quickly,” said Kara with a note of sadness in
Similar Books
