Over the past year, Tseraji had grown accustomed to staying aboard ship while in port.

Why not? The motion of the waves, he’d found, was restful and soothing. The brothels that so many of the sailors flocked to didn’t provide anything to interest men like him. The noise of the taverns interested him even less, and as one who spent his days reliant on a clear mind, he had no wish to muddy that mind with liquor. Why waste his coin and his time?

Instead, he could take advantage of the relative peace aboard the Laughing Lass, and the lack of demands upon him, to enjoy some private, restful time in his cabin.

Say, by pulling out a memento of a former lover.

He didn’t have a large selection of such, but it was enough to let his mind wander over the years as he pondered possibilities. Finally, though, he selected the most recent.

He ran his fingers over the carved and lacquered ebony surface, thinking of the flesh it mimicked, and from there, the man attached to it. A rare sort he’d been – not many bears left their own lands – but he’d had similar gifts to Tseraji’s, and so they’d come to the same place to hone them.

The leopard remembered, with vivid clarity, how that flesh had tasted on his tongue, and how the bear’s breath had caught at the touch, how he’d moaned at a slow stroke like Tseraji now gave to the wooden replica. He’d been a delight – not just for his body, no, far from only that; but at the moment, that was what the leopard most craved.

Not that Garik had been much inclined to use his actual member like Tseraji had in mind now. But he’d been pleased enough, their last night together, to watch the leopard touch that model, stroke it, coat it with thick oil. His eyes had been bright and eager when the cat had started to lower himself onto it – as he sank down, the resonance in his memory of what he was doing now made the remembered grip of Garik’s hands on his own an almost-real, almost-palpable thing.

Of course, the bear wasn’t here to bend down and suckle on his needy member, this time. There, he had to be content with the touch of his own hand – but that was plenty, with the gentle roll of the ship shifting his balance, stirring the carved length inside him, shifting his own length in his fist. It was so easy to tune out the sounds around him – the hiss of the surf, the creak of wood, even the footsteps in the corridor – and let the pleasure build, though those footsteps did at least impress upon him the need to be quiet and discreet.

But suddenly, the door to his cabin was flung wide.

Bad enough to be walked in on in such a moment. But for it to be that man doing so – tall, handsome, unattainable, and important…

It was not a large cabin; the ferret crossed it in two strides, crouching to lay his hands on the leopard’s shoulders. “Tseraji,” he man hissed. “I’ll owe you a thousand apologies for interrupting you like this, but I need your services, urgently.”

Tseraji swallowed. “Captain,” he blurted, desperately straining to keep away from the brink he’d been just about to cross. It would not do to leave a conspicuous mess on that good red coat… “F-forgive me. If I’d known you had need have me, I’d not…”

“Be at peace, Tseraji,” Captain Mercier soothed, though the urgency didn’t entirely leave his voice. “This was not something anyone could have anticipated. But the Lass needs to set sail at once, and I need your aid to make this happen.”

Set sail? Already? Tseraji had been told they’d be in port for at least three more days. Besides… “At full night, Captain? Forgive me for asking, but… won’t the Navy…”

“It’s the Callistari Navy I’m most concerned about,” the ferret growled, reaching into a pocket of his coat. “Here – you’d be considered an officer, this concerns you nearly as much as I.”

The paper was heavy, expensive stuff, and bore a clumsy but recognizable likeness of Captain Mercier in his coat and tricorne, all under the large letters “WANTED”. Beneath that, the details. Fifty gold links for the man himself, five for information leading to his capture, ten for officers, twenty silver a head for his crew, all wanted in connection with… “Smuggling poisons?” Tseraji blurted. Apprentice he was, but he’d still been tasked with keeping care of the ship’s cargo, and he knew nothing of the sort had been brought aboard. This was ridiculous!

“I swear to you, it’s as much news to me,” said the ferret, his voice tight. “But it seems there’s truth to it. After our delivery to Aristad on Callistar’s behalf, some rather unpleasant things were spread about.” Again his voice sank to a growl. “Most likely there was more in those bundles than we were led to believe.”

“Not in the food, surely!” Callistar’s own soldiers had been eating that even as it was unlocked. The food had been most of that shipment, but… “It must have been among the magical supplies. I… I’m sorry, Captain, I should have looked more closely…”

“Peace, Tseraji.” Mercier squeezed his shoulder. “It was your Master’s responsibility to take such initiative, or set you the task explicitly. Even so, neither he nor I had any reason to suspect such duplicity, and I’d not lay blame on him for that, either. The past is done. What I need you for now is the present – much of the crew is in no state to sail. I need you to sober up at least a skeleton crew so we can be gone, the sooner the better – a pirate took the courier that would have brought this notice here,” Mercier reclaimed the notice with the delicacy of one handling a viper, “else we’d have been taken already, but they dare not kill the man, and they’ll have to set him down sometime.”

True, molesting a Callistari courier would be a good way to rouse the wrath of Callistar’s vast navy. Better to be far away if that navy were inclined to find them. But… “Captain, I’m but an apprentice,” Tseraji protested. “I don’t have my Master’s skill.”

“I think you short yourself there,” Mercier replied. “For all Armenion’s reports have been carefully-worded and even unflattering, I suspect he’s actually impressed by you – enough to see you as a rival. In any case, he’s not aboard ship, and I’m ill-inclined to send or wait for him. He is, after all, Callistari.”

Oh. The ferret was right. Armenion was not just Callistari born, he was quite loyal to his country. But still – was he not loyal to his crew as well? Would he just turn them in, just like that?

Again Mercier squeezed his shoulder. “Peace,” he repeated. “I know you are dutiful and think well of your master. But in this case, you’re all I have.”

Well. He’d been chafing for a greater share of responsibility, hadn’t he? He took a deep breath, mind racing. “I’m not so much a healer as he is – nor a wind-weaver, for that matter, though I might be able to work something into our sails and rigging to help adjust for that.” Most of his talent was as an artificer, after all. “More immediately – I know a few things that will work, but they’ll only delay the symptoms, not banish them entirely. Best to save those for the worst off, as they’ll be in a wretched state later on. For those less affected, I can do better. But Captain – where will we go?”

“Verstad,” Mercier replied. “It’s not far, and the winds should be kind. But it’s outside Callistar, and there’s little love lost between them – or between Verstad and Aristad. Most likely they would hamper any efforts to track fugitives even if we couldn’t honestly plead innocence.”

Fugitives.

That was what it came down to, wasn’t it? Work hard, live true, and then have it all thrown aside by someone not thus committed.

Again.

“Dear spirits,” Tseraji whispered, praying that some might be listening, “what are we going to do?”

The spirits didn’t answer, but the Captain did, giving Tseraji’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I… don’t know yet,” he admitted, his voice tight. “But we’ve the journey there to think of something, and I have some options to ponder. I’ll get us through this somehow, Tseraji.”

He might not be an honoured spirit – yet – but the promise was reassuring all the same. “You always have so far,” Tseraji noted, lifting his head and swallowing hard. “I’d best make ready to do my part in it, then. I’ll need a few minutes to prepare,” and to make himself halfway presentable, “but send sailors down after that and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good man,” Mercier praised, and left him to it.

There was no time for fancy grooming, and the matter at hand had long since banished his arousal; Tseraji tied on a loincloth and slipped into the hall before Mercier’s boots had disappeared up the ladder. The leopard turned the other way, back a few hatches, and with some trepidation unsealed the wards on Armenion’s workroom – his own, he supposed, for the length of this journey. It wasn’t often he’d been here unattended, and never without his master’s instruction, but he knew what was kept where. By the time the first tiger staggered up, bounced off the doorframe, and entered, Tseraji was decanting a potent brew.

The man took the flask in both hands and managed to gulp it down without spilling. He shuddered, blinked a few times, and stared down at the empty flask. “Huh. That wasn’t half so bad as I was thinking,” he said, his voice steady and clear.

Success.

“Get some rest as soon as you can,” Tseraji cautioned. “You’ll still have to sleep it off at some point.”

Another half-dozen sailors came in to be treated thus; the last, a lioness, actually made a pass at him – calling his state of undress “a good look” for him, wondering aloud if she could get a closer look later – to which he just smiled and passed her his dose. He said nothing of the invitation; once sober, neither did she. Among them came a dozen more, bleary but at least mostly-steady; these he could fortify through less drastic means, means that corrected their difficulties rather than delaying them.

It was a small portion of their crew, but it was enough for the task at hand; under the moon’s gaze, the Laughing Lass slipped port and made for the open sea. No doubt the port authority would levy fines in their absence, but that wouldn’t much matter if they didn’t return.

Tseraji had no time to rest just yet. He took a few minutes to dress – not in his usual finery but in simple working clothes – and brought some supplies abovedecks, climbing up the rigging, scratching and inking designs into the masts, threading the rigging with spell-woven thread, even working a few careful stitches into what he could reach of the sails. More such work went into the spare sails; and then the next shift of sailors was waking up, and some of them needed a little something to take the bite off their hangovers.

Finally, with the sun free of the horizon, he crept back to his cabin and collapsed in his hammock, sleep claiming him in moments.

The work and the resources were well-spent. Though he woke at midday, summoned to ward off the worst force of a squall, the spellcraft he’d laid in place did its work; he stayed on hand until the wind died, to be sure everything would hold or to reinforce it if the need arose, but a quick inspection afterwards revealed no problems at all. He’d still want to be on hand to blunt a larger storm, but the Laughing Lass was better-equipped to withstand the weather than she had been in the past.

He spent much of the voyage packing up the supplies and tools in the workroom, at Mercier’s instruction. What time and energy he could spare went into a little side project – one that he finished four days out, on the morning they were expected to come into port.

So it was that he came onto the deck that morning with a spot of colour among his usual sober garb – a scarlet bandanna tied about his head, red like the Captain’s coat, spellwork unobtrusively woven in with designs of a slightly-deeper crimson. It drew eyes, certainly, though many seemed unsure what to make of it.

When the Captain saw it, though, he favoured Tseraji with a small, private smile.

As Verstad was coming into view, Mercier gave the leopard a letter of glowing recommendation, befitting a professional sorcerer. “You may want to make use of it quickly,” he said, “but while my name means something, perhaps it will help you.”

It was a moving gesture, and Tseraji thanked him profusely. In the privacy of his thoughts, he still worried that he’d be seen as an apprentice abandoning his master, a pretender and an upstart, but perhaps he could still use it to secure a proper conclusion to his apprenticeship.

The Laughing Lass slipped into a berth with perfect precision, and Tseraji headed belowdecks, taking one last look around the workroom. The role he’d played these last few days had been one of profound trust, and it was only as he snapped his case shut that he truly realized how he’d miss it; but now it was time to leave it all behind. Over his shoulder he slung the small parcel of his personal possessions, and the rather larger one of a sorcerer’s tools; under his arm he took the padded case containing the more fragile wares. Then it was time to go back on deck and join the throng filing down the plank, collecting his last length of silver from Mercier’s hand on the way. It, too, was the pay due a practising sorcerer rather than an apprentice; Tseraji’s heart tightened as he curled his fingers around it.

Stepping off the gangplank and onto the deck was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and it seemed he was far from the only one to think so; all the sailors were still lingering there. He joined the throng, turning to gaze back at the Laughing Lass and her master, hoping for one last word from the man who’d given him so much over the past few days.

As the last of the sailors took her pay and joined the group, Mercier followed her down to the foot of the gangplank, remaining upon it and drawing his breath to speak. Everyone attended to his word; even the sounds of the sea seemed to dim somewhat.

“Well,” he said, “this is it. I didn’t ask for this – whatever anyone says, I promise to you all, here and now, that to the last I tried to live honestly. I am as much a pawn in this ugly mess as any of you. All I could do was bring you all here, to some relative safety. You’re free, now, and free – even encouraged – to go far and wide, to other places beyond Callistar’s reach. The farther we spread, the harder a time Callistar will have tracking any of us, and most likely they won’t care enough to pursue any of you if they can’t get you all together.

“Me, they probably won’t stop hunting. They’ve hung too much on my name to just let me go.

“I don’t intend to just keep running until they bring me to ground.”

Breaths caught as the Captain paused, his gaze sweeping over them all before he continued.

“Callistar has made of me an outlaw – I can’t change that now. What I can do, ancestors willing, is make them regret it. If I’m to have any honour or dignity in my life going forward, I’ll need to live up to the name, and do as good a job of it as ever I did as a merchant – or better. If it’s the last thing I do, I will make Callistar regret the day they made an enemy of Sebastien Mercier.”

He paused again, meeting, it seemed, each man or woman’s gaze in turn; then, deathly quiet but clear as the blue sky, he said, “I’ll need a good crew to pull it off. So if any of you feel as I do… for the next day or so at least, you know where to find me.”

Tseraji’s heart skipped a beat.

What was his lot if he walked away now? Even with the Captain’s recommendation, he didn’t have the accreditation of a professional sorcerer or academy – if he could even carry on with the arcane arts at all, he might be set back years.

And on that very thought came outrage at those who’d done this to him, to all of them.

Yes. Let them come to know that they’d made a grave mistake, framing this man.

Mercier was just starting to turn back towards the ship when Tseraji pushed past the two sailors in front of him. The ferret paused at the sound of his footsteps, turning, watching his progress along the dock. Tseraji stood at the foot of the gangplank, gazing up at him; and again Mercier favoured him with a small, private smile.

Truly confident for the first time since hearing the news, Tseraji stood beside the foot of the gangplank and turned to face the ship’s company. Eyes went to his bandanna, to the Captain’s coat, and back; none of them missed it now.

Especially not the first mate, Shayna, who rummaged in her pockets, produced a light red kerchief, and tied it around her upper arm as she, too, stepped back towards the Laughing Lass.

The officers stepped forward one by one; sailors, too, first singly, then in pairs and even groups. The throng shifted a few steps forward. If anyone had slipped away, it was in numbers too small to miss even from the somewhat-reduced crew that had left Vho Turin.

The crew of the Laughing Lass stood as one with their captain.

Now Mercier smiled at them all, a thing rarely seen from the sober and serious ferret. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” he said. “But we’d best get to work. I want to be away from Verstad before another day dawns.”

 

Once he’d unpacked his things in the workroom that was now undisputedly his, there was little enough for Tseraji to do. It took him a mere hour to compile a list of the supplies that needed replenishing, and two more to get what he could from the merchants of Verstad’s docks district; the rest would take more work to acquire than they had time for. He’d already done what he could to prepare the Lass for the weather’s worst; all the sails were treated, now, as best he could do without resources he didn’t have and couldn’t readily acquire. He found himself at loose ends by middle afternoon, and downright anxious by the time the evening meal was served – anxious enough that he took the Captain’s tray from the galley just for something to do. Though he did fetch a little something from his quarters before visiting the galley – just in case the right opportunity arose

He knocked, and the Captain’s voice bade him enter. The ferret’s captain was simply-appointed – not in itself surprising, but it was barer even than Tseraji had expected; there was space aplenty for the charts he’d laid out here and there, and still his table was bare, ready for his meal. The ferret himself was not studying those charts now, but staring out a porthole at the open sea.

Tseraji took a breath, prayed for luck and strength, and said, “Regrets, Captain?”

Mercier blinked up at him, then laughed. “Carrying meals is hardly a task befitting the station of the ship’s wizard, don’t you think?”

“The ship’s wizard has less to do than her sailors,” Tseraji pointed out, clamping the tray to the table in its proper place. “I’ve done what I can for my own duties; I’d only get in the way if I tried to help with theirs.”

“Fair.” Mercier ambled a little closer. “And to answer you truthfully – I don’t know. Part of me tells me this is the right course, and cries out for retribution, but another part isn’t so sure. Am I leading all these men and women to a watery grave for my own wounded vanity?”

The sudden candour was almost as disorienting as the unexpected pessimism; Tseraji blinked, trying to process it all. “Captain…”

“Call me Sebastien, please,” the ferret cut in. “You’re one of the ship’s core officers, now, and I need you to be open and honest with me.”

The man was full of surprises, lately. Tseraji allowed himself a brief smile. “Sebastien,” he corrected. “Don’t dismiss the Laughing Lass just yet. She was already the most battle-ready merchantman on these seas. If I can spend a bit more time around the gun decks – if we can secure some resources for more advanced work – I can help her be more, help the cannon fire straighter and more often than their like should do. And it’s far from only your honour that’s been smeared in this mess.”

The ferret’s gaze on him was intense, appraising. “Yes, you are familiar with this sort of unpleasant business, aren’t you?”

Dear spirits, could those eyes see right through his soul? “Cap – ah, Sebastien…”

“You’ve not complained, but I know Armenion’s reports shifted a good deal of blame,” Sebastien pointed out. “But even before that – I think I’ve gleaned something of what brought you to us in the first place.”

The leopard sighed. “Well, yes,” he admitted. “I’ve not brought it up because ultimately, it’s my word against another’s. But I’m damnably tired of bearing the blame for someone else’s misdeeds.”

“So we’ve company in that.” Sebastien nodded, reaching over to lay a hand on Tseraji’s shoulder. “I’d value your insight for that alone, Tseraji.”

There was such intensity in that gaze. Was there a glimmer of… something else, deep in those dark eyes? Tseraji licked his lips. “I’d be pleased and honoured to be your confidant… Sebastien. Or more, if you’d wish it.”

A heavy sigh. “You have… well, I shouldn’t say you have no idea how much I’d like that, as I think you just might. Had you stayed in Verstad, I might have worked up the courage to seek you out, for one night at least.”

The images conjured up by that thought made the leopard shiver with need. He pushed it back. “Only with an outsider, Sebastien?” Emboldened, he reached up to touch the ferret’s cheek.

The taller man leaned into the touch with a sigh. “I’m a man of strong passions, Tseraji, as this wild scheme shows all too clearly. I can’t trust myself to be fair at all times with a lover who’s also under my authority.”

“I think you sell yourself short,” Tseraji replied. “But be that as it may… our new life truly starts tomorrow, hmm?”

The ferret laughed – a good, hearty sound. “I think you’ll be a dear friend, Tseraji. I’ll admit, you tempt me greatly.”

“It’s a lonely life we’ve chosen,” said the leopard. “We might as well have one night of closeness before we embark on it.”

“And after that night, well,” Sebastien’s eyes were alight with unguarded mischief, “it would not displease me to know if you had some… memento of it. I knew your people kept treasures of their loved ones past and present, but I’d never known it to be quite so intimate as yours…”

Tseraji laughed in turn, ears heating, folding back. Had the man noticed the length of blank ebony in his pocket and seen it for what it was? “It’s the closest moments I like to savour. Or even recreate.”

“Perhaps you could introduce me to this tradition, hmm?” Dinner forgotten, Sebastien drew Tseraji into a fierce, needy kiss.

There’d be time later for worries and preparations. For now, the night was theirs together, and that was enough.