The room was long and narrow with three mattresses only slightly raised above the floor. The bunks were lined up in a row practically touching. The legs of the bunks were locked by hooks through metal rings set into the floorboards. Several additional bunks stood on end lashed against the wall closest to the door with thick, sturdy ropes. Two golden lanterns swung from hooks on the rafters. Tam exchanged nervous glances with Frisha. This was not at all an appropriate arrangement.

The deckhand unceremoniously dropped their packs and strode forward. “I see what the lass be thinkin’,” he said. “I’ll put yer mind at ease a bit. Ye see this ’ere?”—he tugged on an off-white canvas that had been strapped to the wall—“This be a partition fer seperatin’ the bunks.” The canvas slid stutteringly along a gnarled rope that crossed the ceiling. “Ye bring it out like so an’ hook it into the floor ’ere. Gives the women folk some privacy, see?”

The curtain made the living arrangements only slightly better. The canvas lit up in the lamplight like a golden wall, and every shape and movement on the other side could be seen in silhouette.

Rezkin considered the sleeping arrangements. For his own safety, he would prefer the bunk closest to the far wall, but if he wanted to protect his friends it would be best to take the one closest to the entrance. He decided to let the other two sort out their own bunks as he plopped his pack down and set about checking the room for traps and other dangers.

The deckhand said, “We be shovin’ off soon enough. Ye be careful, then. The boat ain’t movin’ much now since we be strapped to the pier, but once we be away, she’ll be rockin’ pretty.”

“What’s your name?” Frisha asked.

The deckhand was a little taken aback that the woman would bother to ask. His return smile was missing a few teeth but was friendly enough. “I be Nate, ma’am.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nate. I’m Frisha, this is Tam, and that’s Rez. Do you mind if I ask where you’re from? Your way of speaking is … different.”

Nate laughed. “Aye, that it be. I be from Downfest, but don’t ye be thinkin’ all of ‘’em talk like me. Only the seafolk do, ye know—those of us raised as sailors. Got it from me pappy, I did.”

“So you’ve sailed the sea?” she asked. “What’s it like?”