I was given the bunk closest to the port side of the ship, directly beneath a small porthole. As the ship sailed south, my porthole faced directly into the sunrise, and I took advantage of it on the second morning after the battle. The porthole was too high to see out of without standing on my cot, and I still felt lightheaded, but I hauled myself up and stared out at the brightening sky.

  From my low vantage point, the horizon was an unbroken stretch ofwater. The rising sun appeared, slowly at first, then growing, until it filled my view, the brilliant light blinding me.

  I thought of Perrault, of the first sunrise I had watched with him those many years ago. A new beginning, he had called it. A new day. Was this the same? Could I begin anew, right now, right here?

  No, I decided, I could not. A weight still hung around my neck, and I couldn't start over as long as I carried it.

  I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't notice the laughter behind me. It was more wheeze than laugh, filled with phlegm and more than likely some blood. Only when the laugh turned into a hacking cough did I take note.

  I turned to face a wounded sailor. He wasn't too old, but his face was worn, wrinkled, and leathery. I didn't see his wound at first-he was covered foot to neck by a blanket, and heaving with that awful cough-but when I saw it, my stomach turned. His left leg was missing from the knee down, and from the bloodstains on the sheets, it had been freshly amputated.

  Gradually his cough subsided and the man was peaceful, but lathered in sweat. I knew that if I were to touch him, his flesh would be burning but that sweat would be cold. His cheeks were pale, his muscles slack. But his eyes were bright, staring at me.

  "Are you all right?" I asked him. Only when he started laughing again did I realize how foolish the question was-he had lost his leg, and from the sound of that cough, he was seriously ill.

  This time, the laugh didn't turn into a cough. Instead, it turned into words. "All right? I suppose I am, then. I didn't expect to see another sunrise at all, but there she is! 'Course, there's a boy blocking my view, but that don't bother me so much. He isn't hogging all the light." His voice, like his laugh, was choked with phlegm. He had the sound of a dying man, and my stomach dropped at the thought.

  I flushed red and sat down on my cot. "Sorry, sir," I said. "I didn't realize you were awake."

  "That's all right, kid," he replied. "But my name ain't sir-it's Tasso-and I'd much prefer if ye called me by it."

  I nodded slowly. "I'm Maimun," I told him.

  "You ever watch a man die, Maimun?" he asked. I heard no fear in his voice, only curiosity. "And I don't mean, have y'ever seen a man cut down by a sword. That's one thing, and it's horrible, but it ain't the same as watching a man die. I want to know-have you ever been near a man who could talk to you one moment, and the next he's gone?"

  I started to shake my head, to say no, I hadn't ever seen that, but I stopped myself, thinking of Perrault. One day he was talking, trying to lead me to safety. The next day, he was asleep and I'd never hear his voice again.

  "Is that a yes or a no?" Tasso asked.

  I quickly shook my head. I knew where his questions were leading-Tasso was telling me that he was dying. And as much as I wanted to keep the truth about Perrault from myself, somehow I couldn't bring myself to hold back the truth from a man who was not long for the world. It didn't seem right that the last conversation he would ever have should be soiled with a lie, or even a half-lie.

  "I've seen a man dying." A lump rose in my throat. "But I've never seen a man die."

  "If ye don't think ye can handle it, you probably should get out of here soon," he said. Already his voice was lower, quieter than it had been, as if the energy of the conversation was draining him. "I was supposed to go east," he continued. "Supposed to follow my family out there, past the Sea of Falling Stars. Promised em I'd come find em."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Never had the time."

  I blinked a few times, remembering what Perrault had once told me about time.

  "How old are ye, Maimun?" Tasso asked. "Twelve, sir. Er, twelve, Tasso."

  He wheezed out a laugh. "Same age I was when I first took to the seas. Been on the ocean twenty years, been in the world thirty-two. I had plenty of time, didn't I? But I ne'er made it to the east."

  "It isn't about how much time you have, it's about how much time you have to spare," I said quietly.

  He looked at me for a long while. "Now ain't them just the wisest words I've ever heard?" He reached out and grasped my arm, pulling me toward his face. I felt his hot breath on my cheeks, but I was not revolted, I didn't try to pull away. "Time ain't spare, kid," he said, his voice low and choked. "Ye don't get given yer time, ye make it for yerself. Ye've got twenty years to catch me. Don't let it slip, waiting for something. Go east."

  He let go and fell back onto his cot, his breathing shallow and labored. He sounded as if he was in pain, as if the air burned his lungs and throat as he gulped down his breaths. But a look of peace stole over his face, a serenity in his expression that I had not seen before.

  I took his hand and held it. His breaths grew less frequent, and quieter, until I had to put my face close to his to hear it at all.

  Less than an hour after he introduced himself to me, I held the hand of the sailor Tasso and watched his very last breath leave his body.

  I sat on the edge of my cot, holding Tasso's hand even as it grew cool, for a very long time. The sun had risen beyond my porthole view, the diffuse light in the dusty cabin giving it an eerie feel. I sat there, holding the dead sailor's hand, imagining it was Perrault.

  Only a few days earlier, I had raced to Baldur's Gate with Perrault, determined to find a way to save him. When I had the chance to say one last good-bye, right before I headed to the wharf to stow away on this very ship, I had passed it by. I had told myself that he would be better off without me, that the danger from Asbeel was too great. But I knew that wasn't true.

  Perrault had raised me for six years, had dedicated his life to my protection. He had taught me, had shown me the world. He was wounded in my defense, had died to protect me. He was the only family I'd ever known. And I hadn't had the courage to be there, holding his hand as he slipped into the next world.

  What had he felt, I wondered, when he died. Had his face worn the same look of peace that Tasso's had? Had he perhaps awakened, seeking to speak to me, if only for a moment, to admit he was done and would soon be gone?

  Who had held Perrault's hand when he died?

  The ship's healer arrived to find me holding the dead man's hand and weeping softly. He gently separated my hand from Tasso's and helped me back to my cot.

  I barely heard him as he talked to me, and to the two crewmen he'd brought with him. Tasso had died because his wounds were infected, and to leave him would risk infection for the other wounded. He would be removed, and would be buried at sea that very day-that is, he would be wrapped in cloth, tied to a plank, weighted with stones, and released overboard.

  Would I be buried at sea if my wound became infected and I died? I had no ties to these sailors. Would they care if I disappeared? If I died? Would anyone?

  I fell back onto my hard cot and wept, crying alternately for Perrault, for Tasso, and for myself, the orphan boy, wounded and wandering, with no roots or home to call my own.

  "Self-pity does not become you." The voice caught me off guard. It was quiet and gentle, but full of strength. I looked up to see a black hand pulling back the corner of the canvas separating the makeshift infirmary, and a pair of violet eyes staring at me from beneath the raised corner.

  "It wasn't self-pity," I lied, indignant. "I was crying for Tasso." I motioned to the empty cot.

  "You barely knew Tasso. You were crying for yourself."

  "You barely know me."

  The dark elf Drizzt nodded his assent. It was true, of course, that we barely knew each other. But looking into his eyes, I felt again the bond I had sensed when I first saw him. I felt again that I had known him all my life. And I was sure he knew it, and I hoped he felt the same connection.

  "You're right. I wasn't crying for Tasso. I was crying for someone else, but it wasn't for me."

  "Why do you cry for this other person?"

  "Because he's dead!" I practically screamed.

  Drizzt nodded. "Of course," he said. "But why do you cry for the dead?"

  I stuttered a few times before I could answer. "Because he's gone and he won't come back."

  "But where has he gone?"

  "I don't know. Tymora's realm in Brightwater, I suppose. He's gone to be with his goddess."

  "If you believe that, then why cry for him? If he is in a good place, shouldn't you be happy for him?"

  "I… I don't know."

  "Look inside. You were crying because you lost him, not because he is lost. You were crying because this world is suddenly less full than it was before. And that is a fine reason to grieve. But be aware of that fact. You were crying for yourself."

  I stared at him for a long time, at that dark elf so full of wisdom. He knew things, many things, I realized. He knew the truth about me before even I knew it.

  "When a sailor dies, why do they bury him at sea?" I asked, trying to hold back tears.

  "People are always buried near their families," Drizzt said. "So when a sailor dies, his family at sea will always be nearby."

  "What do you mean, his family at sea? Do sailors take their parents or their children out on the water with them?"

  "Sometimes. But I meant the others on his crew." Drizzt stepped into the room and sat beside me on my cot. "There are all kinds of family, as you shall learn. Every sailor on this ship is brother or sister to every other. Now, enough of this discussion. How is your arm?"

  I hesitated for a moment before I realized what he was talking about. Unconsciously, I started moving my left arm in circles. "The pain is gone," I said, "but it feels… tight."

  Drizzt nodded. "Can you stand? Can you walk?"

  I shrugged. "I can stand. Haven't tried walking."

  "Do." He offered me his arm, which I accepted and used to pull myself up off the cot.

  I stood unsteadily for a moment. "I feel a bit woozy," I said. "But I think I'm all right."

  "Good. The captain wants to see you." He handed me a small sack, which I opened to find a fresh outfit, complete with a clean shirt, a leather belt with a sheath for my stiletto, and a worn pair of boots. And the leather sash holding the magical stone.

  I looked up to see the flap of the canvas fall behind the departing drow. "Drizzt!" I called after him. My chest hurt from the effort of the shout, but the flap lifted and the dark elf reappeared.

  "Forget something?" he asked.

  "If I die, where will they bury me? I have no family."

  He looked at me for a moment. "You have a family. You just don't know it yet."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "What do you know of the sea?" Captain Deudermont asked me."The ocean is vast and unknown, stretching away from the western coast of Faerun forever, to unknown tracts of water and perhaps land," I recited. "It serves as a means of conveyance between the points along the coast, much faster than travel by land, though often more dangerous. The first…"

  Captain Deudermont stopped me with an upraised hand. "You have read Volo," he said.

  "Yes sir."

  "That is good. But what do you know of the sea that is practical?"

  I paused for a moment. "I don't know what is practical at sea," I answered truthfully.

  "Have you ever been aboard a ship before?"

  "Just once." I winced at the memory, and Deudermont noticed.

  "You didn't enjoy the experience?"

  Again I hesitated. How could I explain the events of my previous sea voyage? Of course, one word would fully and accurately describe my troubles. "Pirates, sir."

  Deudermont nodded. "So twice you have been to sea, and twice your ship has been attacked. You have some terrible luck, Maimun."

  "Apparently so, sir."

  "Back when you were at sea before, what did you do?"

  "I spent most of my time in the gull's… I mean, the crow's nest, sir." Deudermont perked up at that.

  "Did you have the eyes for it?" he asked.

  "Gould you make out objects on the horizon?"

  I nodded. I had seen the ship Joen had pointed out. I had even seen a ship at night, that horrible night, and I told him so.

  "That is impressive. It usually takes a sailor months, even years, to attune his eyes to the tricks of the light on the open ocean."

  "I was only at sea for short time, sir."

  Deudermont smiled. "Your manner and honesty have confirmed my choice for you. Your position on the ship will be as my cabin boy. Your tasks will be mostly menial. While at sea, you will run orders to the crew, and you will bring meals to me. You will maintain the cabinets where the captain's log and the charts are kept." He motioned to a large piece of furniture I had assumed was a cupboard. "When we're in port, you'll watch the ship if I go ashore. In exchange for all these tasks, you'll be paid a modest wage in silver, and you'll also be paid in knowledge. You'll learn, from the crew me, all forms of seamanship-tying knots, navigating by the stars-"

  "Oh! I know how to…" I blurted out the words before I realized how rude my interruption was. Captain Deudermont's gaze was stern, and I flushed bright red.

  "Where did you learn to navigate?"

  "I read it in a book."

  "There's a big difference between a book and the real thing."

  I shook my head. "When I was traveling with… my father, he wouldn't tell me where we were, so I'd use the stars to figure it out," I answered. "There isn't any difference between starfmding on land and on sea, is there?"

  Deudermont's expression softened a bit. He looked almost curious. "It is easier, in fact, at sea, since the horizon is flatter. My young man, I think you have a remarkable mind. Here is your first task. Run these orders to the guards at the brig, where the pirates are being held."

  I was beaming at the compliment as I bounced out of the room, across the deck, down into the hold, and toward the brig.

  Like any seafaring vessel, the ship was fitted with a simple prison, a single cell made of iron bars. The cell had no window and only one door, which was securely locked from the outside. The brig was large, but full. Two dozen pirates sat on the floor, packed as tightly as they could fit. Two of Sea Sprite's sailors stood guard, leaning against the wall beside the cage. One of them absently twirled a ring of keys around his finger. The other appeared to be dozing, his chin resting on his chest and his shoulders slumped. Neither took any notice of my approach.

  "Orders from Captain Deudermont," I said meekly. The guard with the keys jumped and nearly dropped them. The other didn't even stir.

  "Oh, so the Cap'n's got you runnin' orders to pay your debt, does he?" he said, his voice loud and rough. It awoke his companion, who had been asleep on his feet. Startled awake, he jumped forward, his body moving too quickly for his legs. His feet tangled and down he went, landing with a heavy crash.

  In the blink of an eye, the guard was back on his feet, brushing himself off and waving his fist at the caged pirates, who were laughing at him.

  One man, standing against the bulkhead at the back of the cell, wasn't laughing, though, or even smiling. He was short and thin, with a wide nose and too-small eyes. His skin appeared a pale blue, and his hair was the bluish white of a breaking wave. He was just staring-at me. Suddenly I felt very uncomfortable.

  "Well then, hand them over," said the guard with the keys. I obliged, passing him the note, which he unfurled and scanned quickly.

  "Oy, Tin, you're relieved," he said, looking at the other man. The clumsy sailor nodded and left without saying a word.

  "His name is Tin?" I asked.

  "Oh, no, his name's Tonnid. But we call him Tin-head, 'cause he's got as much brains in that skull as an empty tin cup. And I'm called Lucky, cause, well, I'm the luckiest salt you'll ever meet. What's your name?"

  "My name is Maimun. It means twice lucky'."

  Lucky broke out laughing. "Twice lucky, eh? But you're half my size!"

  I joined in the laugh for a moment then looked around. "So, if he's relieved, who's relieving him? Or does it say you have to guard alone?"

  "Naw, naw, I ain't guarding this lot alone. You're supposed to fetch his replacement. Guy named Drizzitz." He cackled, and I knew he was directing it at me, though I didn't know why. "You're the stowaway ain't ya? Paying back the Cap'n for stealing his food by running these orders?"

  "Yes, and no," I answered. "I stowed away, but the captain offered me a place on the crew."

  In the blink of an eye, Lucky's mirth was gone. "Offered you a job? For stowing away and hiding through the fight? That don't seem half right. No it don't."

  "I didn't hide. I fought. Got wounded, too!" I reached to the neckline of my shirt, intending to show him my scar. But that pirate who had been staring at me seemed to perk up as I reached, and I realized that to show him the wound would also reveal my leather sash. I hesitated.

  "Well, then, let's have it, eh? Show me your wound, else I'll know you for a liar."

  Thinking quickly, I reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling it toward my chest. "Feel that?" I asked, putting his hand on my shoulder where the scar began. "You feel the wound?"

  By the look on his face-a mix of horror and sympathy-I knew he felt it, the raised welt where the gash had been. "Ye got tarred," he said, low. "That's one of the things I been lucky about. Been sailing some thirty years and I ain't never got a wound so deep it needed the tar. You have me apologies, boy. But I didn't see you in the fight. Ya mind telling me what happened?"

  Again I hesitated. How could I tell him about the fight, about the troll that had come looking for me? How could I tell him without revealing the artifact strapped to my chest-which the pirate in the brig seemed interested in. Worse, how would Lucky react if he deduced, as I had, that the pirates had attacked Sea Sprite because they were looking for me?