‘Oh. I didn’t realise you were here.’
‘There’s not many places to be onSaltswept.’
I can see him trying to read my face, feeling out my mood. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Dancing with tamaraws. What about you?’
‘Trying not to piss off my first mate even more,’ he says, gently.
‘I’d take the tamaraws.’
He tentatively sits down next to me. The silence is stifling for a moment, and then he sighs. ‘I wish I could tell you everything.’
‘What happened to your crew?’
He looks haunted. There’s something buried there, something he’s holding back.
‘You remember back at the Magliyab festival?’ Fin begins, fiddling with the infernal hat again. ‘I told you how I got caught?’
Paranish – that seems a lifetime ago. I nod.
‘I received a commission – an honest one, for once. A royal one, even. Anyway, that was an ill-fated quest. It’s my life’s greatest regret.’
He gets up and paces the deck, dropping his hat on the helm spokes.
‘Tried to drink myself into the ether, but that didn’t work. When I crossed paths with Nestor, it was easy for him to turn me in. Trying to curry favour for a promotion. Delivering me to the Bastion was a nice little sweetener for him.’
‘What a bastard.’
His fingers go to his throat, to the scar I know hides beneath his beard. I let the silence stretch for a moment and look up at the sky. It’s a perfectly clear evening; the stars pricks of light on a dark canvas.
‘You’ve been an excellent first mate. This isn’t your first time on a ship, is it?’
‘More than just a farmer.’
He looks shame-faced. ‘I’m sorry I said that.’
‘We’ve both said some foul things.’
‘Aye, we know how to get under each other’s skin,’ he says, smiling. We sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the gentle bobbing of the water against the hull.
‘I can show you the stars?’ I offer, and he grins.
We lie down on the deck side by side, and I point out the constellations.
‘My knowledge is limited,’ he confesses. ‘I’ve always been blessed with exceptional navigators.’
‘He admits a fault!’ I turn to Finlyr – Paranish, you’re actually very close while lying side by side with someone. Our noses could almost touch.
‘I’m waiting for those words, Fin.’ He blinks at me. His expression reminds me of my late husband. ‘An apology. I’m waiting for you to say sorry.’
The tension has bubbled, and there’s nowhere for it to go on this ship. It’s exhausting. He cringes but eventually says it. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been somewhat vile.’
I bask in the moment. Why is it so often up to the wronged party to teach the other how to apologise?
‘The way I learned, navigating is to look at the light and swells on the waves. We follow the clouds, bird flight. Measure the dead reckoning by the debris floating in the water.’
‘There’s a lot more strange debris floating in the water these days,’ Finlyr grunts. ‘The world’s off-kilter.’
