[Ealasaide]

Airefalas watched the door close behind Ráma, then turned to Mithadan with a look of concern.

"She seems really angry," he said quietly. "If I am to blame, I apologize. I really wasn't expecting an ally to come calling in this vulture's nest of a place, particularly not disguised as she was."

Mithadan shrugged. "At this stage, it can't be helped. I suppose we may have insulted her, as well, by not accepting her offer of assistance right at the moment, but that can't be helped either. We have a responsibility to the crew of the Star to do what we can to see them safely out to sea. Slashing our way through those two warships in broad daylight just doesn't seem like a viable option at this point." He walked to the door and, placing his ear near the polished surface of the wood, listened for a moment to the hushed conversation between the departing Ráma and the guards outside. When it had ended and Ráma had continued safely on her way, he turned back toward his first mate. "I only hope that Ráma isn't so angered that she withdraws her friendship from us. A fair amount of time and distance still separate us from the Star and the open ocean. We may need her friendship more than we know."

Airefalas nodded his agreement. "Too true. I did try to apologize to her for my part, but I don't think she heard me."

"Maybe she did."

Airefalas just shook his head, not entirely convinced that - should it come to a desperate situation - Ráma wouldn't leave him, at least, to his fate. Not that he could blame her. From where she was standing, he knew he must seem abominable, jumping at her the way he had and then locking her in the armoire until Mithadan let her out. And all because she had had the decency to try to warn them of Falasmir's treachery. And, then, to have them rebuff her offer to help them escape. Mithadan had been completely correct in doing what he did, but Airefalas, again, found himself wondering how it had appeared in Ráma's gold-flecked eyes. After all, she had obviously risked a great deal for them. And for what? To be patted on the head, thanked, and sent packing.

"Talk about churlish boat captains..." he muttered, thinking of his own comments the day before.

"You think we are churlish boat captains?" asked Mithadan, having overheard. "Would you have done anything differently?" He retrieved his blue coat from the armoire and, brushing a few white cat hairs from the fabric, hung it over the back of a chair.

Airefalas smiled ruefully. "Yes and no." He shrugged. "Yes, we did behave like churlish boat captains - or at least I did, and I would dearly love the chance to undo it - but, no, there was nothing else you could have done. You made a difficult decision and I feel it was the right one. I just don't think that Ráma quite saw it that way."

Sitting down at the table, Mithadan nodded. "I know what you mean, but I strongly believe that she can be relied upon to do as she says she will do. If she says that she will be at the Cat's Paw until tomorrow, then that is where she will be."

Airefalas nodded. His gut instinct told him that, as usual, Mithadan was correct, but the anger and lack of understanding he had seen in the girl's face as she left still bothered him. He had a feeling that a grave misunderstanding had taken place. He just wasn't quite sure what it was or what to do to remedy it should they meet up with the desert girl again. Following a familiar pattern with himself, he concentrated on his own misbehavior of the morning, thinking of how he might have irreparably damaged relations between them and their much-needed ally. A frown deepened across his face. In a way, it was almost as though she was more cat than girl in the end. If one were to accidentally slam a real cat's tail in the door, there was no way to apologize to the cat or explain that it had been a mistake that would not be repeated, at least not so that the cat would understand. Regardless what you did, from that day forward, the cat would eye you with suspicion, especially when you were "armed" with an open door, slipping through the door as quickly as possible whenever she needed to go in or out, always with that same reproachful look at you as though you were just lying in wait for the moment to slam the door again. He sighed bitterly. If only he could speak Ráma's language.

Shaking his head, he walked back into the sleeping quarters to change out of his ruined shirt. Perhaps it would be better not to dwell on it too much for the moment. There were other matters more pressing that should be attended to. Mentally, he changed tacks.

"I've been thinking," he said to Mithadan, who remained in the next room. "I think I know why Falasmir has been letting us make our purchases and go on about our business as if he intends to let us leave. That way, when he seizes the Star, it will be a ship fully loaded with cargo, as opposed to an empty one." Remembering the fate of the hapless captain who had delivered the Amarantha to Falasmir bereft of her cargo, he knew full well how much the Umbarian lord loved a ship rich with bounty. "It would make a far better catch, wouldn't you think?"