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.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 laughturned 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'thogging 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 mydefense, 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
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