The nameless ship sat low in the water. It was so small that Syrina had no idea how it would make it to the southern tip of Ristro. Two-thirds of it lay below the waterline, and it was painted metallic cobalt over the copper sheets that covered it. A single high mast topped by a red flag with a yellow horizontal stripe along one edge sprouted from the center of the deck.
Every nook was used for something, and the first night a crewman almost tripped over her while he was rummaging around in the hold. After that, she spent a few sleepless days watching the crew until she figured out the places she could be and when she could be there.
She wanted to not talk to the voice in her head, with as little interruption as possible, and the voice, besides a few snide pieces of advice, kept quiet.
