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the human ear, but a practitioner might be able to tell if there was some otherworldly influence to the notes.”
    “Could you?” the captain asked.
    For a moment, Tikaya mused on whether there might be an advantage to pretending she had a practitioner’s skills—would the captain fear her and be less likely to threaten her?—but, given how superstitious Turgonians were about “magic,” she worried he’d simply be in more of a hurry to throw her to the sharks.
    “Possibly,” Tikaya said. “I haven’t any skills in that area myself, but I grew up around practitioners and can usually sense it when they’re employing one of the sciences.”
    The captain spat. “Why do you call it science? Like it’s geology or hoplology or something real ?”
    Hoplology? Tikaya almost snorted. The Turgonians were probably the only culture with a word for the academic study of weapons. She wondered if Rias had taken a class in it during his university years.
    “What can and cannot be done with the human mind is just as legitimate a science as any you’ve named,” Tikaya said. “Though there is some variation, allowing for a user’s creativity and personal preference, the mental sciences are rigidly defined areas of study with precise laws, rules, and methods that can be repeated by different people as surely as experiments in an alchemy lab.”
    “All right, all right, I shouldn’t have asked. Back to the item. If you keep trying different variations, are the odds good that you can get the flute to work in that special way? By—” the captain glanced toward the water behind the ship again, “—tonight would be good.”
    “Unlikely,” Tikaya said. “With eight segments and six options on each segment, the odds of striking the right combination are...” She paused to set up the math problem up in her head, but a familiar voice spoke from behind her first.
    “One in twenty-thousand one-hundred-and-sixty,” Rias said.
    Tikaya smiled and leaned against his shoulder when he stopped beside her. The captain scowled, not impressed by his math skills, or perhaps the fact that he’d left his duties momentarily.
    “Morning,” Rias said. Given how little he’d apparently slept, he should have looked weary, but his brown eyes were bright and a smile rode his lips. Being back at sea must agree with him. “Need help with anything?” he asked.
    “No,” the captain snapped. “She needs to get back to work, and you—” he pointed at Rias, “—if you’ve finished with the topsails, you’re needed down at the bilge pump.”
    Rias arched an eyebrow, but merely said, “As you wish, captain.”
    A smug smirk stretched the captain’s lips. Like that of an emperor being fawned over by slaves who had once been soldiers from conquered nations.
    With an unperturbed expression, Rias trotted down the stairs. Since the flute happened to lay in the same direction, Tikaya waited until the captain’s attention shifted, then slipped after him. Rias was waiting below.
    “All you all right?” Tikaya gripped his arm. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
    Rias laid his hand on hers. “Yes, and no.”
    “Why is he picking on you? Surely not all passengers must toil so for the price of a ticket. He doesn’t know who you are, does he?” Tikaya asked, though she didn’t think the treatment would make sense if he did. Rias had been a Turgonian hero during the war and a well-respected officer for years before it.
    “No, I’ve been evasive as to my current status and why I have no rank—” Rias waved to encompass his uniform, “—but I believe he pegged me for an officer right away.”
    “You do have a determined, in-charge appearance even when you’re at your scruffiest.”
    “Thank you. I think. Regardless, the gossip is that the captain only lasted three years in the military before receiving a dishonorable discharge. I imagine he’s taking revenge on the officers he believes wronged him. Through me.”
    “Such a lovely