Thankyouthankyou dear readers that reviewed! Bookworm250250, mrdirtguy3, MistressMine, Barking Lizards, and Jett-Wolfe98: you are all awesome and I appreciate your kindness so much. :D

All original characters and plotlines belong to Scott Westerfeld; I own nothing!

:)

Deryn braced the sides of the porcelain sink in front of her, letting the cool water dribble down her face. She inhaled sharply as another piercing cramp knotted her insides.

It was days like this that she realty hated being female.

Last night when she was settling into bed, the strange flutters she had been feeling had turned into a very odd sort of cramping. She thought nothing of it at first: it was perfectly annoying, but not particularly painful. This morning, however, it was beginning to actually hurt; it felt like her insides were tying themselves into knots. It had even woken her up this morning, and that when she discovered that certain other things were happening to her that told her she definitely wasn't pregnant. She glanced over at the pile of discarded clothing on the floor and felt a small, anxious twinge.

She didn't mind not being pregnant; in a way, she was relieved about that. The idea of being a mother so soon was daunting. But in all of her learned and inherited Darwinist knowledge, she couldn't figure out what was going on inside of her, and that was a slightly alarming prospect.

Only slightly, though. Deryn certainly wouldn't be running to the doctor on account of an upset stomach. She had had injuries far, far worse than this. She took the small piece of anxiety and placed it to the back of her mind. She was a sailor, after all; she could handle this.

Her thoughts were broken when a loud rap came from the other side of the door.

"Deryn," a voice called from outside. "It's Wolfgang."

"Just a minute!" she called back, racing around the room looking for a shirt. She found one and buttoned it up hastily. She opened the door and winced as another ache pounded just below her stomach.

"I thought you had oversle-" Wolfgang started but stopped when he saw her, his expression falling. "You don't look well."

"Thanks," she said unappreciatively as she went back into the room to find her sash.

Wolfgang stood in the doorway at a polite distance. "Are you all right? You can stay in today, if you like. There isn't much to do."

"Are you barking mad? With all that rope that broke last night?" she said as she came back out with the sash in hand.

He shrugged. "I've been managing by myself for two years; I think I could last a day or two."

"You've only been here for two whole years?" she asked as she tied it around her waist.

He nodded. "Yes, give or take a few days."

"That's a long time."

"It feels like just yesterday. The ship was docked in Souda, and that's where I met the Captain."

"Where?" she repeated.

"Souda. It's in Crete."

At the confused expression on her face, he elaborated. "Greece."

"Ah," she said, getting it now. "You said that's where you're from?" she asked, making an effort to be polite (another of Alek's princely habits rubbing off on her, no doubt) while she stuffed the tarnished clothing into a bag to be washed later.

"Where my mother is from," he corrected, running his fingers absentmindedly along the doorframe. "I've only been there a few times; we lived all over when I was younger. Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Just.. seasickness." It bothered her to make up such an undignified, ladylike excuse but there was no way she was telling him the truth. Not like she could if she wanted to anyway: she wasn't sure herself.

Wolfgang looked down at her skeptically. "If you say so."

Alek walked to the galley with determination in his step. When Volger had told him and Bauer last night (really, it was early this morning) that he believed his son to be aboard this ship, one person immediately came to Alek's mind:

Morgan.

It wasn't that he had come aboard expecting to find Volger's son; if anything, it was the opposite. Volger had no inklings at all where the boy's mother had gone after he had sent her away, so really, they could have been anywhere in the whole world. And the possibility of him being aboard the very same ship as them seemed completely unlikely.

The odds were stacked against him, too: aside from almost nothing that would attribute him to the Count, Morgan didn't look a thing like Volger. That didn't mean much, however; for Alek himself didn't look like either one of his parents more than the other. The way Morgan spoke was odd as well: he sounded English at first, but the way he said certain words sounded so different than anything Alek had ever heard. He didn't seem to inherit any of the Count's mannerisms either (not necessarily a bad thing), but then again, if he'd grown up away from his father he wouldn't have learned them at all.

Despite there being practically nothing to attribute him to the Count whatsoever, there were two factors about Morgan that made Alek curious: first, he almost never talked about his life ashore. Basil told them grand stories daily of his escapades inland, but Morgan never contributed to the conversation. He almost never talked about himself save for one time, which led Alek to the second reason:

Much like himself, Morgan was an orphan.

When he had said it, he stopped himself almost like it was accidental, like he'd slipped. He hadn't spoken of it since.

Of course, he really could be an orphan and perhaps it was a sensitive subject (Alek knew exactly how that could be). But he had said it like it was a bad thing, like he didn't want them to know.

Alek stopped just before entering the kitchen. A feeling of invasive wickedness crept over him. Really, it was none of his business. Maybe Morgan had his own, private preferences for choosing to not talk about himself.

But he had promised the Count, even insisted after he tried to refuse help. It wasn't like he planned to interrogate him; just get to know him a bit better. He seemed very interesting; perhaps he was just a bit shy.

Alek continued his optimistic thoughts as he passed through the door and was greeted cheerfully by the person in question. "Good morning, Alek!" he said cheerfully.

"Hello, Morgan," Alek answered as Bovril jumped to the ground and scurried over to the counter. He hadn't said anything to the loris for fear it would repeat something out of context or at a bad time (he'd learned his lesson from the Zoological Society's Christmas party, the first year he and Deryn worked there). He looked at the empty chair where Basil usually sat. "Where's Basil?"

"Oh, he had something to do above deck," Morgan answered as he gave the expectant Bovril a carrot. "Said he'll be down by lunch."

"What for?"

Morgan shrugged. "He's been acting odd since we left Japan."

"Sorry?"

He shrugged again. "Just odd. I'm sure you've noticed that he's been disappearing during the day."

Alek had noticed that. At first, Morgan had just written it off as a silly excuse to get some fresh air, so Alek had been inclined to do so as well. "I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"I'm sure. Did you sleep all right?"

Alek yawned when he opened his mouth to answer. "Fairly well," he half-truthed.

Morgan heard the falsehood. "I couldn't sleep either. It was quite exciting, wasn't it? I'm glad Mr. Newkirk and Finnegan are all right, of course. Did you see what happened?"

He had forgotten that Morgan was belowdeck when it had taken place. "Sort of. It was rather dark. I don't think Newkirk saw much; he said it happened fast."

"Wow," Morgan said to himself. "Whatever it was, it sounded big."

"Sounded?" Alek repeated. He hadn't heard anything else other than the deafening boom of fireworks and shouting of the crew.

Morgan nodded. "I could hear it down here."

"What did it sound like?" Alek asked.

"Like a sort of groan. Or perhaps a whale. I thought it was the ship creaking at first, but it didn't stop. Then we heard all the commotion upstairs."

"'We'?"

"Murdoc and I."

Alek glanced at the parrot sitting on the perch just under the window. He wondered if the creature might repeat the noise, but it Murdoc and the loris were in deep conversation about sails.

"It was very odd, whatever it was," Morgan continued. "If it's still around, I'm sure we'll find it. It can't be hard to miss, that's for sure!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he said reaching for a measuring cup, "we heard it down here clear as day. That doesn't mean much, seeing as air carries sound faster than water. But I could feel the ship shaking, so it must have been close. And big."

A disturbing image of a kraken entered Alek's mind. "How big?"

The young man stopped what he was doing and thought for a moment. "It was at least as big as a whale if I could hear it over the fireworks. Maybe bigger," he shrugged.

Alek swallowed. "I see." He felt perfectly disconcerted about the prospect of a creature of enormous proportions swimming about in the water. "Morgan, may I ask you a question?" Alek asked after he had worked up enough nerve. It was only a question, after all; one any friend might ask.

"Of course."

"Where did you grow up?"

Morgan stopped what he was doing for a moment. "Wales. Why do you ask?"

He could have been shipped across the ocean. It would have been difficult but was certainly possible. "Your accent. I've never heard anything like it before."

Morgan laughed at the comment. "We do have a funny dialect in Fishguard, I suppose."

"Sorry?"

"I'm from Fishguard."

"I don't think I've ever heard of Fishguard."

Morgan shook his head. "You probably haven't. It's a small port town. Closer to Ireland than it is to London."

"Ah," Alek said, and left it at that.

Basil finally came down later, taking his usual post and talking on and on about Ireland and his adventures on the sea and land, occasionally being echoed by Murdoc and Bovril.

"Awfully quiet down here, lads," he said as he finished whittling an apple into a clamshell. "Morgan, why don't you take Alek trolling on the water for some of those tuna?"

Alek didn't understand what he meant at first, but before he got the chance to ask Basil for clarification, Morgan answered him. He answered him in such a way that Alek couldn't understand: after a few words back and forth, Alek suspected that their native accents were coming to surface more than usual. Or perhaps Morgan was just more used to Basil's hurried sentences. It sort of reminded him of Deryn when she was feeling nervous, or her mother whenever she got especially irritated.

After a moment, Morgan turned and looked at Alek expectantly. "Well? What do you say?"

"I'm sorry; to what?"

"Fishing, of course."

"Fishing?" Alek repeated.

Morgan nodded. "When it's quiet, like today, we fish over the side. I don't usually catch much, but it's something to do. Come on, then! We keep the poles down here."

He followed Morgan obediently out of the galley and through the hall.

"Don't come back until you catch that whale!" Basil called.

Morgan chuckled as he walked breezily through the hall. "He thinks he hooked one once. I think he's mad."

Alek found he didn't like the thought of catching a whale and having it drag the ship down. He'd read a terribly realistic book about it once and hadn't cared for the idea since.

After a few moments of walking, Morgan opened the door to a small storeroom, holding it for Alek. "This is the lazaretto," he explained as he entered. "They keep quarantines down here."

Alek looked at him in alarmed silence for a moment, at which the boy laughed. "Don't worry! We've never used it. Not yet, at least. They keep maps and tackle down here now," he said as he reached into a barrel behind him and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. "Sometimes when I'm going fishing, I spend a bit longer down here. I like to feel the mountains." He ran his fingers over the paper slowly, rising and falling with the slight humps on the page.

"Do you like cartography?"

Morgan broke his concentration from the map to look in his direction. "Oh, yes! Very much so."

Alek made a mental note of the recently acquired knowledge that Volger had a knack for maps as well and tucked it into the back of his mind.

As he rummaged through the small closet, Alek thought this would be a good time to gather more information. "What was it like, growing up in Fisghuard?"

"It was all right," Morgan answered, voice slightly muffled. "It's a fishing village, so there wasn't much to do unless you were an adult. Most people I knew either fished or went to the pub."

Alek stopped when he processed what he had said. "You're not an adult?"

"Well, I was only sixteen when I left-" He froze. Before Alek could blink, Morgan spun around and looked at him pleadingly.

"What's the matter?"

Morgan didn't answer.

He thought over what he had just said. Sixteen. "You're underage?"

"I'm supposed to be eighteen; please don't tell anyone!"

Alek stopped for a moment. That was it, that he was a few years too young to be serving aboard the ship? It took him a moment to understand. "Of course not! I'm sorry about that; I didn't mean to pry. It's just that I… I thought you were someone else."

Morgan looked at him quizzically. "Who?"

Alek shook his head. "I'm looking for a friend's son, that's all. He thinks he might be on this ship. You really look older than sixteen, you know."

Morgan nodded slowly, and then shrugged. "People say that a lot. Thanks, I suppose. The Captain thinks that, too."

"You mean he doesn't know?"

He shook his head. "It was all an accident, really. Mrs. Bridgestock, the lady that ran the orphanage I lived at, said she had too many children. Since I was the oldest, I was to go out and get a job. There was a bakery just down the street that she knew needed help, so she sent me there. On my way, I heard people talking about something called Colossus and let curiosity get the better of me. So I skipped the bakery and went down to the docks. I found the gangplank and walked aboard and through the first door I could find, which came down here."

Alek arched an eyebrow. "No one noticed you?"

"It seems odd, doesn't it? Really, I expected someone to find me and throw me off, but no one did. A moment after I found my way in here, Basil said to me, 'Boy, bring me those potatoes.' I tried to explain it to him; I didn't mean to stay, but he wouldn't listen. I told him I was blind but he didn't think anything of it, given that the Captain has an inclination to hiring misfits."

"Misfits?"

Morgan nodded. "Did you meet Mr. Brandon?"

Alek nodded, and then corrected himself by actually answering, "Yes."

"He used to be a slave."

"Really?"

Morgan nodded again. "He escaped from Africa in a small rowboat and the Captain found him in the Indian Ocean. Poor Mr. Brandon had no money, no name, and was half delirious. But the Captain saw something in him and hired him on the spot. He's a very nice man. A bit batty, but he has good intentions."

"How long have you been here, Morgan?"

He thought for a moment. "Eight months tomorrow."

"That's quite a long time," Alek remarked. "Does Basil know?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so; though, if he does, he doesn't let on about it. He's never said anything and I've never told him. I don't want to go back; I really do love it here. I figured after being able to just wander aboard and not get caught, maybe it was meant to happen. "

"Perhaps."

"There's nothing for me to go back to, anyway. The orphanage wouldn't take me and I've got no parents."

"If you don't mind my asking, Morgan," Alek said, "what happened to your parents?"

Morgan shrugged. "I know my father's name was Percy and my mother was Hattie, and that's about it. He was a merchant, I think. I don't know how they met, but shortly after they did, they got married and it wasn't long before I came. When I was two, there was a fire in my parents' home. My father died and my mother sacrificed herself to save me by throwing me down the stairs. I bumped my head just right and haven't been able to see since."

Alek swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

"No need to be sorry. The only reason I got out alive is because the fire brigade showed up just after I fell. One of the men took me to the orphanage, where I stayed until eight months ago."

"That's terrible."

The boy shook his head. "It's really not as bad as you think. I can do most things just the same as everyone. Slicing things is tricky, and so is money. And I can't read or write, obviously."

That was a strange thought. Never reading anything ever? Alek couldn't imagine! He suddenly remembered something he had heard of years ago, a fairly new French concept that was being translated into other languages. "Have you ever tried braille?"

Morgan shook his head. "Mrs. Bridgestock tried to arrange lessons for me, but it was too expensive. I've never read anything in my life. Except for maps, that is."

"Sorry?"

He felt the map with his fingertips, just as he had before. "These are the Himalayas, right?"

Indeed they were. Alek did the same out of curiosity, and found that he could feel slight ridges and bumps over mountains and forests.

"This is my favorite part," Morgan said, small smile tugging on his lips. His hand stopped just over southern Africa. "It might sound silly, but I'd really like to be a cartographer someday."

Before Alek could comment, the boy got up and walked back to the closet, where sounds of rummaging began again. "That's all just a dream, really." He returned with two fishing rods. "So is that a 'yes' to fishing?"