That night everyone involved in the raid (with the exception of Caspian and two others who were staying behind in Narrowhaven as spies for a few days and so were spending their night at an inn that was known for its strict business, thus did not openly discriminate against men of Gyptian ethnicity so long as they paid well enough) slept on board all of the smaller ships they'd come in, headed once more back to the Dawn Treader.

Susan and Peter had a cabin to themselves. They might have gotten one anyway, but it was more than guaranteed when the Gyptians and Fairies found out what Susan had been through with Rabadash that afternoon. They all felt so sorry and frightened for her; some even felt a little ashamed that they had been unable to do anything to stop it or else that they hadn't noticed her being snatched away. (In regards to Lucy, when they found out she had had to kill the nobleman, though not intentionally, several Gyptian men whom most persons would have found alarming at best proved to be complete softies and hovered over her like a pack of mothers, demanding to know if she needed anything-anything at all.)

Maugrim had a large basket originally intended for heavy laundry loads but currently stuffed with cushions and put out as a place for the wolf-dæmon to curl up in while he licked at his wounds.

His mistress, meanwhile, sat on the bunk in her nightclothes and a dressing-gown, shivering slightly.

"Here." Peter sat down on the bunk beside her and gently placed a tin mug of hot tea into her hands. "Don't grasp it too hard, it's hot, and your wrist looks like it's swelled up a bit more. Let me see it."

"Thanks." Susan was grateful for the cup of tea; something hot was exactly what she needed-it was uncanny how Peter almost always seemed to know these things.

"You're welcome." He was still staring anxiously at the hurt wrist.

"Peter, it's fine, really…it doesn't hurt that much anymore."

"Let me see it."

"Peter, please."

"Susan, let me see it."

She gave in and, setting the tin mug down on the small stand near the bunk, next to an oil lantern, stretched out her wrist so that he could examine it.

He held it gently, blinking back tears.

"It's all right, don't cry."

Peter smiled faintly. "I couldn't help it, sorry."

The noise that came from Maugrim at this was laced with scorn, but it wasn't unkindly meant.

"Well," said Peter, glancing at Maugrim over his shoulder then looking back at his wife, "just for that…" He brought the bruised wrist to his lips and kissed it once very tenderly before letting Susan draw it back.

Susan blushed, established married woman though she was; Maugrim fought against a slight grin and rolled his eyes.

There was a knock at the cabin door and Peter stood to answer it.

"Here's that ointment you were a wanting," said one of wives of the Gyptian archers who had fought in the raid as she stood in the cabin's doorway, holding out a small indigo-coloured jar.

"Thanks," said Peter gratefully, taking it from her.

"How is she?" the woman asked.

"Tired," Peter sighed. "Very tried."

"You make sure she gets some sleep, then."

"I will," he promised.

"Poor miss," lamented the Gyptian woman. "Is she being certain that she doesn't want a proper bandage for her wrist?"

"She says no." He shrugged his shoulders; he couldn't force her to wear one if she didn't feel she needed it. "But if she changes her mind, I'll let you know."

"I don't approve of killing, you know, but…wells…all I says is that if anyone's got to be knocked off for the good of humanity and self-defense en all…men like that lordship should go first."

Peter couldn't agree with her more. "Oh, and have you seen Lucy?"

"Lyra and Billy Costa and that nice alethiometrist are keepin' her company; she seems in good enough spirits."

"That's good."

"Yes, well, goodnight."

"Goodnight, and thank you."

"Wasn't no trouble," she assured him.

Shutting the door, Peter showed Susan the jar. "All right, let me see the scratches."

Susan slowly took off her dressing-gown and allowed him to pull back the collar of the nightdress she wore underneath. She had some scratches there, on her upper back, from the bark of the tree when Peter had had to pull her up so quickly; it had, unfortunately, torn the back of the clothes she'd been wearing and cut into the skin a bit, leaving a few bright red marks.

"I'm so sorry, Su," he said for what she guessed was at least the tenth time.

"Peter," she snapped as he pulled her hair over her shoulder so he could see the marks better as he rubbed the ointment into them, "stop apologizing. You saved me. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if…" Her voice trailed off; Peter knew Rabadash had dragged her off without her consent, and that he was threatening her, trying to force himself on her, but she wasn't sure if he knew about the nobleman's hand going up her skirt. Better not to tell him, it would only frustrate and anger him more.

"There you are." Peter finished with the ointment and carefully straightened out her collar over it. "All set."

"Peter?" Susan whispered as he leaned over the bunk to blow out the lantern's light and she lowered herself down under the warm covers, blankets, and comforter.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can you sleep with your arm around my waist tonight?" She wanted to feel protected.

"I'd prefer it," he murmured in her ear as they settled down to sleep.

Soon he could hear his wife and her Maugrim snoring in unison. All was well, at least for the moment, there was nothing else to be done.

Under the bright stars against the pitch-black contrast of the velvety-dark night sky, Lucy stood on deck. She ought to have been asleep, of course, but she could will herself to sleep. She would close her eyes and wait and wait, but the land of nod remained islands and chasms and caves-even continents-away from her.

Finally she had given up and left the cabin she was sharing with Lyra. Reepicheep consented to ride on his human's shoulder.

There was the sound of flapping wings and Lucy knew through Reepicheep that Ella-and so obviously Edmund as well-was coming up behind them.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No, I tried but…" She turned to face him, her back against the railing she'd been leaning forward on up till then. "You neither?"

"No," he lied, fighting a yawn. In truth, he could have slept fine-the raid had worn him to a shadow-but he was worried about her and resolved that if his Lucy couldn't sleep than neither would he.

Ella clanked her beak and twisted it, her great big eyes even larger than usual with suppressed tiredness. Flapping her wings again, she took off from her human's shoulder and landed on the ship's railing.

"Are you all right?" Edmund asked Lucy finally, knowing that killing Rabadash had left her sort of dazed.

"Yes." And she was, too, save still rather in shock. "Is Susan all right, do you know?"

Edmund took her hand in his. "She's fine, I'm sure of it." Their fingers interlocked and their dæmons-both on the railing now, as Reep had climbed there and curled his tail around it-came closer together. "She has Peter looking after her," he pointed out, knowing Lucy of all people would understand what that meant.

"That's right." When she thought about it that way, there wasn't much need for anxiety. "Why do people do things like that, Ed?"

His forehead crinkled. "Like what?"

"Like Rabadash kidnapping Susan, and then trying to kill Peter," said Lucy, an expression of sadness mixed with fear and anger, laced with confusion, forming on her face. "Or like that man who pushed Farder Coram even though he was old and weak, and anyone could see it. I don't understand…I killed someone today, but not because I wanted to, I wasn't even trying to…I can't understand wanting to hurt someone…or, rather, I can't imagine putting a want like that into action. I've been angry before, but not…not like…Why are people like that so angry, Edmund?"

Part of him was dying to say it was much too late at night to be concerned with such things, but he very nearly thought he saw tears glinting in her eyes. "A lot of them are just bad people," said Edmund, this time unable to hold back the massive yawn that forced itself between his parted lips while he spoke. "That's all."

"But why?"

"How could anyone know that?" Another yawn arrived and made his eyes water; Ella's owl-eyes went slightly glassy.

"But they aren't all bad people," Lucy pointed out. "Emeth used to work for Rabadash…and he's good anyway."

"Emeth made the choice to be good."

"Like you did." Lucy looked very thoughtful. "But, then, I always thought you were good; even when we had to flee from Bolvangar…I knew you were good when Trumpkin turned up with those insulated mugs and a map…I knew right away that you sent him."

"Hmm?" Edmund was struggling to follow her line of thought now, nearly sleeping and standing at the same time.

"Go to bed, Edmund."

"Don't tell me when to go to bed," he grunted, sounding much more-Lucy thought-like how his voice must have been as a small child when he was sullen over some matter than like an almost all grown-up alethiometrist. Ella snapped her beak tersely at nothing to further her master's point.

"You're tried, Ed." She felt sorry for having kept him up.

"Maybe a little," he gave in.

"We can talk tomorrow." She patted his shoulder.

Edmund yawned long and openly, no longer fighting it. "Are you sure," he managed in-between the yawning, "that you're going to be all right?"

"Yes," she swore.

"You don't mind being out here all by yourself?"

She shook her head. "I'm never by myself," she reminded him; no one who had a dæmon ever was. "Reep will talk to me."

Edmund nodded and tried not to think, in-between sleepy notions, about all those children at Bolvangar who had been cut away from their dæmons and died all alone, naught but a half-person. It was more discouraging than usual because, though they'd won the raid, they hadn't learned anything new regarding the child-cutters' possible comebacks. But he knew he mustn't think of that now, he'd never get to sleep if he did, and he was so tried he thought he might drop right there on the deck.

"Night, Lu."

"Goodnight, Ed."

"Lucy?" said Reepicheep forlornly.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you think everyone sees what's really good? Like Dust. The Gyptians. Alethiometers. So many people believe they're evil. Why do you think they can't see it? Why do you think they don't believe in Aslan?"

"I don't know," said Lucy pensively, her fingers playing with the chain on her alethiometer, which she had been holding for comfort while she stood out there. "Maybe they don't really want to."

On the morning the ships sent out for the raid made it back to the Dawn Treader, Farder Coram and Gael, as well as several of Lord John Faa's advisors who had been-like Farder Coram-too old to fight swiftly, were waiting for them. It was a cool morning, slightly foggy, and so they had taken care to set a few lanterns out for the arrival.

Edmund had rather been dreading the moment when he would have to tell those who had remained on the Dawn Treader about the raid's lack of success Bolvangar-news-wise, but the kindly looks on the faces of the old Gyptians all said only one thing, "That's all right, better luck next time." They already knew, it turned out. Serafina Pekkala's dæmon had come and told them all about it.

Their concern was still there-and highly visible, at that-they did not try to mask it, which Edmund appreciated and respected deeply, and yet they did not push any burden on him or the others who had fought. How anyone who knew anything true about Gyptians, good people like these, could ever discriminate against them, could ever hate them as some land-people did…well, it really was no wonder Lucy was so angry about it.

Gael practically flung herself into Edmund's arms at first sight, and Pattertwig became an owl very like Ella but with darker feathers, closer to tawny-cream than to white.

There was much rejoicing, in spite of the many set-backs, and comforting going around, till finally, within only a few days, it was very nearly a sort of celebration. Things had not gone as well as they could have, it was true, but they were in motion, and injuries, while numerous, were not as bad as they could have potentially been.

And Rhince revealed that he knew how to play the fiddle, starting up a merry tune which Tony Costa added to by banging two spoons against his lap in time with the rhythm so that it made it even happier-sounding. Gael was not a particularly good singer, but-as with many little girls of that age-she had what was considered a 'cute voice', and so no one minded her high-pitched, occasionally faltering and wavering, trill. There weren't many words anyway, so mostly she just sort of made little sounds like humming, only louder.

Soon there were whirling partners and swaying (almost giddy) dæmons all over the deck.

Peter and Susan danced together; as did Edmund and Lucy. Somehow or other Lyra ended up being paired with Billy Costa, who tried to be gracious but finally could not contain himself any longer and snapped that for the love of all that was good and holy would she please stop trying to lead?

"You en't supposed to do that!" he huffed, Ratter making a frustrated grinding sound with her teeth. "The man's s'posed to lead, you know it."

"Well, you were doin' it wrong," Lyra protested demurely.

"I was tryin' to get you to step on my feet less, Lyra."

"If you led right, I wouldn't." Lyra pouted; Pan made a snarling noise that sounded out-of-place for an ermine in Ratter's direction.

Billy scowled. "You ain't letting me lead!"

"That's cuz you can't!"

"I can."

"No, you can't."

"You en't right."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you ain't."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Billy," –this came from Ma Costa, "don't you be tellin' Lyra to shut up, that's not how we a talk to ladies in this family."

At that, Billy grinned and looked at Lyra as if he had something big to hold over her. "That's right," he said, knowing Lyra had some apprehensions about being called 'a lady', "I'm sorry, Lady."

Lyra shoved him so hard that he landed on his back, almost on the opposite side of the deck. "How's that for a lady? Even Gyptians can't make me a lady. There ain't no one who can; not all the forces in the world combined."

"All right, all right," Billy gave in, scrambling back up to his feet. "You ain't a lady."

Lyra stood, still as anything, her face gone white. She thought, for one spilt second, that he sounded a little bit like Roger might have after one of their 'fights' back at Jordan; that combination of defeat and genuine remorse. She bit her lower lip. Billy Costa had never spoken to her like that before; he was the sort who never backed down, even when others got mad at him. Why, he had even opened casks of wine and gotten himself a clout in an attempt to prove her wrong, to stand up to her bullying!

"What's wrong?" He noticed the look on her face was not one of satisfaction, the way it should have been after winning a debate so absolutely.

"Nuffin," she said hastily, wiping at her eyes before he could dare accuse her of holding back tears.

Lyra and Billy sat out the next dance; Rhince adjusted his fiddle under his chin, preparing to play another up-beat song.

But he was not to begin.

The good times, while they had only just started, and not even in earnest at that, were already over.

A ship arrived unannounced, and a Telmarine Gyptian man was lifted up because he couldn't come onto the Dawn Treader without assistance; he was too badly hurt for that.

Pattertwig was a squirrel again and Gael was clasping him in her arms, her face pale with confusion and fear over this sudden arrival. Rhince's eyes were wide as he set the fiddle down. Some of those who had been dancing and laughing and eating and drinking stood as still as statues as they watched. One man had an open bottle of ale that he did not bring to his lips. Trumpkin had been cleaning his pipe and held the handkerchief above it, forgetting for the moment to tell his fingers to bring it down. Lord Asriel had one hand absently on his rifle; Stelmaria's teeth were bared anxiously. One of Peter's arms was still loosely wrapped around Susan's waist, as he'd been about to spin her around.

"Gracious God," said Farder Coram, coming close to where the injured man was being helped up, "what's this?"

Lucy scooped up Reepicheep and ran forward, Edmund and Ella taking off right behind her, unsure if it was safe. None of them knew what was going on.

Then Tony Costa said, "Hey, theys the two men who's s'posed to be in Narrowhaven, en't they?"

It was at that moment that Lucy and Farder Coram, squinting in the darkness as someone finally had the good-sense to bring a lantern over that way, recognized the injured Telmarine Gyptian; it was Caspian.

AN: And with that cliff hanger, I endth the chapter. Pleaseth to review.