Having money again was a boon to Leslie's cooking.

Not that the man couldn't perform miracles with little more than a couple of potatoes and a pinch of salt, but the Calmoori stew they were eating now was a whirlwind of tastes that somehow had all come out distinct and vibrant. It was a match for anything Mercy had ever tasted, even at the officer dinners back in Volante.

At times, especially then. Volante cuisine was a middling thing, overall.

"So, how did we do selling the Casperan Wool that Sherrif Abercrombie gave us? I imagine finding a buyer wasn't particularly trying," Vincent asked.

"Local merchants were overjoyed to take it off our hands. And apparently their money was quite the burden. We might even be able to afford breaking the glass dome at the nose," Leslie replied. "Though it's not enough for a Czarina's dowry, if that's what you were hoping."

"Go stick your head in the propeller blades," Vincent grumbled.

"So, what's our next job?" Anita asked.

"We need to head to the Monastery. They have a delivery run we need to make for them, but the package might not be ready yet," Vincent said. Leslie and Anita shared a glance, but Mercy glared at each of them in turn when they looked to her for clarification.

"Hopefully we can afford a stop along the way," Leslie said. "I took the liberty of buying some crates of the spices that grow down on Idlewind. There are some markets in Sorelia that have a direct line with the royal courts of both Calmoori and Mythra. They pay handsomely for certain teas that only grow on Idlewind."

"Sorelia isn't all that fond of Wayfarers," Vincent noted.

"True. But we don't exactly look like a wayfarer ship."

"We don't exactly look like any other ship," Anita said.

"So we get to leave the impressions. Hopefully we don't botch the introductions too badly. And we absolutely do not buy cargo there. Sorelia's a hub for the deadgrass trade in the region," Vincent said in warning. He took another bite, finished it, and pointed his spoon at Leslie. "What kind of profit margins can we expect for these Idlewind teas?"

"Ten to one," Leslie said.

"I may have to revise my opinion of Sorelia," Vincent conceded. "Mercy, any idea when we can fit ourselves into a departure time?"

"Harbourmaster said let him know, and he'd guarantee a departure within the hour," Mercy said. She stopped, and grinned at her captain. "Eager to get us out of here?"

"He's worried the Czarina might keep hunting us," Leslie said.

"Sorelia is in Olencian sky," Anita pointed out. "Speaking of Olencians, Leslie, weren't you baking something?"

"Oh, shoot." Leslie bolted from his chair, vaulted over the kitchen counter, and threw himself at the oven. He sighed in relief as he peeked inside, put on a pair of oven mitts, and pulled something out of the oven.

Vincent sniffed at the air. And just as Mercy began to smell sweet baked sugar and vanilla, the captain scowled. "Leslie, that isn't an Olencian puff pastry, is it?"

"Good nose, Captain," Leslie remarked as he began playing with a piping bag, dropping something into it from a nearby bowl. "Always best served warm, which means decorated hot. The cream melts a bit, but that's part of the appeal."

In just another minute, Leslie was rounding the kitchen counter with a cake in one hand, and four plates in the other. He practically laughed as he set the cake down, then put the plates in front of his crew mates.

"Now, before we start, let's go over table manners in the Olencian court," Leslie began, as he cut the first slice.

Vincent groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Mercy laughed, as she took her slice and stabbed it with a fork. The cake was an impressive delight, flakey and warm, and still moist. "Have to say, captain, just to eat like this sounds like it would be worth the hassle. And she isn't an idiot, so she wouldn't bore you to tears."

"We are invited, aren't we?" Anita asked. "Oh, Mercy, you could do her hair up, like you did for me."

"It doesn't work on the inner islands. Their pull is too strong," Mercy said.

Vincent didn't respond, but he did eat. And once he had finished, Mercy put her plate down and pointed to the door. "We do have one other surprise for you, Captain. Though we could call it a wedding present."

"You had Leslie stitch me a suit for this wedding you all keep imagining?"

"I couldn't stitch to save someone's life, captain. That's your department," Leslie said. "No, it's in your cabin. Addressing one of this ship's design oversights."

"If this is actually formal wear, I might have the lot of you thrown off the docks, and hire myself a new crew," Vincent warned them, as he stood up. Mercy and the others followed out the door, and down the hall to the aft section of the ship.

Vincent opened the door to his cabin, took one step inside, and stopped. Mercy dearly wished she had gotten ahead of him, just so she could see his face.

"Is that?" Vincent asked, finally moving again.

He stepped up to a sprawling oak desk, polished so well Mercy could make out the window reflecting from the wood.

"Captain's cabin needs a big desk for charts and logs. It was something we all overlooked, when we were building the ship. And then there was this lovely desk, just left behind by its previous owner. Abandoned in the far skies. Thought we'd give it a better home," Mercy said.

"You stole the damn thing from the Matilda," Vincent said, as he started to laugh.

"Steal is a very strong word," Leslie said. "With very negative connotations. Relieved and repurposed seems more appropriate."

"It's magnificent," Vincent said. "Thank you all. But is it properly attached?"

"I had the Roost's shipwright swing by and make sure," Mercy said. "She'll see us through any storm."

"Let's hope we don't have to test that any time soon. I'd rather do the Monastery job in the calmest skies we can find," Vincent said. He tapped the desk, walked around it, and sat down in the chair. "So, does anyone have any pressing business here on the Roost?"

"No, captain," Mercy said. Leslie and Anita echoed her.

"Good. Miss Hoffman, get the engine prepped. Mister Madrigan, check the kitchens and the cargo bay, make sure everything is strapped-down for a flight in the far skies. Mercy, let the harbour master know we'd be grateful if he'd fit us in at his earliest convenience."

"Aye, cap," Leslie said, and he stepped out and disappeared down the hall. Anita followed after, heading down the stairwell towards engineering. Once they left, Mercy stopped at the door and shut it.

"Vincent," Mercy said, once the door was sealed shut. "I need a word."

"Of course," Vincent replied, and gestured to the seat in front of the desk. Mercy sat down, took off her hat, and set it between them.

"We're doing the Monastery job soon?" Mercy asked.

"As soon as their cargo is ready," Vincent confirmed. "We don't have a lot of wiggle room, so the delivery can't be delayed."

"I know," Mercy agreed. She sighed, and pointed to her hat. "You know a Keeper's role in the clan, right?"

"Carrying the clan's stories through skies and memory," Vincent said. Again, Mercy was impressed with how clearly he remembered both the title and the way it was told within the clans.

"They're meant to be carried as stories. Not as secrets," Mercy said. "And I'm afraid we're carrying nothing but, at the moment."

The other thing she appreciated about her captain most, was that he rarely responded reflexively. No defensiveness, no indignation at what she said, which could easily have been taken as an accusation. All he did was set his thumbs under his chin, and nod. "We don't do it lightly," he said eventually.

"I agree. But how long do we carry this, without telling anyone the weight of what we carry? And I'm not talking about telling Tai'ik, even if I think she has a right to know. Especially if we stop here before carrying the Monastery's cargo. How long do we keep this from Anita? From Leslie?"

"There are advantages to keeping these stories to ourselves," Vincent said. "They aren't things we want retold. I'm not sure what would happen if the great powers of the skies knew about all of this. And those great powers includes Clan Whiskeyjack, little do they know it."

"Perhaps. But how cruel is it, to keep what we know from them?" Mercy asked, and she dabbed at her eye with her sleeve. "To keep the real reason you were cast out of Volante's navy? And how the cargo we're going to be carrying is what destroyed Grainglove?"

Vincent didn't have an answer to that. There were no good answers. Which is what kept it a secret, rather than made it a story.