"What am I doing here?" Hamish spoke out-loud, but to no one in particular. He was sitting well forward, so that every wave the Ship of the Fleet sliced through tossed spray over his head. Two years earlier, when he'd sailed from Riversea to C'Holm, he'd been told to expect a hard trip to windward and that his job would be to bail. Now he was going the other direction, and yet the conditions were the same. Maybe it was just what you noticed on the first day out. After that everything was uniformly wet. And once you were wet, the cold was all that colder.