The Astoria port was a cold, gray place of whipping wind and salty spray. Men of every nationality Storie could name worked the docks, preparing the ships for launch. Some were tiny fishing vessels barely larger than the carriage Storie and Paloma had taken to Astoria. Others were transpacific passenger ships, though these hovered mostly on the edges of the docks so as to not disrupt the flow of work with their enormous size.

Stares were rampant among the dockworkers when they saw Paloma and Storie approaching the small, salt-stained office building near the beginning of the vast maze of docks. Storie suspected it had been a long time since any of them had seen a woman, let alone women as finely dressed as herself and Paloma.

Storie held the door of the office building for Paloma. Paloma nodded graciously and stepped inside.

In a larger port, one more used to passenger travel, the office building might have been a grand and luxurious affair. This one, however, was tiny and cold, its insides undecorated beyond a few posters detailing the cargo companies that frequented the port. Storie stepped inside and rapped her gloved knuckles on the empty desk. Paloma drifted over to take a closer look at the papers on the wall.

"Comin'!" a man called out. A balding and harassed-looking white man appeared in the doorway to the backroom. His clothes had probably been nice ten years ago when they were purchased. Storie assumed that they probably fit him better then, too.

Upon seeing the regality of the two women, the man made an effort to look calm and composed. "Hello, ma'am. How may I assist you fine ladies today?" he asked with a grin, his eyes widening as he truly realized how tall Storie was.

"Which of those is the ship being captained by Joseph Caldwell?" Storie asked, nodding back out to the dockyard.

"Ah. The Lady Siren, at the very end of the third dock. I'll lead the way," the man said happily, perhaps hoping for a good tip. He rounded the desk and held the door open for Paloma and Storie.

"I do apologize for the disarray. We rarely see such dignified passengers," the man said as he led them between the dockworkers. Storie's shoes made loud noises against the thick hardwood of the dock. Many more stares were directed to the women, born both of Storie's height and Paloma's dark skin. Storie's sharp, searching gaze never left the men.

Catcalls and whistles were cast to them. A few made derogatory comments toward Paloma. Ordinarily, Storie would have made the men pay for those comments. Today, it wasn't worth the trouble to untangle which of the many workers had uttered them. Paloma's face was placid among the chaos, giving no mind to the jeers regardless of whether they were hateful or desirous.

"We knew what to expect," Storie told the man.

"Here she is," the man said, gesturing up to a mid-sized vessel. Its steps were down, undoubtedly waiting for Paloma and Storie before launching.

Storie pressed a coin into the man's hand. "Thank you."

Fearlessly, Paloma boarded the ship. Storie followed. Storie expected the soft rocking of the ship to be disorienting, but she found it oddly comforting as she and Paloma stepped onto the bustling deck. Men climbed masts and slung ropes. Yelling in a dozen accents echoed back off of the slick wood of the ship.

"My," an awestruck voice murmured. Storie turned to see a young man paused in the act of tying off a rope looking up at her in amazement. Storie raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're... beautiful," he said, a wide grin on his gleeful, almost childlike face. His voice jingled with a cheerful Irish accent. "Y'do look like ya could crush me between yer legs." He paused, wiping a bit of sweat and spray off of his brow. "I'd let ya."

The man's happy honesty made Storie laugh. "Should be easy for me with a boy of your diminutive size," she said coyly, making a show of looking down at him. The man was in fact of about average height, but he was many years Storie's junior and she felt like reminding him of this.

"Don't worry, my Lady. I'm big where it counts," the man replied with that same goofy smile. He looked over at another shiphand. "Oi, Smithy, finish this for me. I've gotta show the guests around."

Another man came over to finish tying off the rope. The Irishman walked up to Paloma and Storie before holding out his hand to the latter. "M'name's Sam. You're the ones we're takin' out to Elcott, I presume?"

Storie stepped back to allow Paloma to take control of the conversation. "Yes, we are heading to Elcott Island," Paloma said easily as she shook Sam's hand.

"Excellent. Captain would greet ya himself, but he's helping some of the others repair one of the sails," Sam said, pointing up to where a trio of men were climbing about on the center mast, yelling obscenities at each other. "I'll show ya to yer room. What shall I call ya?"

"Ladies Lovejoy and Delgado," Paloma told him.

Sam winked at Storie. "And which are you?"

"Lovejoy," she responded.

"Gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman. How tall are you, my goddess?" he asked.

Storie laughed again. She couldn't help herself. She had met a few men who were attracted to her height, but none of them had been so adorable in their affection. Sam was as smitten as a schoolboy, with a youthful air to match. His light brown hair was messy, parts of it dampened from his work. His blue eyes were bright with his rapt attention.

"Six feet and one inch," Storie responded easily.

Sam faked a swoon, holding the back of his hand to his forehead. "My," he gasped. "Six feet!" He finished his dramatics and refreshed his smile. "Let's get you out of this dreck, huh?"

Paloma and Storie shared an entertained glance as they followed Sam across the deck and to a door built into the side of the upper deck. He held it open for them and they walked down the dark, narrow staircase inside. The top of the doorway, and the ceiling of the staircase, was low enough to necessitate Storie ducking to avoid hitting her head. The walkway was tight, but Sam was careful not to touch them as he slipped toward the front again. "Right this way," he said. He opened a door Storie hadn't noticed due to the darkness of the walkway, lit only by a single candle fluttering in glass on the wall. "You are free to go about the ship as ya please, but I'd advise against visiting the crew's quarters. Smells like Satan's back end," Sam said happily, gesturing them inside. "When lunch comes, we'll bring food here. Won't be good food, mind you, but it'll be food."

"We had large breakfasts," Storie said, waving her hand as she stepped into the room. It was furnished only with a pair of chairs and a bolted-down bed, but was infinitely cozier than the cold, salty chaos above.

Sam laughed as he gently kicked a fourth object in the room. A bucket. "And that's why we provide that for ya," he said.

Storie sat in one of the chairs, Paloma the other. It was strange to be stationary in the chair while sensing the delicate rocking of the ship, but again Storie welcomed the feeling.

"Can I get ya anything?" Sam asked.

"No, thank you," Paloma said kindly.

"Righty," Sam said with a smile. "We'll be takin' off in half an hour or so, then just two hours' trip to Elcott. Let me know if you need anything. Just come above and start yellin'. I'll hear ya."

With that, Sam ducked his head respectfully before leaving the women be.

"Looks like you have an admirer," Paloma teased softly.

"I have many," Storie replied. The women chuckled.

"He's something, though," Storie said, squinting at the door. "Haven't met many men who manage such a bright smile."

"Of course he smiles. He is barely out of the cradle," Paloma said.

Storie shrugged. "Energetic, then."

The women laughed again, listening to the sounds of the men preparing the ship on the deck above their heads.