Chapter 20: Depths of Deceptions

  Seraphina watched from the helm as Vesper "accidentally" splashed Thristle for the third time that morning. The slime's surface rippled with apparent playfulness, but she hadn't missed how its mass always flowed to keep between Thristle and the sailors, or how those seemingly random color patterns tracked every movement on deck.

  The act was nearly perfect. To anyone else, it would appear as simple mischief - a powerful creature choosing to play rather than dominate. But Seraphina had spent years reading people's intentions through careful masks. And Vesper, for all his alien nature, was becoming easier to read than most.

  "Stop that!" Thristle swatted at a tendril that was trying to straighten her collar, her usual tension easing slightly at the familiar game. "I can dress myself, you menace."

  Vesper's surface danced with innocent patterns that might have been more convincing if Seraphina hadn't seen how those same patterns shifted when Thristle looked away - something deeper and more calculated bleeding through before the playful facade snapped back into place.

  She'd first noticed it during their escape from the facility. How Vesper's efficiency in combat had made Thristle withdraw slightly, her old fears resurfacing. The very next day, the slime started acting more clumsy and more dependent - manufacturing situations that required Thristle's guidance rather than her fear.

  "At least help with something useful," Thristle grumbled, trying to move a crate of supplies. Vesper immediately flowed to assist, but Seraphina noticed how he deliberately made the process more complicated than necessary, forcing Thristle to direct him with hands-on guidance.

  The slime caught her watching and his surface patterns shifted subtly - a brief acknowledgment between professionals who recognized each other's craft. Then he was back to playing the eager helper, his actions carefully calculated to seem just incompetent enough to be endearing rather than threatening.

  "Unbelievable," she murmured, adjusting their course slightly. "He's training her to be less afraid, and she doesn't even realize it."

  A loud splash drew her attention back to the deck. Vesper had managed to tangle himself in a pile of rope, somehow making the simple task of moving cargo look like a slapstick performance. Thristle was laughing now, her usual wariness forgotten as she tried to untangle him.

  But Seraphina noticed how the slime's mass still maintained perfect awareness of its surroundings, how those seemingly random tendrils always kept Thristle within easy reach. Even his apparent clumsiness was precisely controlled - never quite enough to risk actual harm or damage to the ship.

  "You're impossible," Thristle told him fondly, finally freeing the last rope. At that moment, her smile was genuine, without the edge of fear it usually carried.

  Vesper's surface rippled with apparent delight, but Seraphina caught that deeper pattern beneath - something almost smug in how perfectly his performance had achieved his goal. The slime was playing a long game, she realized. Each manufactured mishap, each exaggerated need for help, was slowly rewiring Thristle's instinctive fear of him into protective instincts instead.

  The strategy was elegant in its simplicity. And absolutely terrifying in its implications.

  ---

  The real concern wasn't Vesper's current behavior - it was how that behavior was evolving. Another day brought subtle refinements to his technique and new layers of sophistication in his manipulation. And Seraphina wondered, watching him orchestrate another "accidental" moment of closeness, just how far that evolution might go.

  The afternoon sun caught strange patterns in Vesper's surface - not his usual calculated displays, but something more genuine. Thristle had fallen asleep against a coil of rope, exhaustion finally overtaking her nervous energy. The slime's colors shifted as he watched her rest - blues and greens that Seraphina had learned to recognize as simple contentment.

  He formed a careful tendril to adjust Thristle's coat, making sure she stayed warm in the sea breeze. The movement was precise but untheatrical - no audience to perform for, just quiet care. These were the moments that complicated Seraphina's assessment: when all the manipulation fell away, leaving something unexpectedly gentle.

  "You care for her, don't you?" she murmured. "In your own way."

  Vesper's surface rippled in acknowledgment. A subtle pattern formed - one he'd begun using just with Seraphina when they needed to communicate more directly. He extended a tendril toward her rifle, then back to Thristle, forming a connection that suggested a shared purpose.

  "Yes," Seraphina agreed quietly. "We both want to protect her. Though our methods differ somewhat."

  The slime's patterns shifted to something almost amused. He'd started including her in his protective arrangements, she'd noticed - subtly herding sailors away when she needed space to maintain her weapon, or creating distractions when her professional mask began to crack. It was like having a very large, very dangerous accomplice who understood the importance of maintaining appearances.

  A patch of darker blue swirled through his mass as Thristle shifted in her sleep, muttering something about "measurements" and "compounds." Her sleeve had pulled back, revealing those strange green markings that she tried so hard to hide. Vesper's patterns turned questioning. He'd noticed how Seraphina watched those marks, how her eyes tracked the way they sometimes seemed to pulse in rhythm with Thristle's anxiety.

  "I don't know," she admitted. "She guards that secret almost as carefully as you guard her." A slight smile touched her lips. "Though I suspect you've figured out more than you let on."

  The slime's surface showed patterns that somehow managed to convey both smugness and frustration - clearly, he knew something, but not everything. His colors shifted again, forming that particular swirl that always appeared when he caught her watching Thristle with more than professional concern.

  "Don't," she warned, though there was no real heat in it. They'd developed an odd understanding about that - him occasionally creating situations that pushed them together, her pretending not to notice his matchmaking attempts. "It’s complicated enough without your interference."

  Vesper's response was to ripple in a way that looked suspiciously like laughter. Then he carefully adjusted Thristle's position so she was leaning more comfortably against the ropes, his movements precise enough to avoid waking her. The tenderness in that gesture made something in Seraphina's chest tighten.

  "You see her too, don't you?" she asked softly. "Not just what she shows everyone, but what she's hiding. The weight she carries."

  The slime's patterns turned serious, ancient intelligence showing through his usual playful facade. He formed another tendril, gesturing to his collection of laboratory equipment, then to Thristle's ever-present case of mixtures.

  "Yes," Seraphina agreed. "Her skills are... suspiciously specific. And those facilities..." She studied Thristle's sleeping form. "Though I suspect that's not only part of what she's running from."

  Vesper's surface churned with protective patterns. Whatever secrets Thristle carried, he'd clearly decided they were his to guard as well. But Seraphina noticed how he included her in that protective circle now - not just tolerating her presence but actively coordinating their shared watch.

  It was an odd alliance, she reflected. A warrior playing at being a maid, a slime playing at being simple, and an alchemist playing at... what, exactly? But perhaps that's why it worked - they each recognized the others' performances, understood the necessity of carefully maintained masks.

  ---

  "Perfect," Marcus declared, studying the honey's consistency. "See how it catches the light? Like amber in sunlight." He held up the spoon, letting Vesper examine the exact shade. "That's how you know it's ready."

  The slime's surface moved with obvious interest as he studied the mixture, forming small patterns that almost matched the honey's golden sheen. His usual mischievous behavior shifted to something more focused - the kind of attention he usually reserved for examining the ship's more complex machinery.

  "Fascinating," Jo muttered, putting the map aside. "Never seen him so... still."

  "Proper food deserves proper attention," Marcus said with the certainty of someone who had spent decades defending this philosophy. He carefully poured the mixture into a ceramic bowl that bore signs of being specifically reinforced for Vesper's use. "Now, remember our agreement?"

  Vesper's surface churned with what might have been impatience, but he obediently moved to the designated "tasting corner" - a spot they'd established after his enthusiasm had once nearly dissolved half the galley's cookware.

  "Good lad," Marcus nodded, setting the bowl down with the precision of someone handling extremely valuable cargo. Which, Seraphina reflected, it probably was - the old cook's honey mixtures were possibly their most effective tool for managing their unusual crew member.

  "Still can't believe that works," Jo whispered, watching Vesper carefully absorb the treat. "a week ago we were all terrified he'd eat the ship, and now…"

  "Now he waits his turn for dessert," Seraphina finished, though her hand never strayed far from her rifle. Some habits were hard to break, even with mounting evidence that their resident slime had developed a surprising appreciation for proper dining etiquette.

  "We've come to an understanding, is all," Marcus said.

  "Oh yes, an understanding," Jo mimicked, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Like that 'understanding,' you had with that harbor master in Port Carvus who nearly hanged us."

  "He overreacted," Marcus said mildly, tasting the honey with a small wooden spoon. "Besides, how was I to know his wife was the one who made those awful meat pies?"

  Jo turned to Seraphina with wide eyes. "Told her they tasted like boiled boots, he did. Right to her face!"

  "She asked me for an honest opinion," Marcus shrugged, completely unrepentant. "Not my fault she couldn't handle the truth. Twenty years at sea, I've eaten things that'd make a rat sick. I know boot-flavored when I taste it."

  The slime watched this performance with what could only be described as amusement, his surface rippling in patterns that looked suspiciously like laughter.

  "You know," Jo said quietly to Seraphina, "sometimes I think old Marcus got more control over that creature than any of us. Even you."

  "Probably does," she agreed, watching as Vesper perked up when Marcus finally reached for the tasting spoon. "Though I suspect it has less to do with authority and more to do with having the best honey-to-syrup ratio."

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  "And the slime getting better with the ropes," Jo offered shyly. "Hasn't accidentally melted anything in days."

  "Just don't let him start experimenting with knots again," Marcus said. "Took us hours to figure out how he'd managed that last pattern..."

  "You know," Jo said quietly, "sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right thing. Teaching him all our ways." His hands moved automatically, wrapping the map carefully. "He's learning awful fast."

  "Having second thoughts?" Seraphina asked carefully.

  "Nah." Marcus's weathered face creased in a slight smile. "Just thinking... maybe that's not such a bad thing. The ship needs all kinds to run." He gestured at his collection of carefully labeled jars. "Even the dissolving one, long as they mind their manners at dinner." Marcus rolled his shoulder, an old injury making him wince. "Creature that size, that smart could... but he stopped Jo from falling from the shroud when he was showing off yesterday. Could have let him drop, but caught him clean." A slight smile touched his weathered face. "Jo still screamed like a girl, mind you” he whispered to Seraphina.

  "Besides," Marcus added louder, already planning tomorrow's meals, "anyone who appreciates a good dessert can't be all bad. Even if they do occasionally try to sneak extra portions when they think I'm not looking." A small tendril snaked toward the pots. Marcus didn't even turn around.

  "Don't even think about it, lad." he swatted the tendril with a ladle.

  The tendril withdrew with what might have been an embarrassment, accompanied by muffled laughter from the deck as the crew recognized another failed attempt at stealing treats.

  "You're a brave man, Marcus," Jo said, giving up on his slime-covered compass and reaching for a spare. He pointed an accusing finger at Vesper. "One of these days, that thing's going to-"

  The words died in his throat as a tendril shot out and delicately wrapped around his extended finger. Jo had just enough time to realize his mistake before Vesper began slowly, inevitably pulling him forward.

  "No, no, no-" Jo's protests turned to undignified squeaks as he tried to brace himself against the table. The slime's surface rippled with obvious delight as it drew him into what could only be described as an enthusiastic, gelatinous embrace.

  "Help!" Jo managed between thrashes, though Seraphina noticed he wasn't struggling quite as hard as he could have. "Marcus! Make him stop!"

  "What do we say about pointing fingers in the galley?" Marcus asked mildly, not looking up from his work.

  "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Marcus help! You miserable old—" The rest was lost in sloshing sounds, as Jo disappeared further into Vesper's mass, his muffled complaints mixing with what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  "Nah," the cook replied, tasting his stew with a critical expression. "Good for him. Builds character." the cook replied, already starting to clean. "Speaking of which..." He glanced at Seraphina.

  "Might want to check that rifle of yours. Saw Vesper eyeing the mechanism earlier. Think he's developing an interest in precision machinery."

  Seraphina's hand moved automatically to her weapon, finding a faint trace of slime near the trigger guard. She sighed deeply. Some lessons, apparently, were still ongoing.

  ---

  Night watch had once been Seraphina's sanctuary - the quiet hours when she could maintain vigilance without the distraction of others. But lately, each shadow held new significance, each unexplained sound made her fingers tighten instinctively on her rifle. The constant vigilance was taking its toll - not just watching for external threats, but maintaining her careful composure around the most dangerous entity aboard. Seraphina found herself alone tracking slime residue glistering in the moonlight, her fingers never far from her rifle. Every shadow held the possibility of that massive form flowing out of darkness. The worst part was how no one else seemed to notice. They'd all grown comfortable with the monster in their midst. Even the cook had started leaving treats out, laughing when Vesper performed its little tricks. But Seraphina had seen what it could do. Not just the violence - she understood violence, respected it even. No, it was the methodical nature of its destruction that haunted her.

  Her training had prepared her for many threats, but what defense could she truly mount against something that methodically disassembled its enemies piece by piece? The question crept into her thoughts during quiet moments - if Vesper decided Thristle was better served without her, would her skills even matter? Her fingers traced the rifle's familiar mechanism, the motion no longer bringing its usual comfort. The gulf between her capabilities and the slime's raw power widened with each passing day, with each new evidence of his intelligence. Her greatest fear wasn't death - it was failing in the one duty that mattered.

  A faint blue glow reflected off the brass wheel. Seraphina's hands tightened, but she kept her voice steady. "Evening, Vesper."

  The slime flowed onto the deck with that terrible liquid grace. His bear skull turned toward her, empty sockets somehow holding awareness that made her skin crawl. But she maintained her perfect posture, her maid's training a shield against the fear churning in her gut. Vesper moved closer. Always closer these days, as if testing boundaries. His surface rippled with friendly patterns, but Seraphina remembered how those same patterns had played across its mass while it systematically unmade the centipede. The way he had taken the creature apart with such... precision.

  "Thristle's asleep," she said, proud of how her voice didn't shake. "She doesn't need checking on."

  The slime paused. Something in his patterns shifted - the barest suggestion of crimson beneath the blue. Did he know? Could he sense her fear beneath the professional mask? Sometimes she caught him watching her with that tilted skull as if trying to solve a puzzle. Vesper moved again, flowing around the wheel to reach her side. Every instinct screamed to step back, to maintain a safe distance, but she held her ground. Show weakness to a predator, and...

  The slime performed one of its little tricks - forming a tendril to adjust her already-perfect collar. The gesture was almost gentle, nearly playful. Like a cat that hasn't yet decided to use its claws.

  "Thank you," she said politely because civilization was all that stood between them and the darkness. Her fingers ached from gripping the wheel, but she didn't dare show it.

  Vesper's surface danced with motes of light, beautiful in the way that deadly things often were. He could engulf her in seconds, she knew. Could unmake her as thoroughly as he had their enemies. Would Thristle even find a trace, or would she simply become another treasure floating in that terrible mass?

  But he just rippled again, almost fondly, before flowing back toward the hold. Seraphina watched him go, maintaining her stance until the last gleam of the blue disappeared below. Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding, her hands shaking as she finally released the wheel.

  The worst part wasn't the fear. She could live with fear - had been trained to use it, even. No, the worst part was how sometimes, watching him play with Thristle or help the crew, she almost forgot to be afraid. Almost let herself believe he was the harmless companion they all pretended he was.

  But then she'd catch that crimson flicker beneath his surface, see how he arranged his trophies just so, and remember - you could dress a predator in manners, but underneath, still teeth and hunger and ancient things that moved in the dark. She straightened her apron, adjusted her rifle strap, and tried not to think about how lately every step on this ship was like over an abyss, that might one day decide to stop playing nice.

  A familiar blue glow was her only warning before Vesper erupted from the darkness with terrifying speed. Her hands moved instantly to her rifle, years of training taking over - but she might as well have been moving through honey. The slime struck with the same liquid grace he used to tear apart enemies, flowing around her weapon before she could even raise it. His surface churned with patterns that clearly conveyed: "Enough of this nonsense."

  "Don't-" Seraphina started, but the slime had clearly decided that proper maid composure had lasted quite long enough.

  Vesper engulfed her in what could only be described as an enthusiastic full-body hug, his mass wrapping around her with the same unstoppable force he used in battle, except this time deployed for aggressive comforting. Her perfectly pressed uniform didn't stand a chance.

  "This is completely inappropriate," she protested, hating how her voice shook. Vesper just adjusted his hold, supporting her more firmly as her knees threatened to give way. The cool pressure surrounding her felt impossibly safe like being embraced by a particularly affectionate ocean that happened to dissolve things occasionally.

  "I have standards to maintain," she tried again, even as she found herself relaxing into that impossible hold. "The crew can't see- oh, stop rippling like that, I know you're laughing."

  Vesper's surface danced with patterns that suggested he found her attempts at maintaining dignity thoroughly entertaining. He shifted again, deliberately wrinkling her apron in ways that would take hours to press out.

  "You're impossible," she muttered, but her voice had lost its edge. The trembling in her hands slowly steadied as Vesper's cool weight pressed against her, grounding her in the present moment.

  They stayed like that longer than she'd ever admit - the proper maid and the utterly improper slime, sharing comfort beneath the stars. When Vesper finally released her, leaving her uniform in artistic disarray, Seraphina found herself fighting a most unprofessional smile.

  "This never happened," she announced firmly, trying to smooth down her hopelessly rumpled apron.

  Vesper's surface rippled with what was unmistakably satisfaction as he flowed back toward the hold. The last glimpse she caught of Vesper showed patterns that suggested this wouldn't be the last time he decided she needed a reminder.

  As she straightened her uniform, a realization settled over her. Vesper had countless opportunities to harm her, moments of vulnerability that a true predator would never ignore. Yet each time, including tonight, he had chosen differently. Her training warned against it. But her experience demanded she consider all evidence. And the evidence suggested something her fear had refused to acknowledge: that perhaps his protection extended beyond just Thristle. That maybe, against all logic, she wasn't merely tolerated as a necessary inconvenience.

  It wasn't safety, not exactly. But it was... possibility. And for tonight, that was enough.

  ---