“Spill.” First Mate Cleonorayen Clyd flopped into the spare chair in Quatermaster Marist Irio’s bunk without asking or even knocking. She made up for it by thunking down a thick bottle filled with a bluish liquid.
Marist grabbed two heavy-bottomed glasses and poured generous shots. “You’re talking about the little accountant, right?”
“Bunk change. Bunk change, Marist, what on earth possessed you?”
“What? She wanted a bunk change, I gave her one. Pretty Marsey there is going to be a happy-if-confused young man for the next year.”
“But he could have been that without a marriage contract. What are you up to?”
“Pitmaster.” Marist threw back her drink in one swallow. “If the girl is in a marriage contract, she doesn’t go to the Pit. And none of us want her going to the Pit… do we?”
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