“Why?” Tress said. “Why would he get cursed on purpose?”
“I haven’t been able to decide,” Ulaam replied.
Tress was skeptical. But in this case, Ulaam was （unfortunately） right. I had honestly thought I would have sorted through this by now. It was…proving more difficult than I’d anticipated.
Fortunately, I was close. Closer than ever. Because Tress hit on the most important idea right then.
“So…” Tress said, “maybe I don’t have to defeat the Sorceress. Maybe I just have to find a way to get Hoid to do it.”
“Perhaps. Yes, perhaps indeed.”
Tress excused herself, then wandered to her quarters. There she dug under the bed and brought out her collection of cups. It had been so long since she’d admired them. The part of her that enjoyed them hadn’t changed, but she just…didn’t have the time she’d once had. Really, these days she’d only been using the big metal one. It was the one that wouldn’t break if it dropped off the table when the ship swayed.
Still, she took them out one at a time and placed them on the counter. Last of all she got out the ones Charlie had sent her. She stared in particular at the one with the butterfly soaring across the ocean. She’d originally assumed the butterfly had to be forced into such a terrible situation. Why else would it fly out over the spores?
She saw it differently now. Perhaps it was simply a butterfly who knew what it wanted—and was willing to try to get it, no matter how impossible.
It wasn’t a suicidal butterfly. It was a determined one.
She put away the other cups, but kept this one out, along with the pewter tankard. These were her two favorites. One a symbol of determination. The other a solid and heavy practical device—almost a weapon.
I, she thought, am these two cups. One side utilitarian, one side dreaming. Opposites. Yet both served the same function. Remarkable.
That butterfly, though, had gone out on the ocean alone. It hadn’t brought an entire crew with it to die. She took a deep breath and tied her hair back, then took the two cups and stalked out onto the deck.
“Salay,” she said to the helmswoman, “I’ve changed my mind. I want you to set down the launch. I’m going to take it into the Midnight Sea. Alone.”
THE MONSTER
The objections were mountainous.
“Alone?” Salay said. “Captain, what moon gave you such a lunatic idea?”
“I’ll go with you,” Ann said. “I can keep you safe. I’ve got six pistols on me, and four eyes to aim them with now!”
Even Laggart, hovering about the back of the group of officers, seemed concerned.
Fort just held up his board. Why? he asked.
“I want to try the experiment with the Midnight Essence,” Tress said. “See if I can actually control or destroy the monsters—because if I can’t, there’s no moving forward and all of this is moot. I will try it alone, as there’s no reason to bring the rest of you. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I think this is a bad idea, Captain,” Salay said, folding her arms. “I won’t let you go into another sea alone.”
“Am I not the captain?” Tress asked. “Can I not make this decision?”
“You can,” Salay said. “But you shouldn’t.”
Irony is a curious concept. Specifically, I mean the classical definition: that of a choice leading to an opposite outcome from what is intended. Many grammarians bemoan the word’s near-constant misuse—second only in dictional assassination to the way some people use the word “literally.” （Their use of which is ironic.）
I’m not one of those people who care if you use words wrong. I prefer it when words change meaning. The imprecision of our language is a feature; it best represents the superlative fact of human existence: that our own emotions—even our souls—are themselves imprecise. Our words, like our hearts, are weapons still hot from the forging, beating themselves into new shapes each time we swing them.
Yet irony is an intriguing concept. It exists only where we want to find it, because for true irony, expectation is key. Irony must be noticed to exist. We create it from nothing when we find it. But unlike other things we create, like art, irony is about creating tragedy.
Irony is reversal. Set up, then collapse.
A perfect bit of irony is a beautiful thing.
So watch. Enjoy.
“I cannot let myself create more hardship for any of you,” Tress said. “I need to do this next part alone.”