by Dawn Cook
“Where?” Duncan asked shortly as he stood with his riding pad and pack in his grip.
A shout from the wheel brought us spinning around. “Down below!” the first mate shouted, gesturing at the rise that took up much of the middle deck. It was about thigh high to give the area below some headroom. A doorlike hatch was at one end, and it was here that the first mate was pointing to. “And hurry up!” he added.
Jaw clenched, Duncan stomped across the deck. Growing more unsure, I hastened to follow with my things. The crew moved around us with very little direction as they prepared to cast off. Duncan tossed everything down the opening before turning to go backwards down the steep ladder. Waiting for my turn, I tried to remember if I’d done something to make him angry.
I headed down after him, my feet faltering on the steps when the clean smell of wind and salt turned dank: wet rope, mold, unwashed man, damp wool—and rats. I had known it was going to be bad, but this was awful. I shot a look at Duncan, glad I would be shivering on deck tonight.
Duncan muttered under his breath as he looked for somewhere to put his things. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the precious little light that came in slatted vents in the sunken room’s sides. There was a cleared space where a table was fixed to the floor. Around it were a handful of narrow, low bunks built right into the walls of the ship. The few personal belongings I saw were carefully arranged, and most of the beds had a locked chest beside them.
Both fore and aft of the living quarters was storage, and I left Duncan so I could investigate. Barrels lined the center of the ship, the symbols burned into them telling me some held water but most had ale. Bags hung from the ceiling like fruit. I spotted a few sheepskins piled in a corner, and I wondered if the captain was keeping them for a favored customer. Actually, I decided as I investigated further, the captain seemed to have kept a little of everything from past shipments.
There was a small cask of very good wine with a Lovrege stamp, a crate of pottery from the lower islands, and three bags of sand, pure and white for making glass. It was rare in the rocky beaches that made up most of the kingdom. Clearly the captain was well traveled.
There was a sudden commotion of voices and thundering feet followed by a series of chants and rhythmic clatters. Something bumped the side of the ship. The calling voices didn’t turn angry, just louder. I felt the floor move, and my breath hissed in from excitement.
Duncan saw my thrill and gave me weary look. Lips pressed together, he clambered back on deck, grumbling about his hands. I hastened after him, refusing to let his mood ruin my first sail. Kavenlow had never taken me on the sea despite my pleading. Costenopolie’s strength was on the water, and I had always thought the situation grossly unfair.
As I emerged after him, blinking into the odd, silver light of sunset, my gaze went to the rigging. The mainsail was up and full with a light wind. Dizzy, I dropped my eyes. We were already free from the dock, and I watched it fall away with relief. There was one more obstacle between Jeck and me, one fewer between Kavenlow.
Before us with their masts showing sharp against the clouds were two ships. Beyond them was only the black line of the wide bay’s horizon. The evening sun shimmering on the flat skin of the ocean against the backdrop of the purple clouds was breathtaking. My shoulders eased from the beauty of it. “I should’ve been born a man so I could go to sea,” I murmured.
“Aye,” came the captain’s voice behind us, and Duncan and I spun. I put a hand to my face, feeling the warmth of embarrassment. “It’s—nice,” the squat man said haltingly, clearly loath to divulge his feelings. “I always thought the sea, in any weather, was a sight not to be taken lightly. But I can’t tell those louts.” He glanced at the crew divided into two teams to hoist the second sail. Before I could say anything, he straightened with an official air. “Got your belongings stowed?” he asked, and I nodded.
Duncan opened his mouth to say something, but someone was calling his name, and he turned. “What?” he shouted, then realizing it was the first mate, added, “I mean, yes sir?”
“I talk to the captain, not you!” the man yelled from the wheel. “You’re crew, not passenger. Get on one of those ropes!”
Duncan’s shoulders hunched. “This is why I do what I do,” he muttered for my ears alone as he moved away. “I hate people giving me orders.”
My breath slipped out in a sound of sympathy as I realized where his bad mood was coming from. It was going to be a long two days for him.
Captain Borlett gazed intently at the larger boats in front of us. “We’ve time afore we catch their backwind,” he said, gesturing for me to accompany him. “I’ll show you my desk.”
I couldn’t help but notice the captain’s squat stature suited him well as he moved with confidence across the level deck. The first mate’s stare was heavy as we approached the wheel and the second half-sunken room before it. Skin prickling, I ignored him as I passed him to get to the hatch. Captain Borlett went down before me, his mood splendid as he offered me a hand. Remembering the stink of the other room, I held my breath as I descended. But my first hesitant sniff drew a smile from me. The small room smelled of leather, twine, and metal polish.
A small table and two chairs took up most of the tiny space cluttered with charts and shiny instruments I didn’t know a thing about. A marvelous map showing the entire coast and the four kingdoms bordering it took up much of the fore wall, and I en-vied him in that he’d probably been everywhere on it. There were two doors, one on either side of the common room, and Captain Borlett opened one. “This one is mine,” he said. “The other is my first mate’s.”
I lifted my skirts as I stepped over the raised sill. He didn’t come in but remained in the outer room, and for that I was thankful. It wasn’t that his room was small as much as it was so full of things both wonderful and odd that there was no room for him. If I hadn’t guessed it before, I would have known now that the captain liked collecting expensive, beautiful things.
Captain Borlett leaned in. Lifting a coat from the cluttered desk, he tossed it to the narrow bed built into the wall. His attempt to tidy made no difference, but now I could see the papers hiding the desktop. There were three small windows at head height looking out at a shin-high view of the deck, but it was a gimbaled oil lamp that lit the clutter. I swallowed, feeling a slight alarm. If this was any indication of how he kept his books, I was in trouble.
“Some of the records are in the bag there,” he said, pointing. “But most are on the desk. There’s paper in the drawer—I think.” Not looking at all embarrassed for the mess, the stocky man rubbed his hands together as if pleased. “I’ll be on deck if you can’t read my writing.”
“Yes. Thank you.” I picked up a scribbled note. Five cases of granite, no, grain from Geants. I frowned. It had to be granite if it was from Geants. “Captain?” I asked, as he disappeared into the small outer room.
He poked his head back in, looking eager to escape. “Yes, yes. What?”
I brought my attention up from the pungent ink. “The barrels in the first hold . . .”
His eyebrows arched. “The ale? I told you that you’d have to feed yourself.”
“It’s the water I’m asking about,” I said patiently. “How much am I allotted?”
“What you can drink, I suppose. No washing or cleaning.” A smile came over his round face. “Your man can ask my first mate for the leftovers from his work if you want any of that. He’ll be scrubbing the deck soon enough. But Haron is stingy with his water. He got caught in deep ocean without once and would have died had he not snared birds and rats. He won’t let any water go over the side until its blacker than my beard used to be.”
My brow furrowed as I found myself hoping for rain. I had very little money, but I had been trying to take a bath for the last four days. “Can I buy some?” I asked. “I can pay for the trouble of replacing it at Brenton.”
Now it was Captain Borlett’s turn to frown. “I don’t rightly know how much that would be,
” he admitted, rocking back. “I’ll ask Haron and tell you when you finish the books.”
It wasn’t a threat—more like a carrot. I suddenly felt like Tuck, lured into finishing a distasteful act by the promise of a nicer one.
A series of shouts came through the walls, and the captain looked up as if able to see through the low ceiling. “That’d be Sky Dancer,” he said. “We’re passing her. That tub is so heavy, she would sink in waves I could make in my washbasin. I’ll be on the wheel deck.”
“Thank you, Captain,” I said as he backed away. “Perhaps when I’m done, we can find some diversion together. I can play cards or even recite poetry.”
He smiled. “Aye,” he said. “Some company who doesn’t think with their stomach would be nice.” The door snicked shut behind him. I turned to the desk, blushing at the sailors’ catcalls as we passed Sky Dancer. Clearly the rivalry I had seen at the palace docks was commonplace.
I shifted a stack of papers to find the desktop was a dark wood. “This is going to be nigh impossible,” I whispered as I leaned against the wall. Sighing, I spun the oil lamp up high and set to finding the desk under the mess. It was going to be a long night.
Nineteen
MY shoulder hurt. Pulling the strand Of my hair out Of my mouth yet again, I balanced against the swaying of the boat and the force of the wind, focusing on the three chicken feathers stuck into the rope coiled and tied to the railing. Exhaling, I drew my whip back. With a practiced motion, I flung it out and back in a series of rapid motions. All three feathers exploded with a satisfying, crack, crack, crack. From behind me came a scattering of muttered oaths.
I grinned, not looking behind me as I heard money exchanging hands. The crew had been watching since I’d come on deck after finishing the captain’s books this afternoon. Their condescending banter had since turned to respect.
The squat form of the captain came forward from where he had been watching, and I met his smile with my own. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding to the whip. “You have a right nice skill there. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman wanting to know how to do more than whip her horse or her servant.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I haven’t practiced in a while, and it helped me find the balance of the boat.” A pained twinge came from my shoulder as I coiled the whip up and tied it to my hip. I should have quit an hour ago, but the scornful laughs of the crew and my desire to find the accuracy I was accustomed to kept me practicing long past where I should have stopped.
His head bobbed in understanding as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking embarrassed. I squinted up at him, wondering what was bothering him. The splash of a stingray pulled my gaze to the waves, and I wished I had been quicker so to have seen more.
“I’ve been over my books,” he finally said, his words halting and reluctant as he drew my attention back to him. “I hope my notes weren’t too difficult.”
I coughed to cover up the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “Oh,” I hedged, “it was easier after I started using the map in your common room. I simply followed the dates and made guesses at the next harbor if I couldn’t read something. It wasn’t hard, seeing as I knew the cargo you had just picked up and where you might be going with it.”
He ran a hand over his beard in an endearing motion of chagrin. “Aye,” he muttered. “That’s what I usually do.”
The sun was bright, but now that I had stopped moving, I felt cold. The threatened rain of last night had never materialized, but I could feel the chill in the air being pulled off the water. Taking my filthy cloak from where I had dropped it, I settled it about my shoulders. My sweat was cooling rapidly, and I felt awful, sticky and cold all at the same time. “Captain,” I hedged. “Have you had a chance to talk to your first mate about the water?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said quickly. “That’s why I came to talk to you. He’s not pleased, and he set a price so high I’m shamed to tell you. Haron is in charge of the stores, though, and a good man. I’d hate to drive him to another ship over this.”
A sigh slipped from me as I held my cloak closed at my neck while the wind stole what little heat I had under it. I understood too well the politics of small groups. The captain could overrule his first mate’s decision, but it might cause a rift between them. My comfort came out a distant second to that. “To be honest,” I said as I looked askance at him, “I was thinking that instead of outright purchasing the water, I might try to win it from you over a hand or two of cards? Perhaps tonight?”
The captain blinked. A slow smile curved over his face, and his attention went to the helm where the first mate stood with the wheelman, eying the ribbons trailing from the edges of the sails. “That’d work,” he said.
I felt a thrill of anticipation. “I’d be willing to wager more of my time. Perhaps tidy your room or help Duncan organize your hold. Seeing as he’s not much good with the rigging.”
His blue eyes grew brighter in what I thought might be avarice. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “I would play a hand or two with you tonight. Why don’t you get yourself out of the wind, meantime? The crew seems right impressed by you, but I’d stay out from under the deck anyway. Your man Duncan is in the galley, though.”
“I will, thank you,” I said, chilled to the pit of my being from the wind and my exertions.
“Good,” he said shortly. “Have some tea. You look cold, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Nodding emphatically, I held my cloak to me and headed across the sloping deck.
The glow of acceptance warmed me as much as the sudden lack of the wind when I peeped round the archway and into the small kitchen. Duncan was alone, and he looked up from where he was leaning against a wall, keeping himself steady as he plucked a chicken.
“Tess.” He wiped his stubbled chin with the back of his hand, only managing to stick more feathers to him. “I saw some of that. Very nice.”
“Thank you.” I touched the familiar loops on my belt. Holding on to the archway, I moved inside and perched myself on the tiny counter space to get out of his way.
The minuscule fire in the gimbaled pan kept the small space plenty warm, and Duncan had stripped down to only a worn pair of trousers and a thin shirt despite the wind whipping just beyond the archway. It was a shade too small for him, pulling tight to show the curve of his shoulders as he worked. Haron had put him here after he had loosened the wrong rope and brought a sail halfway down. I had a suspicion Duncan had done it intentionally. His mood had lightened considerably since he had taken over the galley and put some distance between himself and the first mate’s barked orders.
“The captain said I could have some of the crew’s tea,” I said, looking around for a pot.
Duncan flopped the messy bird onto the counter and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll get it,” he said, finding a pot from somewhere in the mess. “It should still be warm.”
He poured out a dark stream of liquid into a thick-walled mug, and I murmured a grateful “Thank you,” as I took it. The boat’s motion was rougher closer to the bow, and I tucked myself back on the counter until I was wedged into a corner. A patch of sun moved from the floor to the cabinets and back again as the Sandpiper took the waves. My one hand went to rub my shoulder, and I thought pride was responsible for the hurt, nothing more.
Duncan picked the chicken up, turning so he could watch me. “I won a bet with one of the crew,” he said. “I knew you’d be hitting all three feathers before you quit.”
I smiled as I took my hands from my neck and sipped my tea. It was bitter without honey, but I drank it greedily, glad for its warmth. “It took longer than I thought to find the boat’s balance,” I admitted. “I don’t know how they walk about like they do.”
His long, expressive hands worked fast against the damp bird, and the cleared patch rapidly grew larger. “I knew the moment you found the pattern of the waves,” he said. “Crack, crack, crack.”
My smile deepened. I liked being on the water, glad I
hadn’t gotten seasick as Kavenlow had staunchly claimed I would. “It’s like being rocked by your mother, or the kingdom’s chancellor in my case,” I said, half-serious.
“I wouldn’t know.” Gathering a wad of feathers, he dropped them in a bucket.
Embarrassed, I eyed him over a slow sip. “Sorry.”
“About what?”
“That you don’t remember your parents.”
He laughed harshly. “I remember them all right. But as the eighth child out of nine, I was never rocked. More likely told to ‘Stop yer bellyaching and go to sleep!’ ” he said, shifting his voice to a harsh, low-street accent on the last word.
“Oh.” I set my cup aside and swung my hair to my front, running my fingers through my curls to get the worst of the tangles out. “Sorry. Where are they?”
A shrug shifted his shoulders. “They have a farm on the edge of the forest about a week from the capital. I left when I was twelve.” His voice was bland. “Gone before the sun set on the day they buried my grandfather. See, I was at the end of the children. Kind of scrawny. I should’ve been in the fields, but someone had to look after my grandfather, and I didn’t mind spooning soup into his toothless mouth. My sister thought he smelled. He didn’t like her either and wouldn’t eat unless I fed him. So while everyone else worked, I took care of him. He was the one who taught me cards. I left the day he died.”
“Sorry.”
His eyes were dark with irritation as he pulled them up. “Will you stop saying that?”
My fingers stilled themselves in my hair, moving instead to rub my stiff shoulder. “You must have loved him very much,” I said, my sympathy mixing with the grief of my own loss.
There was the sound of boots, and a crewman passed the open archway. “Nah. See, once he was dead, they were going to make me work the fields. That’s why I left.”