“Fastest way to get to know someone, Vi. Only people worth drinking with is those who stick around after a fight. Speaking of which, you still look like you’re aching to hurt someone. Is it Quill or Jack this time around?”
“Quill,” Violet muttered, sinking down onto a crate opposite.
“Figured it might be. What’s our blessed navigator done now?”
“Captain wants me to stand watch with him. Says Quill asked.”
The skipper actually dropped the ropes she was working on, staring wide-eyed stupid at Violet. “Oh, Loveland is asking for something,” she said finally. “You’re on my detail, Violet. Ain’t nothing changed about that.”
“Captain says otherwise,” Violet pointed out. She was cheered by the skipper’s reaction. Anything was better than being on Quill’s watch, and being on the skipper’s was much better.
“Then I’ll be saying some such to the captain, don’t you doubt that,” the skipper said. “Now, in fact.” She looked down at the mess of ropes and hammocks. “I’ve a task for you, Violet. Figure out some rig our new navigator can nap in. I’m at a loss.”
Violet looked at the tangle of half-finished knots helplessly. If it had already gotten the better of the skipper, what hope did she have?
“Good lass,” the skipper tapped her on the shoulder. “I’m off to see the captain. Tidy up when you’re done and then go see Gabbi. She’ll have something else for you to do, I’m sure.”
Chapter 3
“NEED A WORD with you, Captain,” Nel said.
“Nel,” he looked up from his table. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“Didn’t knock.” The captain’s eyes were clear. There was even a flicker of annoyance filling them at her abrupt entry. He shut the book he’d been making entries in, his own personal ledger.
Good, maybe we’ll be able to get this settled quick then.
“I want Violet put back on my watch,” she said.
“Whose watch is she on now?”
“Quill’s.”
“I see. How did that happen?” the captain asked her.
“You put her there.”
“Ah, then I must have had a good reason for doing so.” Horatio leaned back in his chair, watching Nel.
Nel scowled. “Captain . . .”
“I believe Mister Quill raised some concerns about the girl.”
“And since when has Quill ever cared a damn about Violet?” Nel objected.
“Have a seat, Nel,” Horatio motioned to her. “And you do our good navigator a disservice. But in point of fact, I can give you a very clear point at which Quill decided to give a damn about our beloved cabin girl.”
His eyes were hard and steely as Nel sank down into the chair opposite him. “When he made a promise to a friend in the man’s final moments.”
“Quill and Piper weren’t . . .”
“Nel, please,” Horatio forestalled her. “Quill came to me with his concerns about you. Your conduct has been unbecoming since . . . since . . .”
“Since we got half the crew killed in a job that weren’t nothing to do with us?”
“That,” the captain said, “is quite enough. Violet will stay on Quill’s watch. That is all I have to say on the matter.”
“And the other matter, Captain?” Nel pushed him, feeling her stomach twist at the necessity. “When we get to Vice, are we flying in wide-eyed stupid again? Getting caught up in things that aren’t ours to get caught up in?”
The captain’s fingers drummed irritably on the leather-bound cover of his journal. “Seems we should speak plainly, Nel. Out with it, what do you really wish to accuse me of?”
Fine, you want it plain, Captain, I’ll speak plain.
“Sharpe, whoever he was, knew we were originally bound for Vice. So did damn near everybody else, from Stoker to that damned rock fiend we floated into the black. So tell me true, is any of that mess waiting for us when we make port?”
“No, Chanel,” Horatio said calmly. “As far as I know we are clear of that, as clear as we will be staying of the High Lanes, in fact.”
“It’ll come back to us,” Nel warned him. “One day.”
“All good deeds do, my dear.”
“And have you thought anymore about what you’re going to say to Sand when we’re standing in front of her?” Nel asked pointedly, changing the subject before he could.
“No,” the captain winced, successfully distracted. “But I imagine it will be profuse. Genuine, even. And there will be concessions on our part.”
“Can’t afford to slide any further into debt, Captain.” Nel knew she was being unfair but didn’t care too much at this point. “Woman’s going to want her cargo, cargo we left sitting on Cauldron that has since gone walking.”
“Can’t be helped.”
“You didn’t mention it before.”
“Quill knows,” the captain said. “We’ve discussed it.”
“Seems you and he have been discussing all sorts lately.”
“Yes. We have.”
“You think Sand will still be holding that run for us, Captain? Hand on your heart, you think we still have work waiting for us at Vice?”
“The fact of it is, Nel, I have no choice but to believe so. The alternatives are . . .” He shrugged.
Unpleasant alternatives. Unthinkable. How very typical.
Nel glared at her captain. “Fine,” she said. “One less thing for me to worry about then. I’ll just focus on finding us our next job.”
She rose to her feet, angrily shoving her chair back.
“One more thing, Nel,” the captain said to her.
Minutes later Nel emerged onto the deck. The crew, those who were present, were unusually committed to their tasks. A deliberate focus to the apparent exclusion of anything else that might be occurring within earshot. Not one of them looked her way.
“Cretins,” Nel muttered.
There was one constant, though. A one-sided argument emanating from the bridge. Maybe it wasn’t her the crew were avoiding eye contact with, though she wouldn’t put coin on the matter. She followed the clamour, taking the steps to the raised quarterdeck.
Give me an excuse, Kelpie, that’s all I want from you right now.
Quill and Mantid, poised on opposite sides of the collapsible chart table. Several charts lay scattered on the table; a handful were clutched protectively to Quill’s chest. And his fist was repeatedly pounding the table, making the flimsy structure shake. Their new navigator fretted opposite him, spiky arms raised and all twitchy.
New navigator, now there’s the problem. Never seen Quill get so careless around his precious maps. Must be proper riled.
“The hells are you two doing?” Nel barked. Mantid jumped, actually lifted an inch or two off the ground on all four legs, then his head twisted all the way about to face . . . her. Nel almost did some flinching on her own. Unnatural it was and made her own neck hurt just to witness. Quill took the opportunity to scoop up the rest of his maps. By the time Mantid’s head rotated back to him, Quill was pushing them into their tube-shaped container.
“This . . . thing . . . is going to damage my charts. I will not allow it.” Quill crossed his arms in defiance.
“He’s our new navigator, Quill,” Nel reminded him. “He needs to see them. Let him be.”
“No!” Mantid tried to edge around the table. Quill darted to keep it between them, pushing the shoulder-mounted map case protectively behind him. “Those hands, he will rip them.”
Mantid turned his head towards Nel, tilted at an uncomfortable angle. A shrug, maybe?
“Godsdamnit, Quill,” Nel sighed. “I’ve no patience for this.”
“Nor have I.”
“Quill, put the damned maps on the table.”
“I refuse. This thing is unqualified. I will not have it.”
“You don’t got a say.”
“They are my maps.”
“They’re the ship’s maps.”
“Not all of them.”
“Even if that were true, which it ain’t and you know it, Mantid needs them to do what I hired his prickly self for. And besides that, he’s probably got maps of his own you ain’t ever seen before.”
Quill hesitated.
Oh, got your attention did that, Loveland? Didn’t think this tantrum all the way through now, did you? Wait until someone drops that this lot has been to the Fata Morgana. All the way through the Dark Flow in corridors I know you haven’t sailed.
She could see Quill’s inner turmoil, his arms wrapped protectively around the map case, weighing up the contents of a potential treasure trove of unfamiliar lanes and worlds. The paranoia that twisted the Kelpie’s face at the gamble he might be taking. Maps? What maps? What if he had already seen them?
“To hells with the both of you,” Nel turned her back on them. “Figure it out amongst yourselves.”
Halfway down the stairs before the panicked Kelpie called out to her. “Where are you going? You cannot leave me here with this! What are you doing?”
“Figure it out!” she yelled back.
“But where are you going?” Nel heard Quill try to follow her, then cursing. She imagined Mantid confronting him at the top of the stairs and grinned at the image that came to mind.
“To find a bar. With beer, lots of beer. And I’m signing every tar-fingered navigator I can find, black help me, Loveland.”
The cursing that followed her off the ship; that she didn’t have to imagine.
IN HER DEFENCE, they had left her alone. And now she was at the bitter end. The bitter end being the very end of the very last rope she’d been able to find. The others had all been . . . incorporated.
It had occurred to Violet that a Mantid was rather like a spider, because spiders were insects, or close enough, and Mantid were essentially very large insects. Therefore it followed that if a cocoon-like hammock wouldn’t serve then perhaps more of a webbed design would.
And somehow that web had grown to involve a dozen ropes of varying sizes, all knotted together and hung from five separate posts’ hooks. She’d dismantled two other hammocks, scavenging the ropes and discarding the spreader bars. Her construct had taken on a life of its own and she’d had to take down several other slings just to make room. That wouldn’t do as the other sailors needed to sleep and most were particular about where they hung. There was a seniority involved and they wouldn’t be tolerant of her moving things about. But she needed them out of the way so she could see how things looked when hung and raised.
Terrible.
Bandit at least found it amusing, walking the ropes on all fours, cautiously moving his weight from one strand to another. To him it was a new obstacle course to explore and play, no different than the rigging. But she didn’t need anyone to tell her it would never do. Even if this was the right approach, the economy of size was all wrong. Her creation covered more space than the captain’s cabin.
She sighed and pulled on a knot, loosening one of the major strands. It fell slack, the tension gone, and half the web collapsed. Bandit squawked at her in protest. He managed to cling on, barely suspending himself above the deck in a most undignified manner. Another vote of disapproval.
She’d need another notion. Of those at least she had plenty.
Violet’s head was packed in such a way she imagined stray thoughts might be coming out her ears. Full of tattoos and twisted nights and a touch of dread at future watches she might have to stand with Quill. She’d stood watches with both the skipper and Piper—not many and hardly full watches. Everyone was always finding jobs for her to do and errands that needed running. And always with the lessons. Lines and knots and signalling and other stuff that jostled for space in her crowded skull. And now she had to figure a hammock for a sailor she’d only glimpsed once.
Gabbi’s shrill fishwife calls were still able to drown them out. Violet followed the noise to the open-cut galley. Inside, Gabbi was rifling through the nooks and crannies. Jack stood behind the bench, ducking and occasionally grabbing a pot lid as it whizzed around the room. Gabbi was being indiscriminate in her search, floating utensils out of the way and seemingly forgetting about them just as well. A sack of potatoes threatened to spill its contents. Violet grabbed it by the neck, hauling it down and pushing it into a corner before what had happened to Quill repeated itself on a larger scale.
“Where did all our stocks go, Jack?” Gabbi called from behind the range.
“Got ate,” Jack grunted back.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gabbi’s head came up in annoyance.
“We got money?”
“No.”
“That’s why.”
“Crew’s gotta eat, Jack.”
“Crew would rather drink. Should let them fend for their food.”
“Ha!” Gabbi’s laugh was caustic. “Crew can’t fend off what needs fending. Fend for themselves—we must got grog left if you’re talking such.”
“Captain’s always got some,” Jack admitted.
“And you know where it is, right Jack?” Violet spoke up.
Jack gave her a knowing wink.
“You two are funny today,” Gabbi observed.
“Need some advice.” Violet hopped up onto a shelf she’d perched on countless times. It creaked at her. Either she was getting big, which didn’t seem likely from the empty cupboards, or the ship was getting old.
“What do you need, lass?” Gabbi asked. She held up a wooden box, shaking it. “Is this all the salt we got left?”
“Must be,” Jack said.
“How do I hang a hammock for a Mantid, Gabbi?” Violet asked.
“We need more. Town has whole warehouses of it, why don’t we have more?” Gabbi frowned at Violet. “You want to what now, lass?”
“Skipper gave me a job. Got to figure out how the bug sleeps and make him something cosy.”
“Don’t call him a bug,” Gabbi disapproved. “Sounds hateful.”
“Sorry.” Violet ducked her head. “Still need help.”
“Asked the bug?” Jack grunted.
“No, ain’t had the time yet.”
“Find time.”
“Gotta find him first, Jack!” Violet said. “Gabbi’s here and the bug ain’t─”
“Violet!” Gabbi snapped.
“Sorry,” Violet said.
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“Well . . . maybe I ain’t. Don’t mean it to be hateful.”
“Don’t mean it isn’t.”
Jack laughed.
“And you ain’t no better, Jack,” Gabbi admonished him. “And since you’re both so eager, you can go round up my list.”
“But . . .”
“Don’t want to hear it, lass.”
“Don’t wanna go,” Jack complained.
“Then don’t run your mouth.”
“Was being helpful.”
“Mouth’s still going, Jack, wrong kind of running.”
“Where’s the list?” Violet asked, recognising a lost cause.
“By the door,” Gabbi said.
“You order all ready?”
“Aye, but just a barrow’s worth. Won’t go far, and won’t go down well. And I need you to find salt, too.”
“How much?”
Gabbi pursed her lips. “Much as you can get for what we got, got lots of cabbage and beans that need curing.”
Jack made a disapproving sound.
“Don’t be giving me none of that, Jack,” Gabbi said. “You’ll eat what I give you. Violet, don’t let him do the ordering, just what’s on the list. Now get going.”
Chapter 4
RAIN HAD TURNED Port Border’s streets into a river of not so swiftly flowing mud, something not lost on Nel as she discovered the woeful state her boots had fallen to. Feeling the viscous liquid between her toes did nothing for her mood, neither did the droplets running down her back that her hood failed to keep out. In stubborn defiance, she pulled the hood down further over her face.
The Pavili
on waterhole was more crowded than usual, locals and Laners both seeking shelter from the weather and a different kind of way to drown. Most were deep in their cups but Nel still managed to shoulder her way to the bar, the other patrons too far gone to notice any bruises she left in her wake.
She grabbed a pint from a server’s tray at first chance, flicking a coin in payment, and settled in to scan the crowd. The Tantamount’s roster was mostly full now, though they were lacking in experience. The captain choosing to fill the position of mate left vacant by Piper came with its own headaches. Nel liked what she’d seen of Hounds, despite a still-throbbing face. But it was not the best course, as the woman came with her own crew, and making her an officer could create factions aboard the ship, not something desirable. Still, if her search came up dry, it might be for the best.
Either that or put Violet forward. Bit early but she might take to it. Could be worth it just for the apoplexy it would give Quill.
She and the captain had been putting more responsibility on the girl, giving her more rope, so to speak, and so far the girl had avoided hanging herself. There hadn’t been much choice with their roster as thin as their purses of late.
“Hey, Vaughn.”
Nel looked up from her musings. One of the servers. She’d been spending too much time here if they knew her by name.
“What?”
The server inclined his head towards a corner, back of the room where the bar met the wall. “Had a fellow in here earlier asking after you, by name and by ship.”
“Aye, thanks, appreciated,” she muttered, dropping another coin on the man’s tray. The coin vanished just as quickly. She remembered now—she’d asked the servers at some of the bars to point her towards people looking for ships to crew out on.
Except, she mused, she hadn’t advertised her ship’s name. Learnt more than once to keep names out of it where she could.
So who’s been asking about us? Too many damned sailors looking for a berth off this crass piece of rock. Doesn’t have to be on my ship though.
Nel stretched out her legs, making no effort to draw attention to herself, keeping an eye on the door where the server had pointed, studying from under the brim of her hood. There was a lot of foot traffic coming and going from the bar, foul weather, sailors at the end of their runs with coin in their pocket. Or sailors without work drinking to forget, the result was the same. Nobody she recognised and nobody who looked like they were looking.
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