“Vaughn,” Hounds said before she could go. Quietlike.
“What?” Nel hesitated.
“Like a word with the captain, after. If you could pass that on.”
Nel frowned. “Be sure to.”
“Nel, look, look what I found,” the captain beamed at her, holding out a bowl. It was full of candied treats, the sort that would rot your teeth and send children into maddening high-pitched fits.
“Don’t be sharing that with Violet,” Nel said. She immediately regretted the words as the captain’s eyes gleamed at the idea. She sighed.
Really must learn to keep my mouth shut.
“A word before you drown us in squealing, at least, Captain.” Nel steered the captain towards the bridge. She could see Quill there. It wasn’t his watch but then where else would he be?
Quill watched them approach. In fact he was watching everyone, cold lizard eyes scanning back and forth from his vantage.
“You have been keeping busy, the two of you,” he commented. He eyed the captain’s latest find with distaste, as different as could be found from his own palate. The captain for his part didn’t seem to notice, lost in his own world again.
Nel looked around. They were alone and no one else was in earshot. Nobody in the galley either—she knew Gabbi and Jack were doing a stocktake below, a laborious process given that the non-perishable supplies were stashed all over the ship wherever nooks and crannies could be found. There was a sea breeze, wind rushing off the cooling land out towards the curtain falls of the edge of the world. Sheer miles away, but every time Nel looked that direction, she imagined she could hear the crash of falling water. It was as private a conversation as they were likely to find on the Tantamount.
“We have a problem,” she said.
“No, it’s a pastry,” the captain said proudly.
“Captain, please,” Nel said through gritted teeth. Quill glared at her, as though she were responsible.
“No, you’re right, Nel.” Horatio raised the cheesecloth covering, peeking under. “It’s a fruit. Perhaps tart would be the better word, but still a treat of the most succulent order.”
“I know who’s been following us,” Nel said, speaking more to Quill now. If the captain wasn’t right then she needed the navigator to be aware. “And I know how they’ve been doing it.”
“How is not the question,” Quill said. “How has never been the question, we are all aware of how. Tell us who.”
Nel took a breath. She didn’t want to say it, the name. Once the words passed her lips it would be real.
“They call her the Gunner’s Daughter.”
Quill stared. Cold, unblinking reptile eyes.
“Who?”
“Godsdamnit, Quill.”
“I have never heard of this daughter,” Quill told her. “Is it even a person? What a ridiculous name. Did they choose it themselves or was it forced upon them?”
“The Gunner’s Daughter, Quill! The woman’s a hells-damned fleet nightmare. Bosuns used to scare new hands with talk about her . . .”
But Quill would not stop. “I am not and never have been part of your absurd fleet. Are they another pink and squidgy human such as yourself? Or a foul-smelling Korrigan perhaps?”
“No, they’re . . . it doesn’t matter, Quill. The point is . . .”
“Who is it, Nel?” the captain asked. Nel and Quill both stopped to find the captain facing them, looking tired and weary. He’d set aside his bowl of baked goods and had drawn his tattered old coat close around his shoulders. “Who do you think the spy is?
“Don’t give me that look, either of you.” Horatio sounded tired when nobody answered him.
“Hounds,” Nel said. “It’s Hounds, Captain.”
Horatio sighed. “You are sure? What is it that makes you suspect her?”
“Not just her,” Quill put in. “We must consider all those who came aboard with her.”
“Perhaps, Mister Quill,” Horatio held up a hand in appeal, “but I would still hear the evidence first.”
“Shellbacks,” Nel said.
“Sea turtles,” Quill repeated.
“Yes.”
“Your cipher to unlocking the conspiracy surrounding us is a sea turtle,” Quill’s enthusiasm was dropping with every word. “That is . . . unsettling.”
“Hounds has a shellback tattoo,” Nel said. “A very unusual design.”
“Not that unusual,” Horatio said. “Anyone who’s been to the Edge has one.”
“How many sailors travel to the Edge, Captain?” Nel asked.
“I did, once,” Horatio said.
Even Quill started at that.
“I was younger,” their captain said. “Much younger. It doesn’t seem so very grand now but then . . . well, it was a feat to be admired, told in taverns. I even had the tattoo, the shellback. Small though, didn’t care for pain.”
“I’ve never seen it,” Nel said.
“Nor are you likely to.” Horatio’s smile was bittersweet. “It was covered over, you know what by, both of you. The pain was a welcome distraction at the time, I found.”
Awkward silence. Quill even coughed.
Nel still had more to say. “Hounds’ shellback, I saw a marine with the same when Quill and I were inspecting the Draugr. The exact same.”
“Yes,” Horatio said. “And I presume there is more for you to be so certain. This woman you mentioned, this . . . gunner . . .”
“Gunner’s Daughter,” Nel said. “On account of . . . a reputation of discipline. The design is hers, from her . . . her own younger days, Captain. The ship we kept glimpsing. And it wasn’t just here at Vice.”
She hesitated. “I saw someone at Port Border, just before Violet brought us this run.”
“Ah,” Horatio nodded. “This person, someone you knew, we may presume? A person from your past?”
“Yes.”
“Inconceivable,” Quill muttered.
“Enough, Mister Quill,” the captain warned him sharply. “Quite enough. Nel, if I may presume, would this person be a known associate of this woman? That is the connection?”
“Yes.”
“And you are certain?”
“We’re being followed, Captain,” Nel said. “Hunted. Since Port Border, maybe even before. Could be because of Grange and Rim, most likely is, or it could be nothing.”
“It does not matter why,” Quill said.
“No, it don’t,” Nel said. “But Hounds is the key. She’s what links all of that to us. Whether it was chance she came aboard or not, she’s the tie.”
“Perhaps,” the captain said.
“No perhaps about it, Captain.” Nel shook her head. “I wouldn’t be saying if I weren’t certain. I like Hounds, hells, I did like her. But best thing for us is to drop ropes and leave her and hers dockside.”
Quill nodded at this but didn’t say anything. Nel was surprised. Said as much.
“It is the logical course,” he said simply. “We can recriminate over it later.”
Recriminate. Big smart-sounding words.
“Half the crew are ashore,” Horatio told her. “So there is no point in making any rash decisions, or rasher actions. We have some time to dwell. And in any case,” he shrugged, “I am not convinced.”
“Captain,” Nel said quickly, “this isn’t something we can ignore. The Gunner’s Daughter . . .”
“Oh, of them I am quite aware, Nel, I know her reputation. And a filthy one it is.” Horatio’s voice turned a little dark. He was angry, Nel realised. “It is her reason for pursuing us I question. As I said, I am not convinced.”
“Reasons do not matter,” Quill argued.
“But they do. Very much so,” Horatio said simply. “Nor do I believe Hounds is the spy.”
“She was part of the Gunner’s crew.”
“Oh, yes, quite. Told me so herself,” the captain agreed. “We were playing cards one night, a long watch it was. Passed the time. Her and Denzel, both. Not Mantid though, they fell i
n later. Her story did nothing to improve my opinion of the woman. An officer with no regard for the sanctity of her own crew. Despicable. Truly despicable. It is no wonder they never made captain.”
“And you did not mention this?” Quill hissed. He spun away, almost taking the both of them out with his tail. “Unbelievable, the both of you.”
“I do know my own crew.” The captain shrugged. “And until now it was just one of many things that were . . . better off unsaid.”
Nel folded her arms, looking very hard at her captain. He was, and had been this whole time, looking anywhere but at her. And he had been treating this entire revelation oddly. As if he were humouring her, like he might a small child who had some fantastical explanation for the very mundane.
“Captain,” she said yet again, “what else has been left unsaid?”
“Ah, Nel,” the captain sighed, looking every bit the tired old man. “Quill, my dear friends. It isn’t Hounds. I wish it were, in some way, but it never was.” He sat down awkwardly against the railing, his back facing out to sea. Reaching into his coat pocket, he produced his journal. It fell open, revealing the Guild letter. The seal was broken.
“You said you weren’t going to open that,” Nel said unnecessarily.
“I did,” the captain nodded, looking down between the pages of his journal. The ink on the leaves was smudged, creating a faintly smeared mirror on the outside of the letter where it had been wedged in between. It almost resembled the seal, the same jumble of lines. Written in haste, or closed before the ink was dry.
Either that or the captain was trying to copy the seal. Can’t put it back once you break it though.
“We agreed,” Nel said.
“I was hoping for answers,” Horatio sounded resigned. “Yes, perhaps I should have known better. All I found were more questions. Questions about questions, none of it making any sense.”
“You’re not making any sense, Captain.”
“How is the Guild involved in this?” Quill asked.
“They are not,” the captain said. “Well, no more than they already are. Were. The letter . . . the letter holds nothing helpful, my friends. Such a quiet ending, it is merely a courtesy from one Ebon Masaius. Mundane details, no more. Nothing about . . .”
“About what?” Nel asked at the same time Quill demanded to know “Who?”
The captain closed his journal on the Guild letter with a snap, begging the question of why he’d brought it out in the first place.
“Captain,” Nel tried one last time. “What do you know? What aren’t you telling us?”
But he said nothing, only looking down at the journal, a sad smile on his face. Nel spun away from him, biting back an almost-scream of frustration.
“Once the crew are all back aboard,” he finally did say, “we will take our leave of Vice. With or without a job.”
“The crew are scattered to the wind,” Quill told him, matter-of-factly. “Many will not be back for hours, if not days.”
“We can wait,” the captain said.
“Leaving at once would be safer,” Quill said.
“Perhaps it would, but I do not believe the risk an unreasonable one. As yet we have not been . . . threatened.”
“I’m not waiting,” Nel said, talking out towards the edge. “I can’t do it, sit here . . . do nothing.”
“Nel,” the captain said. “I would ask you, no, I would beg you, not to do anything rash.”
She shook her head, shoulders squared, facing away from him. “Don’t like being hunted, Captain,” she said stubbornly. “Marines, Captain. Tough and mean but not too bright. Now that I know who . . . what to look for . . .”
“You are going to do something stupid,” Quill finished for her.
“Only stupid if I die doing it, Loveland.”
“You sound like somebody I used to know,” Horatio sighed.
“I’m going,” Nel pointed ashore. “Keep everyone here until I get back. And Quill . . .”
“Yes?”
“If you have to . . . you go.”
She expected a reaction, from both of them. She didn’t get it.
“We will see you when you return,” was all Quill said.
VIOLET DID NOT go to old Haze like she’d been asked. Nor did she make a particular effort to make herself useful. Truth was there wasn’t much to do other than mend and make ropes until they set sail again. And Haze had that well in hand without Violet being underfoot.
The captain found her, naturally. Or maybe it was Bandit. Seemed he was always bringing folk to her. Couldn’t get a moment to herself, not that anyone could aboard the ship. Except maybe the captain with his cabin, the only one still with a door.
She held the captain’s present, the water globe, between two cupped hands. It was stormy again, the black mist spinning around inside the glass. As the storm rolled the ship, Violet traced a pattern on the outside of the glass with her thumb. Bandit crouched in front of her, teeth bared and growling. Fur standing on end. His growl made her ears ache, something painful about it. The loompa watched the glassed ship intently, little black eyes following every move. Violet put it down on the deck between her feet, letting it roll towards him. The storm calmed with every rotation, stopping completely when Bandit scratched at the globe, unable to get a grip on the smooth glass.
“It was the most remarkable thing,” the captain said, settling down beside her. He carried a wooden bowl covered in cheesecloth, displayed and balanced on the tips of his fingers. “I was coming back to the ship and I passed the most remarkable stall. The smell, Violet, it was like being back in my mother’s kitchen. Or perhaps it was my wife, I often forget, but one of them used to make this dish, this very dish. The other one would try but the result was . . . not so good. But this . . . this I have high hopes for!”
The captain whisked the gauzy cheesecloth covering away with a flourish. “Pear,” he announced gleefully. “Baked pear and candied almonds. Have you ever seen the like? You must try it with me.”
The captain looked at Bandit, standing on his hind legs and sniffing at the plate, somewhere between curious and cautious. “And you too, my dear friend, you as well.”
The captain cut off the end of the treat, offering it to Bandit with grave dignity. Violet had to smile when the loompa returned the courtesy, holding the tidbit in both hands and nibbling delicately.
“And for you, my dear child.” The captain sliced the pear down the middle, spearing half for himself and offering her the plate. “Savour it, chew it slowly—this is an experience, one must not waste it.”
He wasn’t wrong. The taste was exquisite. The fruit was still warm and dissolved in her mouth, the centre hollowed and dusted with cinnamon and sugar, stuffed with fresh roasted nuts. Violet had a moment of guilt at what Gabbi might say. It felt treacherous, but it was a far cry beyond anything that came out of the ship’s galley. The captain’s wink said he was thinking the same.
“What did I tell you, Violet, an experience not to be missed. Nor to be repeated too often, else we both grow fat and our teeth fall out. I have enough left that I should care to hold on to them for as long as I might. One never knows when one might need teeth, yes?”
Bandit gave him a silent look, in between sucking the sugary syrups from his paws.
“I’m having nightmares.”
“Yes,” the captain sighed. “Yes, you are.”
Violet pulled her knees up tight, arms wrapped around. Curled up into a little ball. That would be safe. She wanted to feel safe. “How?”
“Because you sleep, Violet. Badly, perhaps, but you still sleep.”
“Captain?”
“Sometimes I wake up, Violet, and I think I’m in my bed. I remember being in my cabin. But I find myself . . . elsewhere. Wandering the ship. Below the decks, on the bridge. Once I even found myself in the nest at the top of the mast. Did I ever tell you how much heights gall me? Took me an age to work my way down. I believe Piper carried me much of the way that time.”
“I used to get dizzy in the nest,” Violet admitted. “Sick and dizzy, like the world was underwater and I’m swimming with my mouth hung open.”
“Do you still, Violet?”
She shook her head.
“Ah,” the captain sighed. “But now you have nightmares. I see that, see you having them.”
“How?”
He smiled, patting her on the shoulder. “Sometimes my nightly sojourns take me to the lower deck. There is something comforting for the sleepless about seeing that other people can still sleep soundly. But you don’t. I see you twisting in your hammock, Violet. I went to wake you once but . . .”
“But what?”
“But I didn’t. I think it would be bad.”
“I don’t understand.”
The captain smiled, wrapping one thin arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder. It was comfortable, until she became aware of something digging into her leg. That thing she found in the nest.
“I found this,” she said, holding the tinted lens in front of her. “I don’t know what it means.”
The captain reached out and took it from her, but his eyes were focused on her. “Where did you find it, my dear girl?”
“In the nest.”
“Have you shown it to anybody?”
“To Hounds. She said it was junk, didn’t seem to care. Then she took me into town and . . .” Violet’s voice hardened as she spoke, the memory of what had almost happened to Bandit too recent and raw. Words couldn’t explain it properly.
“Yes, I have already had words with Miss Hounds,” the captain’s voice was firm. Unlike hers. Barely a quaver. The way it always was when he talked about crew. He pocketed the lens inside his coat. “But that is another matter. You haven’t shown it to Nel? Or perhaps to Quill or Gabbi?”
“No. No, sir, I haven’t.”
“Please do not.”
“Sir?” Violet nodded her head but couldn’t help from wondering.
“Did you know, Violet,” the captain held up one finger close to his nose, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “that sometimes people, people on this ship, they come and they confess things to me. They pick their moments, mostly, they think I won’t remember. They tell me secrets, their guilty burdens. When they think I won’t remember. Because we all need to tell someone, Violet. It’s secrets that are what kills us. Secrets that gnaw away at us.
Black & Mist Page 24