It was a group very comfortable with each other that settled down to dinner that night at the Captain's table. There were no strangers among us, and I will admit a bit of disappointment - but only the barest hint - at this. Not that I hadn't known for some days that the man who'd kissed me was no longer on board. The Fleet Admiral's orphaned staff had been gathered together once more on one of the pirate prizes the admiral claimed for his own. This happened while I was indisposed in the sickbay. And, frankly, I was a bit too shy and embarrassed by the incident to enquire just who the man was. I drew enough teasing for my lack of romantic interest among the Moonrunner's eligible crew. I'd even heard rumors that I was a devotee of the celibate Gray Moon Goddess sect and was joining a temple of the Gray Women when we reached port. I could only imagine how my mother would howl with laughter, and give me a stern theology lecture just in case, when she heard that one.
We drank excellent wine that night, the bottles captured from the private stock of a pirate captain with very fine taste. The food was - well, it was plentiful and it wasn't poisonous, and I will say no more on the subject.
I was disgustingly nostalgic that evening - I'll blame it on the wine. But it was a bittersweet affair and I was all too aware that this was the last time I'd share this company, in this place, beneath the warm glow of the gold glass moss lanterns that did wonders for obscuring the chips and cracks of the blue and white porcelain dishes and the stains and mends of the tablecloth and napkins. Captains of the Imperial Navy set fine tables, but not without the settings getting plenty of wear and tear. A bit of tarnish to the formal grandeur gave the whole a homey atmosphere in my opinion.
A home I'd soon be leaving. Sigh.
So, if I happened to sneak a few too many sad looks at Captain Copper and Dr. Swan - well, I said I blame it on the wine.
They are a hard pair to choose between, let me be honest about that. My head had been turned one way and then another between the two of them since the day I came onboard. One my teacher and intellectual equal. One my dashing hero. I could only hope that neither of them had ever noticed.
Dane Copper is a big, broad man with so much sheer animal force of will, charm, and self-confidence he fills every little space of anywhere he occupies. And that space includes the hearts and minds of most everyone who comes in contact with him. Samel Swan is about the only person who can fight his way through Copper's charisma when he sees the need. His will is as indomitable as the Captain's. When they clash - well - it isn't pretty.
It can be entertaining as dramatic theater, but also hard on the nerves. The whole crew is very good at pretending deafness at such times. That, and we have a choir that can almost sing loud enough to drown out their racket. Many a psalm and hymn has been raised to the All and the god of the sea in hope of peace flowing down onto the decks of the Moonrunner.
Dr. Swan is a long, lean, ginger-haired, freckled, soft-spoken man. Soft-spoken, that is, unless his voice is raised in the effort to make Copper see sense when Swan thinks the hot-tempered captain in the wrong. It is the ship's doctor's duty to be the voice of caution and reason among the ship's command staff. On board a ship the captain is god, and the doctor is god's conscience.
With Dane Copper that is not a position I would want for the world. I'd be an utter failure trying to be that captain's conscience. If he wanted to fly to the furthest moon of the trio, treacherous Red Glory, I'd follow him without counting the cost. Samel Swan would be more likely to shout and argue him out of such madness even if it took him a month to do it. Things would be thrown, voices and fists would be raised, threats would be made. In the end the two of them would come to an agreement and be perfectly happy in each other's company again. The two of them belong together, and that's the truth of it. Captain Copper had a wife at home, and if Dr. Swan had an outside relationship of any kind he never talked about it. They were not lovers, but on the Moonrunner they were as joined as any pair Blessed by the god of their devotion.
I envied them their closeness.
Enough of that. It was a lovely evening that the ship's officers, midshipmen, and contractors spent together. A night for cherishing in memory.
After all the dishes were cleared away, after a few rounds of song, I thought it was time our host would bid us good night, but instead he gestured to his yeoman. Mr. Clay brought a square gilded wooden box and set it on the table before Captain Copper, just over the most recent wine stain. The captain opened the flat lid of the box and brought out a gold velvet bag that was bulging at the seams. He weighed it in his hand and smiled all around the table.
I assumed the bag contained a quantity of Crown pieces, but I was mistaken. When he tipped over the open top of the bag, color spilled out over the pale linen cloth. Jewels. Wondrous, beautiful, rich and rare as the stars in the night sky. My mouth hung open, I'll admit it, and watered a bit with longing for all that splendor. I didn't even think about how valuable the stones were for a moment. I appreciated the jewels for their beauty rather than their value, and if you knew my fondness for wealth you would find this reaction surprising.
Captain Copper smiled enigmatically as he stirred the jewel pile with a finger. The movement was as seductive as if he'd been slowly caressing some girl's hardened nipple. He touched rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, a huge pearl, moonstones, opals - every jewel you can think of in every shape, size, and shade, some cut, some cabochon, some pretty lumps of color. Dazzling.
"Are they real?" Lt. Eel asked.
"Where'd you get these?" Lt. Breeze asked.
"And why are you looking like the cat that got the cream pot?" Dr. Swan wanted to know.
The captain laughed, and because his laugh was always infectious, we laughed with him. Except Dr. Swan who continued looking at him with steely-eyed curiosity, but he did smile.
"What I have for you," Captain Copper finally said, his gaze raking us all, "is a gift. I wish I could say this generous gift was from myself, but I am as much a beneficiary of our commander's generosity as you are."
"Commander?" Mr. Gate asked.
"Would you mean Lord North?" Swan guessed.
"It would."
The Admiral of the Fleets, Southern and Northern's full name, rank, and title was Lord Adrew Osprey, Lord of the North. Or simply, Lord North. Not that long ago the hereditary title was Prince of the North, but with the ascendency of Ang as the central power within the Empire, the claims and titles of the greatest of the Great Houses had shifted and toned down.
There was a ripple of tension between Copper and Swan. I'm not sure anyone noticed it but me, as everyone's attention was riveted by the treasure set out before us.
"You have accepted this gift from Lord North?"
"I have."
"And intend to distribute it among the officers of the Moonrunner?"
"I do."
Dr. Swan and I exchanged looks. Swan is a member of the third rank of nobility. I am a daughter of the first rank of a gentry family. That makes us fairly close in social position, both high enough in society to be aware of the political maneuverings of our betters. And smart enough to keep our heads down and turned away from the games of courtiers. Somewhere the Dowager Empress was likely vaguely disappointed at the fact that Lord North's flagship had not gone down in the storm and smiling with gritted teeth at the news of his splendid victory over the southern pirates. Lord North was delighted with that victory, and passing out largesse to Fleet captains who had aided him in the task.
No one in this room was going to say that Lord North was offering a bribe for future loyalty, but Dr. Samel Swan was intent on making sure the word was not only not said, but obviously not even thought of by his captain. Let us all be publicly clear about that. As I have pointed out, I think, it is a ship's surgeon's duty to give a higher form of loyalty to his captain than the rest of the crew owed.
"Our Lord Admiral left this gift - booty from the pirate leader's own sea chest - as a token of thanks for the 'Runner's taking the risky role in baiting the
pirates," Captain Copper explained. "He said also that it was in thanks for the hospitality and fun we showed him hosting him aboard our ship during the battle. It would have been rude of me not to accept this gift for all the crew to share - starting with all those here," he added.
There were cheers, applause, and hearty thanks to Lord Admiral North. I joined in, but at the same time I was puzzled. I'd guessed that some of the Fleet Admiral's staff was on our ship, but hadn't realized we'd briefly hosted that illustrious man himself. How foolish of him, I thought. Aboard the Moonrunner was the most dangerous spot to be during that battle. The commander of an entire fleet had no business putting himself in harm's way like that.
Oh, well, some warriors enjoyed the smell of danger too much. It seemed this Lord North was as brave as our own Dane Copper.
Never mind the admiral, a greedy little girl part of my mind was shouting. My attention returned avidly to the jewels. Can I have a pretty one, please? I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, fighting the temptation to snatch the one I already had my heart set on from the pile.
"Gentlemen, ladies," the captain said. "Each of us will pick one, and only one, of these pretty things. The value of whatever is left will be added to the entire crew's prize markers." He looked around at all our avidly watching faces. "Fair?"
"Fair," we all echoed, even the cautious Dr. Swan.
Captain Copper turned his most charming smile on the youngest member of the crew. The boy blushed bright red. "Let us start with Midshipman Pine, shall we?"
Pine took a pale, milky moonstone. I was acquainted with his mother, and thought she would prefer the table-cut emerald, but the choice was the youngster's. And so it went, from youngest to senior officers each choosing a stone while the rest of us waited our turn.
I sat in rising tension and dread, hoping for the jewel I wanted and not knowing whether I would get it. The excitement nearly killed me. Our teasing captain knew and relished that we were all feeling this way. Delightfully wicked man!
I don't remember what everyone chose, but my prize remained on the table as one by one the choosing came toward me. I do recall Dr. Swan taking a star ruby. I was holding my breath eventually. Stars were shooting behind my eyes when I heard, "Dr. Cliff, what will you have?"
My breath came out on a gasp. I deserved the laughter that followed the sound. I laughed as well, but I grabbed the pearl. I held the pear shape of golden white nacre in my cupped palm and touched it delicately with an index finger, totally in awe of the beauty of the thing. Later, I was able to look at the pearl and simply smile with pleasure at its beauty, but at the time I was caught up in the moment and it seemed the most wonderful treasure in the world. And it was mine!
I grasped the pearl in my closed palm and looked around. I managed to say, "Thank you, Captain Copper. And thank Lord North, as well."
That was the last time I was going to be grateful to that man for a long time.
Chapter Three
My service was technically at an end when the Moonrunner docked at Seyemouth, but that didn't mean I wasn't busy though the ship was tied up at the dock. I could not simply walk down the gangplank any time I wished on that last day onboard. I had to finish my packing, first of all. Not of my personal effects, they were already stashed in my sea trunk. I did have to inventory and return every item issued to me by the Imperial Navy to the quartermaster. For example, the knifes, retractors, saws, and so on in my surgical case belonged to me, but the aprons, hair caul, and shoes I wore when I performed surgery belonged to the navy. I put on my one civilian daydress then turned in all the items of my contractor's uniform - sturdy black shoes, very wide-legged trousers, unadorned dark blue knee-length coat, tunic, belt, and vest. The outfit can be stifling in hot weather, nowhere near warm enough on a cold winter ocean. My mother had sent me to sea with a thick blue wool shawl - I'd be taking that lovely square of cloth home with me. Of course at the time she made the gift, I'd been all, "Oh, Mother, the navy will provide," and they had, but mother had proven to know best. The shawl as an extra blanket and a ship's terrier that had adopted me curled on my feet had granted me sleep on many a freezing night, as well as added warmth on long, cold watches.
Star was the ratter's name, small, tenacious, loving. I was already missing her, maybe even more than I was already missing the Moonrunner's crew. I could at least exchange letters in the future with the human friends I was leaving behind. Star trailed me that entire morning, though I had to leave her outside the door when I went into the surgery for my morning duty. I could hear her whining where she waited at the bottom of the stairway for me. Terriers are intelligent dogs. She knew something was going on. Besides, she had me totally wrapped around her pretty fuzzy brown paw, had since the moment she came up to me as a puppy and tugged on my brand new trousers with her sharp little milk teeth.
I tried to put Star out of my mind and concentrated on my work. And quite a lot of work there was. Along with patients still recovering from the battle and the normal cuts, scrapes, and coughs, it seemed every woman on board, though there are only twenty-eight altogether, wanted to see Dr. Cliff in particular. Not hard to guess why, either. Women like women doctors, especially when dealing with such matters as female complaints and birth control. I spent a great deal of time that day replacing vaginal sponges with new, freshly medicated ones. I told everyone that seeing them with their trousers down or skirts up was not how I wanted to remember my friends and fellow crew, and there was much laughter along with my giving the required speech to each one that this method of birth control was no guarantee against the dangers of sexually transmitted diseases.
I'd had quite enough of sex by the time I finally returned to the quarters I'd been sharing with four other women - the 'Runner's three female officers, and the artist Erbesqe Flood, a contractor like myself. She was leaving as well, after spending her time on board drawing beautiful illustrations for a book commissioned by Naval Command. Erbesqe was in our quarters when I came in, accompanied by Star, of course.
The smile the artist turned on me was wistful. We hugged tightly. "I am so going to miss you," I told her.
"Well, we'll both be in and out of Seyemouth for the next few weeks," she reminded me. "The Navy isn't quite done with us yet."
"True," I said.
As I spoke, Second Officer Gate came in, accompanied by a lieutenant and a pair of able seamen I didn't recognize. The newcomer trio's uniforms were clean and fresh and pressed, so they must be from the Seyemouth base.
"This gentleman has come for your logs and papers, ladies," Mr. Gate announced.
Of course. I already had a pair of thick leather-bound journals waiting on top of my chest. I noticed that Erbesqe's journal and portfolio were on her chest as well. She and I exchanged a resigned look. We'd discussed how neither of us liked handing these treasures over to the Navy even for a little while, but this was part of our terms of service.
In my case the books contained the personal log every officer, petty officer, and contractor is required to keep of the voyage. They would be read, copied, and compared, and eventually returned - though I'd been told by experienced sailors that this promised return could sometimes be marked in years rather than the weeks that was stated in the regulations. I would not miss the journal if I never saw it again. I had been as careful as I could not to make any personal remarks about people and events. I had assiduously noted what had happened on each day and nothing more. The second journal, however, I very much wanted returned. This was my medical log, full to the edge of every page with details of the cases I had dealt with over the last two years. Everything I had learned was in that book and so many of those lessons had been very hard ones - all my successes and mistakes were noted. There were speculations and false hopes, trials and errors and tragedies and triumphs. This journal was important to me. But it was also important to the Navy. It was vastly important to whether or not I received my surgeon's certificate. Dr. Swan had signed the last page yesterday, proof that it was an authe
ntic document. My teeth were gritted when I handed it over to the sailor that stepped forward to take it.
"Take care with it," I murmured.
"We certainly shall," the officer said. He looked at me gravely - suspiciously? "And these are all your writings, Dr. Cliff?"
"They are," I answered quickly, firmly. Then I remembered, and gave a light laugh.
His brows, heavy enough to almost be a single brow, lowered. "There is more?"
I shook my head. "Nothing of any interest to the Navy."
"Interest is for the Navy to decide." When I didn't see fit to reply, he told the sailors, "Search Dr. Cliff's trunk."
I took an angry step toward my property, but managed to stop myself before I did anything rash. Civilian or not, I was well aware that it was not wise to argue with an Imperial officer. So, I bit my lower lip, crossed my arms, and put up with it. They came across my novel soon enough, written in tiny handwriting in a stamped red leather notebook my father had given me as a going away present. I called the story Darnin Clover and knew it to be an exercise in utter nonsense.
The officer thumbed through the closely written pages before giving me a puzzled look. "Is this a seaman's log?"
"Not at all," I replied carefully. "Have you heard of the concept of fiction? Of made-up tales that have no purpose but to entertain?"
Memory of Morning Page 2