Cursed: Legend of the Grimoire, Book One

by Leah Ross

“If ye came in to disparage me cooking, then ye’d best leave now,” Nigel Ramian’s voice boomed from the kitchen.

  “No offense, Nigel. I jus’ wanted to offer the services o’ our new cabin boy.”

  Ramian limped around from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well, now. I could use some help. Can ye cook, boy?”

  “Can’t say as I’ve ever had the opportunity to try, sir,” Morgan answered, his eyes riveted on Ramian’s oddly twisted leg.

  Ramian rolled his eyes. “May as well get it over with… I used to be a gunner, lad. A cannon broke loose while I was trying to lash it down during a storm. Pinned me against the hull and crushed me leg. No hope of it ever healing properly. It’s a miracle I didn’t lose it altogether.”

  Morgan’s eyes were wide with awe. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “No matter,” Ramian said with a wave of his hand. “As ye can see my difficulty in getting around, ye can start with cleaning the floor and tables for dinner.”

  “Aye, sir!” Morgan scurried for the cleaning supplies.

  “Nigel, the doctor did instruct the lad to take care wi’ his injured hands today—”

  “Then ye shouldn’t have brought him to me, Declan. He’s here to work, he’ll work!”

  “I’ll be fine, sir!” Morgan called to Declan.

  “As ye wish, lad. See ye at dinner, then.”

  Morgan pulled on an oversized pair of gloves to protect his hands from the harsh soap and got to scrubbing. Everything was clean shortly before it was time to serve dinner. As Ramian hobbled to the beverage locker, despite Morgan’s offer to go instead, the boy investigated the dishes on that night’s menu. It was all standard fare, bland and unimaginative. He lifted the heavy lid of the gigantic stock pot and sniffed at the potato chowder. It wasn’t offensive, but it didn’t smell particularly appetizing either. Thinking quickly, he grabbed several items and added them in, tasting as he went, until his palate was pleased. He turned to leave the kitchen and ran into Ramian.

  The cook glowered at him. “Gutsy, boy, messing with the cook’s food, especially on yer first day.”

  “I-I apologize, sir. I was just trying to make it… better.”

  “I should toss it overboard, out of principle alone, but me curiosity is piqued. Hand me a spoon.” Tasting the chowder, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He dipped the spoon back in for another bite. “That’s surprisingly good, lad. Ye may have some talent after all.”

  Morgan smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  “The men will be the true judges, though. They won’t hold anything back. Let’s get this slop served, then.”

  The crew filed in and filled the room with laughter and loud conversation. Morgan hung back at the wall, making sure everyone had what they needed. He paid special attention to the officers. Watching Declan take a bite of the chowder, Morgan smiled and lowered his eyes when the quartermaster looked genuinely impressed and shot the boy a look.

  Guinn wasn’t quite so subtle. “Ahoy, Mr. Ramian! Where’d you conjure up this stew? It’s too delicious for you to have made it!” Nods and murmurs of agreement accompanied the laughter.

  Ramian looked at Morgan with a smile, as the boy tried to hide his pride. Laria, who sat next to her husband, caught the exchange and leaned to whisper in Guinn’s ear. “I believe we have Jonathan to thank.”

  Before Guinn could comment, a group of older boys burst into rowdy laughter as they pointed at Morgan. Morgan’s face fell, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment as the group’s comments carried to the rest of the room.

  “Can I take my plate out to the deck? I’m afraid the jinx here might poison my food!”

  “He’ll be inflicted upon us next, I’ll bet!”

  “Can he do anything right?”

  “We can always use more powder monkeys! No skill required there!”

  They all laughed.

  Declan scowled and turned to reprimand the group, but saw Morgan flee the room and followed him instead. Guinn cleared his throat loudly, leveling a furious glare at the boys, and the teasing ceased.

  Finding Morgan up on the weather deck, Declan joined him at the starboard rail. “Dinna let them get to ye, lad. They were all once in the same place. Some o’ their mishaps were far worse than yers.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Thank ye, lad, for the first truly edible thing I’ve had ‘board this ship.”

  Morgan smiled and looked up at the stars. Declan followed his gaze. “Beautiful, are they no’?”

  The lad nodded. “It looks like we’re heading northwest.”

  Declan considered Morgan with renewed surprise. “Aye, lad, we are. How did ye ken that?”

  “The constellations, sir.” He pointed up to a cluster of stars just off the starboard bow. “That’s Rho Ultori. At this time of the night, it points to the northwest. We’ve got a direct bearing on it.”

  Declan nodded, then turned and pointed at another constellation. “An’ that one?”

  “Thessor Majoris. It’s most significant during kierdai, when it tracks over the northwestern horizon.”

  “An’ those three bright stars? Why are they important?” Declan pointed overhead and slightly astern.

  “Omicron Caerulus, Scorpes Zeta, and Tabernorum Prime. They’re important because they form a line that lies almost exactly on the celestial equator. They’re visible from anywhere in the world, year-round, and they point just a fraction of a degree off due east-west. Because they’re so close to the celestial equator, they are visible in the sky for a full thirteen hours, given clear view of the horizon.”

  “Bloody hell, lad. Ye have an impressive amount o’ knowledge for yer age, especially on such a complex subject. Where did ye e’er learn it all?”

  Morgan leaned his arms on the rail and rested his chin atop them. “My… father is a sailor. He went to sea when I was little more than a toddler. Once I was able, I read his sailing books over and over, trying to understand the fascination. The more I read, the more my own fascination grew.”

  There was a wealth of information in the boy’s unsaid words, and Declan began to understand his motivations. “I dinna ken what impresses me more, Jonathan, the fact that ye learned so much jus’ from readin’ or that ye set out on yer own at such a young age to follow yer father.”

  Morgan’s small nose wrinkled slightly and he frowned. “Thank you, sir, but you’re quite mistaken about my relationship with my father. I would be very happy to never see the man again, and the main reason I wanted to become a sailor, besides escaping the dead-end hell of my nowhere former life, was to prove to the world that I’m nothing like him.”

  Declan nodded. “Come wi’ me a moment.” Leading Morgan to the bridge, he left the lad briefly to grab something from the chart room. “Have ye e’er used a sextant, lad?”

  Morgan shook his head. “No, but I’ve studied the technique.”

  “Excellent,” Declan said, handing the instrument to the boy. “Go on an’ take a sight.”

  Morgan took the sextant and looked from it to Declan with apprehension. “But sir, I’ve never even held one before.”

  Declan gestured to the instrument in Morgan’s hand. “Now ye have. Impress me, son.”

  Taking a deep breath, Morgan first checked the sextant to make sure everything was attached and calibrated for a new reading. Then he turned to Declan. “Sir, may I please borrow your chronometer? I’ll also need someplace to record my readings.”

  “O’ course.” Declan pulled a beautiful pocket chronometer from his waistcoat, and then slipped a little leather-bound book and pencil from an inside breast pocket. He handed them to Morgan.

  Morgan arranged everything within reach and took another deep breath to steady his nerves. Gazing out over the water, he was grateful that the moon was full that night. Even though it was well past dusk, the moonlight allowed him to see the horizon clearly. Sighting it through the scope, he chose one of the three stars they’d mentioned earlier and measured its altitude. He took a
few more measurements, recording the exact time of each. Then he looked up at the quartermaster.

  “Good. Now, I want to ken our latitude, please.”

  Morgan bit his lip as he made a few quick calculations, finally writing down his answer.

  “An’ longitude?”

  A flash of terror shone in the boy’s eyes. Longitude was the most difficult calculation to determine. After a couple more sights with the sextant and some more calculations, he wrote down another number. Wincing with uncertainty, he handed the notebook to Declan.

  The quartermaster took the data into the chart room to compare with his charts. ‘Tis no’ possible! Declan took the chart and his notebook back out with him. Pocketing his chronometer again, he returned the sextant to its box. All the while, Morgan watched him with anxiety in his eyes.

  Declan ruffled the lad’s hair. “Ye did well. We may have found yer niche. I have to meet wi’ the captain, so ye best get some sleep.”

  Morgan smiled. “Aye, sir!”

  Declan watched the boy descend through the companionway hatch, and turned abruptly for the captain’s quarters. Breathing a sigh of relief as he saw the light through the window indicating it was safe to call on the captain, he knocked on the door. Laria opened it a few seconds later. The tiny drop of pure joy that she reserved just for him flickered across her face and lit her deep blue eyes.

  He smiled at her. “I need to speak wi’ Guinn, lass.”

  “Of course.” She held the door open for him.

  The captain was immersed in research, books arranged haphazardly around his table. When he noticed Declan, he rubbed his eyes and sat back, glad for the break. He motioned to a chair. Declan sat, resting his chart atop the nearest book.

  “How’s our new recruit getting on?” Guinn asked.

  “That’s why I’m here, Captain.”

  Guinn raised a brow. “Not working out?”

  Declan shook his head. “On the contrary, sir. Jus’ took a bit to discover his talent.”

  “And?”

  “Navigation, sir.”

  Guinn blinked in surprise. “You’re certain?”

  “Aye. No’ only does the lad have an aptitude for it, I would even venture to call him a prodigy. The lad possesses instincts an’ innate conceptual comfort that I didna get until my second year at the academy.”

  “Declan, he’s seven years old.”

  “Aye, that he is.”

  “How could a seven-year-old learn and comprehend navigational skills that are advanced even for a student nearly three times his age?”

  “I dinna ken, sir, but I watched him do it. He says he learned by readin’ his father’s books. He’d ne’er even held a sextant before I put it in his hands, yet he used it properly. I even tried to trip him up by givin’ it to him set at my last measurement. He reset it and knew exactly what to do.”

  “Incredible,” said Guinn, astonished. “And how is his accuracy?”

  “That’s what I canna believe,” Declan replied, unrolling his chart. He pointed at it. “Here is our current location, by my calculations an’ measurements. Wi’out even kennin’ aught but our current direction—which he reckoned by observin’ the constellations—here are his calculations.” He laid his notebook in front of Guinn.

  Guinn looked from the boy’s notes to the chart, his eyes wide with shock. “That’s not possible!”

  “‘Tis exactly what I said.”

  “I’ve never seen that kind of accuracy—forgive me, mate—but not even from you.” The captain crossed his arms over his chest and stroked his chin in thought. “What do you suggest?”

  “The lad needs trainin’, sir, to develop an’ build confidence in his skills.”

  “Will you apprentice him?”

  “Ye sure ye have that the right way ‘round, Captain?” Declan grinned. “Young Morgan could teach me a few things!”

  Guinn smiled. “In navigation, perhaps, but he can’t be a pirate aboard the Aeon Grimoire without at least functional knowledge in the critical disciplines.”

  “Aye, sir. I agree on that. But I dinna ken how much time I have to spend on mentorin’ him.”

  “I’ll shift some of your less critical responsibilities around.”

  “Thank ye, sir. Are ye sure?”

  “It seems he’s meant to apprentice with you, Declan, so I’ll accommodate it as much as I can. Though, I would like him to also continue to spend a little time with Nigel in the galley. It was such a pleasant surprise to eat something delicious for once aboard my own ship.”

  Declan laughed. “Seems the lad is full o’ surprises.”

  “Besides,” Guinn added, “with his apparent navigational skills, once Morgan is licensed, I can commission him as sailing master, and we can free up even more of your time.”

  “Ach, I’m no’ sure I like the idea o’ the lad puttin’ me out o’ a job,” Declan said with a grin.

  Guinn slapped Declan on the shoulder. “Then don’t train him that well, yeah?” They laughed. “Seriously, though,” Guinn said, “thanks, Declan, for not giving up on the kid.”

  Declan nodded. “My pleasure, sir.” He stood and gathered his things. “I’ll leave ye alone, then. Good night, Captain.” He bowed his head at Laria. “Ma’am.”

  After Declan left, Laria kissed Guinn, turned out the cabin light, and went to bed. Turning down his small task light so he didn’t disturb her, he returned to his research with renewed enthusiasm. Before Declan’s report on Morgan’s exceptional navigational skills, Guinn was beginning to think his quest hopeless. But now…

  Declan will make sure the lad is trained properly. If he can hone those skills, his remarkable accuracy is exactly what I need to get this started. Now, to pin down the location…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Laria groaned at the glaring sunlight streaming through the windows. Guinn had risen before dawn, as he always did, giving her a kiss and rushing off to whatever was most important. She just couldn’t gather enough energy to drag herself out of bed; she felt miserable. Knowing that at least she needed to go see Dr. Baskin so he could give her something to fight off her illness, she finally rolled to her feet and managed to dress herself. Stumbling with the movement of the ship for the first time since she’d boarded, she crept toward the door.

  Her stomach churned uncomfortably. Perhaps something small will help settle it, she thought, and headed for the galley. Breakfast was nearly through, and very few men were still eating when she walked in and sat heavily on the nearest bench. Good. Fewer witnesses to see the contents of my stomach end up on the floor. She rested her forehead on the cool wood of the table and took slow, measured breaths.

  “Miss Laria?” Morgan’s small hand gently touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  She groaned. “I thought… maybe something… Oh, my stomach…”

  “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” Morgan dashed back into the kitchen and rummaged around.

  “What are ye doing, boy?” Nigel snapped. “I told ye to start cleaning up!”

  “I’m looking for… aha!” Morgan grabbed a slice of plain, fresh bread. Then he chopped a hunk off a ginger root, peeled and sliced it, and dropped it into a glass. Adding a pinch of salt and a spoonful of sugar, he poured tonic water over and stirred it up.

  “What the devil?” Nigel said as the boy dashed off again.

  Morgan sat down next to Laria and patted her arm. “Miss Laria, drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  She looked up at the glass warily. “What is it?”

  “Ginger tonic, miss. It should help settle your stomach.”

  She sniffed it, took a tentative sip, and then began to gulp it down.

  Morgan pulled her arm back. “Slowly, miss. Here.” He placed the bread in front of her. “Small bites.”

  Tearing small pieces, she chewed slowly. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

  “Are you feeling better?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you like me to make you some
more?”

  “No, thank you. I need to go see the doctor.” She gave him a hug. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “I’m happy to make you more anytime you need it.”

  Standing, she ruffled his hair and smiled. “Thank you.” She slowly made her way down to the infirmary.

  Baskin looked up from his notebook as she came in. “Miss Laria? What’s wrong?”

  She sat on the examination table. “I feel terrible, Doctor.”

  He came over to her, checking her forehead, pulse, and breathing. “What are your symptoms?”

  “I’m achy, warm, exhausted, and even the thought of food makes me queasy.”

  “Hmm… No one else has come to me complaining of those things. Let me do a deeper examination. Lie back, please.” Laria stretched out on the table, and Baskin held his hands out over her body. “Avdaln.” A faint green aura spread from his hands to envelop her, and he moved methodically, waiting for the magic to reveal the source of her discomfort. When his palms reached the spot directly over her lower abdomen, the aura pulsed red. Baskin softly uttered the spell again, and an orb rose in front of him, displaying a series of images that Laria didn’t understand. Baskin dispelled the magic and smiled. “Congratulations, Miss Laria. You’re pregnant.”

  She squeaked as her breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded. When she began feeling light-headed, she forced herself to breathe. “A baby?”

  “Aye, miss.” Baskin laughed. “It tends to happen with married couples.” He turned to his storage cabinet and pulled out a few bottles. “Make sure you take one of each of these once a day. I need you to maintain a healthy diet, drink lots of water, and meet with me regularly.”

  She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Have you delivered a baby before?”

  He laughed and patted her hand reassuringly. “Many, dear. Though I admit this will be my first delivery aboard a pirate ship, my career was well established long before I took this position. Would you like me to tell Guinn?”

  She shook her head firmly. “No, thank you. I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll be fine. Go get some rest; the first trimester can be quite miserable.” He helped her down from the table.