CHAPTER THIRTEEN: BUMP IN THE NIGHT

The dawn light came streaming through the slightly dingy porthole, and struck the ground in a long oval that stretched between Jim’s bunk and Nick’s hammock. Jim was lying awake on his stomach and watching Nick across the room as she played with a length of rope, tying and retying various basic knots that he had taught her weeks ago. He watched for what felt like a long time, too asleep to care that she was doing nothing interesting, and too awake to go back to sleep. His head buzzed with a looming headache and even breathing seemed to require more effort than usual. Eventually the irritating chime on his pocket watch broke the silence, causing Ishmael to raise his head and look over at Jim questioningly, and Nick to roll onto her side away from him. He sat up—which caused his head to pound—and reached for his boots, pulling them on with a sigh. “I know you’re awake,” he said quietly. “Did you sleep at all?”

Nick rolled back over to face him, her expression mostly neutral. “You talked all night. And you didn’t even say anything interesting this time.” She wound the rope idly around the palm of her hand.

Jim sighed a little and stood up, shrugging as he walked over to the dresser. “It happens.”

Nick laughed—if the combination of a smirk and a short exhale through her nose could qualify as laughter. Jim glanced over as he gathered his clean clothes, and stifled a yawn. “Apparently I’m not the only one who didn’t sleep well,” chided Nick.

“I slept fine.”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t. But if that’s your story then by all means, stick to it. What would I know?”

“Just how long have you been awake?” he asked, shaking his head slightly.

“Long enough. Not everyone takes all day to wake up, you know…” she sat up and swung her legs down to the floor, stretching a little before rising. “I guess I should get going. There’s a lot to get done today. When are you leaving?”

“Right after breakfast. I have to get all the way to Rittinor and back by sundown.”

“I’m sure it’ll all work out fine, so long as he is where he says he’ll be and the weather holds out, and none of the other thousand and one things that can go wrong do go wrong…”

“Thanks. You’re a big help.”

She smirked. “I’ll see you down there then.” She slipped from the room and Ishmael rose to follow, stopping to give Jim a brief good morning sniff before hustling after Nick. Jim finished getting ready and ran a hand through his hair, then made his way out to the deck. He stood for a moment in quietly, somehow attempting to think and not think at the same time. The cool morning air helped his head slightly, and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath. His mind would not rest—that was why he hadn’t slept well—but he had no desire to let his mind dwell on the gruesome events of the day before. He wanted it to just go away. With a sigh and a quick rap of his knuckles on the fo’c’sle rail, he continued on his way to the galley.

---*---*---*---

Nick leaned back against the end of the long table to nurse a cup of coffee. She took a sip and made a face, then went to the sink and dumped half of it down the drain. She watched Morph flit around the galley, chirping and laughing and nicking bits of food here and there as she filled the mug the rest of the way with milk. It was a long, thoughtful moment before she realized that Silver was talking to her. She jumped almost comically and looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “What?”

“I said, t’ cap’n was lookin’ fer yeh earlier. I dun t’ink yeh’re in trouble, or else ‘e would’ve given me an earful ‘bout trainin’ yeh up right. But ‘e was jus’ lookin’ fer yeh. Wanted t’ know when yeh’d be ‘round.”

“Should I go find him now?” she asked, frowning as she tried to figure out what he could have wanted.

“Naw, ‘e’ll find yeh when ‘e’s ready fer yeh. Seemed t’ me ‘e was jus’ tryin’ t’ get a lock on yeh.”

“Oh…” she said with a little confused sigh, pushing away from the table and walking toward the counter, standing there for a moment and tapping her fingers idly on the countertop. “What should I do?”

He laughed lightly. “No. T’ cap’n’ll need yeh soon enough, and yeh seem like to pass out any time now, so I’ll not be usin’ t’ li’l bit o’ awake dat yeh’ve got.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” she scowled, picking up a dishrag and throwing it over her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“Yeh say dat no matter what, don’cha?” he asked with a shake of his head.

She turned and faced him, setting her mouth into a firm line. “Yes.”

Just then, Jim came down the galley steps and cleared his throat. Silver looked up and smiled a little, tossing him a purp and a biscuit. “Too early fer a real breakfas’, Jimbo. Sorry. But I’ll keep dinner warm fer yeh.”

“That’s fine, Silver. I’m not really hungry anyway.”

“Well… take a few t’ings wit’ yeh. Yeh’ll get hungry sometime.”

“Fine,” he sighed, moving over to the barrel of purps and throwing a few more in his knapsack for lunch, along with some scraps of meat and cheese. Silver began preparing the kitchen for breakfast, bustling about and firing up the huge stove. Nick turned to lean back against the counter and watched them disinterestedly, her attention straying to thoughts she would rather have been able to let go. She wondered if their course had changed in an effort to escape the storm, and decided to mention it to the captain. She wondered if she should also ask if he had passed along word of the Helios… and whether that word was being passed along even further. Then it occurred to her that there might not be much being done to get the news to their families… would they ever know what had happened to their fathers and husbands, brothers and sons? Did records even exist so that anything could be done to find those families? What if those men had just vanished, never to be seen or heard from again, and no news of their deaths would ever make it back to their families, leaving them with unanswered questions for years and years…

Suddenly there was a hand on her elbow. “Nick?” he said, the tone suggesting that he had said her name several times already. She glanced up quickly, startled out of her thoughts. “I’m going to go now,” said Jim quietly. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head lightly and blinked a few times. “I’m fine. Just… thinking deep thoughts,” she said with a smirk.

He frowned a little, looking hard at her face. “Take a nap or something,” he said eventually, releasing her elbow. “You look like hell.”

She laughed and shrugged. “It happens,” she rejoined, rising to get herself a another mug of coffee-milk. “And there’s no napping on this ship. Not for me at least.”

“Well… try. You need it.”

She shook her head again, this time in denial, and Jim sighed and walked away. “See you at dinner, guys. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“We won’” Silver reassured him, eyeing the distracted girl carefully. Morph flew out of somewhere—Nick didn’t quite catch where—and gave Jim a goodbye nuzzle and a slightly dismayed chirp. When Jim had gone, Nick walked over to the barrel of purps and picked one out, tossing it between her hands for a moment. Silver watched her and frowned when she held the purp for a moment, staring at it in thought, then tossed it back in the barrel. It seemed that she wasn’t going to be nagging for her breakfast. Then she glanced up and caught his stare, sighing and folding her arms across her chest.

“Isn’t there something I can do? Any chores at all?” She was feeling more awake now, and ready to get her mind off things for a while.

“Wha’s t’matter wit’ yeh? Normally I hafta git on yer case fer an hour or more t’git yeh t’ do extra chores… t’ crew’ll be up and abou’ soon enough, an’ yeh’ll have plenny t’ do then. Jes’ sit still awhile and relax while yeh can.” He was growing suspicious… she was clearly sleepy (she had gotten up about an hour earlier than usual) and she was antsy-- moving too much, and her motions were heavy. As far as he was concerned, asking for more work was entirely ridiculous. “Go on, git outta here. Talk t’ deh cap’n or somet’in’. I got nuttin’ fer yeh t’ do.”

She sighed and made her way up onto the deck, dragging her feet the whole way. He was right—there were only a few deckhands about, and they were going about their watch. She could see one blurry shape up in the crow’s nest, another on the fo’c’sle, and a third at the wheel, all moving lazily around the deck in the growing morning light. She turned to the starboard side and looked out over the ramparts, and saw the small dark shape of the longboat fading into the sky. Her nerves rang a little as she wondered if he was flashing back to their last longboat trip as often as she was… when she thought about him being out there on his own with no defenses, and the potential to encounter the same ruthless pirates that had slaughtered the Helios’s crew, her stomach began to churn. She fought it off, and tried to maintain control of her train of thought in order to avoid thoughts of the murdered crew… but the images crept into her brain despite her efforts and she found herself leaning against the rail and reliving the nightmare on the Helios.

Suddenly someone cleared their throat behind her, and she snapped back to the present, turning quickly to find herself face-to-face with the captain. “Mr. Morgan? May I speak to you in my stateroom for a moment?”

Nick took a moment to process his request, trying to think of what she might have done in the last day or so to get in trouble and when nothing came to mind she agreed out of pure curiosity. He led the way back to the stateroom and locked the door behind them, gesturing for her to sit before taking his place behind the desk. She eyed up the room, making note of the large windows behind him and the weapons chest beside the door… and the little door on the wall adjacent to the main door, which she filed away to ask him about later. There was a spare chair against the wall and a small chest of drawers, and her eye was caught by the way the grayish light was filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and hitting the dust motes in the air…

“Mr. Morgan?”

Her eyes flew back to his face and she blinked twice as she recalibrated. “Nick,” she corrected quietly. “Just call me Nick, please.”

He frowned slightly and cleared his throat. “I’ll try to remember that.” His gaze dropped back to the desk and he reached out to shift some papers with his hand. Nick realized that he felt awkward about all of this. He cleared his throat once more, then looked up and met her eyes steadily. She found herself wanting to look away again as it occurred to her why he was nervous—and what he wanted to talk to her about.

“Last night, as I’m sure you’re well aware, Mr. Hawkins briefed me on the events of your, er… mission. Can you think of anything you’d like to go over with me also? Something he might not have noticed, or that sticks out in your mind?”

“Well the bombs are a pretty key factor. I’m thinking he mentioned those,” she said lightly, turning to look out the window.

The captain was less amused than she might have hoped for. “He did. Is there anything else?”

She looked over and met his eyes again. “The storm. We need to change course, if we haven’t already. The maps. The stolen supplies… let’s see… oh, the dead crew. He probably forgot that…”

The captain set his mouth in a firm line, looking highly displeased by her flippancy. “You are trying my patience, Mr. Morgan. You need to know that I’m taking this matter very seriously, even though you are not. I would like to remind you that you and Mr. Hawkins are the only two people who know what happened on that ship, so you have all the information we can get. Is there nothing you can think of that you may have spotted that he would have missed?”

Her stomach twisted guiltily. “The one bomb must have been in the galley, because Jim saw it, not me. I didn’t go down into the galley, but I saw them…” she paused and looked down at the desk for a moment, fending off an unexpected lump in her throat. Her eye caught on a gold letter opener sitting in a groove near the top of the desk closest to her. She studied it while she gathered her thoughts. “I didn’t see the bomb in there, but the other was sitting in the engine room. I saw it, but I didn’t realize what it was… not until it blew up. There were two maps missing in the captain’s room, and not ones we expected. Terra and Myamin. Every inch of rope and every barrel of gunpowder were gone, and there were fewer guns and such in the stateroom than I expected. There wasn’t much that was knocked around or beat up, so there probably wasn’t much of a fight—not that those merchants were armed for one.”

He nodded seriously, his expression almost pitying as she recited her observations in a dead voice. “He mentioned the maps, and the stolen supplies, but he didn’t mention a second explosive. He must not have known… thank you. That’s very useful.”

“How’s it useful?” she asked incredulously, returning her gaze to him. “The ship still blew up!”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Their explosive devices are too weak to use only one. So if they were to attack us, they’d need about four or five. That’s in our favor, and good to know.”

Nick paled slightly. “Is there a chance they’ll attack us?”

“There’s always that chance. We’re big, and relatively slow, and we have no reinforcements. They’re in our airspace, and we run the risk of encountering them. But more pressing right now is that storm—it’s not a risk so much as a surety. You and Hawkins both stressed that it’s worse than we predicted… we changed course during the night, but it’s only going to postpone the inevitable. We have to batten down today, because it’s going to strike by nightfall.”

She nodded, her head spinning as she tried to imagine what preparations for that storm might entail… and the sheer workload that was ahead for the day. “Yes, sir,” she said after a moment. “What can I do to help?”

His expression shifted faintly, and he nodded. “Find Adamson. He’ll give you instructions. You’re dismissed.”

Nick nodded in return and stood, heading for the door. She paused with her hand on the knob, staring at the door for a moment, then turned back to face him. Her gaze stayed glued to the floor, then she glanced up at him briefly before looking everywhere else. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, working to make a sound that just wouldn’t cooperate. The captain gave her a wry half-smile. “It’s okay, Nick. It’s been a rough week. All is forgiven.”

She turned red and met his eyes for a split second before muttering something unintelligible and making a hasty exit.

Captain Trelawney watched the door for a moment after the boy had gone. Then he allowed a smile to cross his face, and nodded to himself with no small amount of pride. Hawkins had a fine job of taking the belligerent little ragamuffin and training him up into one of the more efficient cabin boys he’d ever seen, without breaking his spirit. The boy was even bordering on cooperative most days, which was a feat that indicated to him that Hawkins was growing into a captain more readily than expected. He was proud of both of them, and pleased with the way his crew was shaping up.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called. A slightly pointed face, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, and large triangular ears peered around the door. “Oh yes, Adamson, good. I just sent Mr. Morgan—”

“He already found me.”

“Did you—”

“Yes. And he’s already on it. What happened to that kid?”

“Must have been a real shock yesterday. I can’t even imagine seeing all that for the first time at that age. He’s only…” he shifted the papers on his desk, revealing what he had covered while the boy was sitting across the desk. He picked up a file folder and scanned it. “Fifteen. Sixteen next week, according to his paperwork.”

“A bit young to be so rough around the edges.”

“But getting better. Hawkins must be getting through to him.”

Adamson nodded and moved back toward the door, his bushy tail twitching thoughtfully behind him. Then he turned back with a sudden thought. “How’s Slopes?”

“Still an idiot,” the captain sighed. “He’s lost use of that hand for a while. Nearly lost the finger entirely. For the time being, you’re acting as second mate while he recovers.”

Adamson nodded approvingly. “That’ll make it easier to get them to work for me. Thank you sir.”

“And now you’ve got a cooperative cabin boy, so this should be a piece of cake,” the captain chuckled. Adamson rolled his eyes as he pulled the door open.

“Not exactly… but it’ll be a nice change to have that stubbornness in our favor for once.”

The captain smiled and shook his head musingly. “He reminds me of my younger son at that age,” he admitted.

Adamson grinned in agreement as he exited and closed the door behind him. As he walked out on to the deck, his smile became rueful and he too shook his head, murmuring under his breath. “I dunno,” he said. “He reminds me of my daughter.”

---*---*---*---

There was a sense of urgency blanketing the deck as the crew raced around, shifting supplies belowdecks and tying everything down that could move. It was well past noon—nearing midafternoon—and what Nick had thought would be a relatively quick process was turning out to be a day-long endeavor.

“Cabin boy!” called a rough voice from across the deck. “Get over here!”

Nick tied off the rope she had been using to secure the barrels to the deck, and wiped her hands briskly on her pant legs as she walked over to the fox-man standing at the mainmast. “Sir?”

“Get this around your waist. You’re headed out on the bowsprit.” He tossed the end of a length of rope to her, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to two young sailors standing by the bow. “Moder and Joche’ll be holding your lifeline, but you gotta go out on your own.”

She nodded, her pulse escalating just slightly as she glanced past him to the long, thin wooden shaft that was the bowsprit. Her gaze fell to the sail anchored near the end and she swallowed hard. “I thought we weren’t securing the sails till later,” she said as she tied the rope with the strongest knot Jim had taught her.

Adamson nodded and turned to point out into the space. “We’ve put off tying up the sails until last, and this is the trickiest one, because it’s all the way out there. So we’re gonna have you do it now while the wind’s the best it’s going to be.” When she was confident that the rope was secure enough around her waist, she looked up and glanced between Adamson and the boys.

“Anything I need to know? Untie it, obviously, but is it the same rigging as the mainsails?”

“All the same, just a smaller scale and probably tied a bit tighter.” He picked up a coil of rope and walked toward the bow.

Nick glanced back and felt a little bit of relief sweep through her when she saw that she was tied to the mainmast, so as long as she didn’t come untied she wasn’t going anywhere. Then she returned her attention to Adamson and the boys.

“This is Joche,” he announced, pointing to a sturdy young fellow with massively thick arms and blue-grey skin. “It’s not short for Joshua, and don’t ask him to spell it." The young man grinned at her, revealing startlingly white, square-ish teeth. His hair was shaved to about an inch long all over his head, except near his forehead where it fell into his face a little, and his eyes were a dark brown. “And that’s Moder,” continued Adamson, “that’s not his first name, but he takes it a little too seriously, so you’ve probably never seen him on deck.” The other boy was much taller than Joche and ridiculously thin by comparison, with skin as pale as snow, and a shock of white hair that stuck straight out on his head. The goggles he wore on his forehead were dirty and scratched, so she knew they were more than an accessory. He grinned and waved a hand at her—a hand that had six long, spindly fingers and a glint of metal that caught her eye. He wore a strange contraption on his hand, a leather glove that covered only his palm, with tiny metal rods that ran up either side of each finger and circled them between the knuckles, like little braces. She glanced down and saw that the other hand was outfitted similarly. Then her gaze returned to his face, and saw that his smile reached his dark eyes, and his expression had taken on some amusement as she studied him.

“What are they here for?” she asked, turning to Adamson. “Not to be rude, but I’m tied to the mainmast. What’s the point?”

“You’ve got more rope than you’d normally have. You need it to get to the sail rig. But if you fall off between here and there, there’s no way you’re getting back up on your own,” he said matter-of-factly. Her anxiety returned and she looked between him and the boys again, reevaluating their appearances with the new criteria of needing to be able to save her life. Then she took a steadying breath and nodded again, not trusting her voice to stay steady.

“Not that you need two of us,” quipped Moder. “Joche here could pull you back up with one hand. Or probably just with his teeth.” He and Joche grinned, and Nick was tempted to get disgruntled and defensive… but she was too tired and distracted by the prospect of falling off the ship. So she settled for rolling her eyes and ignoring him.

“Okay, enough,” interrupted Adamson. “We’ve gotta get this show on the road. There’s more that needs to be done—though I know you two would rather stand around yapping like old women.” Both boys smirked unapologetically. Adamson lightly pushed Nick forward with a hand on her shoulder, indicating that she needed to get out on the bowsprit. She took another deep breath and swallowed her fear, gingerly climbing up onto the rail and edging one foot out onto the beam. It was about twice as big around as she was, which would have seemed like plenty were she not balanced on it.

The wind, which hadn’t even been noticeable on the deck, was suddenly a bit more than a light breeze. She wasn’t sure if it had ironically chosen that moment to pick up speed, or if it just seemed worse because now it was affecting her balance. She crouched down and inched out along the wood, her hands out on either side of her and carefully shuffling sideways. She counted her steps, just to keep her mind occupied, but the wind continued to pick up, and when she realized she had counted ‘ten, twelve, fifteen,’ she gave up on that. She glanced back at the ship and saw the two younger men holding the rope, Joche in front and Moder further back, closer to the mast. Adamson stood between them on the opposite side of the rope, and all three held very tense poses. She plastered a smirk on her face and gave a smug little wave before turning back to face outward and taking a deep breath. The wind was swirling around her, not nearly as strong as she knew it would be in a few hours, but still enough to keep her crouched low to the spar and her nerves on high alert. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down… she told herself, repeating the tired mantra in an effort to resist the instinct. Don’t do it, Nick… you’ll regret it. Don’t you dare look down...

It was just a little glance. Her eyes barely even moved, but her lower field of vision filled with space, and lots of it. A loud buzzing rose in her ears, and her stomach clenched tight. She dropped to a full crouch, gripping the wood with her hands and slamming her eyes shut. Her stomach was filled with tingly zings—cold and sharp, and not nearly as pleasant as butterflies. Why the hell did she do that? She was dizzy and sick, and not happy about this at all. But there were men watching from the deck, and she had to keep going… there was no backing down. She looked up at the rigging at the end of the beam and estimated that she was a little over halfway out. So it was all downhill. Just get out there and untie it… and then get back, but she could think about that later. She rose slightly, her heart still thundering and her ears ringing with the wind and anxiety, and began to move forward once again. The minutes ran together into a long, string of echoing heartbeats and adrenaline, and she watched the rigging draw nearer each step. When she reached it she crouched all the way down again, wrapping her legs around the beam as she leaned out to disengage the ropes.

The knots were drawn tight from the wind and she tugged at the line to put some slack on the rig. She tugged and worked the knots loose more easily than she’d expected—considering that having the knot fused tight would just be icing on the cake—and she was done relatively quickly. Then came the hard part… she released the rope anchoring the sail to the beam, and very cautiously stood again. She was crouched on the beam, her knees out to both sides and her hands clenching the wood as she slowly, delicately turned around to face the deck. Then she pushed up again, standing with her knees heavily bent, before beginning the shuffle back to safety.

She was nearly halfway back when the wind picked up speed again, just enough to make her drop her stance to lower her center of gravity. It was badly timed though, as the crewmen in the riggings had only partially retracted the boom sail, and the ropes on the end still flew freely. The wind caught the sail and whipped it back and forth, cracking the line like a whip just over her head. She ducked slightly, and eyed the rope with her heart pounding, watching to be sure she could avoid being snapped. Suddenly, she heard a shout from the deck and her attention was stolen for a critical moment as she tried to decipher which man had shouted what.

In that moment, the line cracked loudly just over her head and she instinctively ducked in response, adrenaline racing through her. Unfortunately, she was not accustomed to shifting her center of gravity whilst balanced on a wooden beam, and she ducked not only forward but to one side, so that she could look up with that morbid curiosity that desires to know precisely what is threatening. In ducking to the side she lost her center, and in pitching forward she lost her footing, and she toppled off the spar, throwing out a desperate hand to try to catch herself.

Luckily, she caught with more than a hand—her shoulder and the left side of her torso slammed into the wood as she fell, and she scrabbled to get a handhold. When the falling sensation faded, she found herself hanging by an arm-and-a-half, and clung on with a single-minded determination heedless of pain. After a moment she heard a whoop from the deck, but did not look up this time. Instead, she focused herself on throwing a leg up over the beam, and then on pulling herself back up so that her weight was no longer hanging. When that was accomplished, the strength went out of her and she lay along the beam, her face pressed into the wood, and closed her eyes as she tried to catch her breath, her pulse thundering in her ears and the wind whipping at her hair. There was another shout from the deck, and this time she allowed herself to look up.

Moder and Adamson were waving to her, motioning toward the deck. They wanted her off the bowsprit, and now. Joche held her lifeline tightly in both hands, the rope pulled taut in clear apprehension of the fall she almost took. She pushed herself up on her hands and knees—and debated for a moment the idea of crawling back to deck… that was dismissed in favor of her dignity—then got her feet under her again, and hustled back to the deck as quickly as she could.

When she hit the solid wood, her knees gave out and she fell to all fours with her eyes closed trying to quell the tremors that shook her hands and rattled her breath. Adamson crouched beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, asking her questions that she didn’t hear, and waiting for answers she couldn’t give. Then there was a warm, black wall of fur pressed against her side and she wrapped an arm around it gratefully, pressing her cheek into his neck. When the roar in her ears faded, and the spots in front of her eyes stopped dancing across the wood grains on the deck, she blinked a few more times and looked up at him. “What?”

“Good job,” he repeated slowly. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, slightly unsure of what was to be done now… He answered her by taking her upper left arm and trying to help her to her feet. She yelped and pulled away, falling back onto her heels and clutching her arm to her side.”Stop! Don’t... don’t touch. I’m okay, just… let me do this.” She leaned on her other arm, levering herself up cautiously so as not to jar her other side. It throbbed dully, but nothing felt broken—she had broken her arm once, and two ribs another time, along with a few fingers here and there, and this felt nothing like any of that. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to herself, but she was going to guess she’d be lovely shades of purple and blue by morning… again.

She tipped her head back and shook her bangs out of her face, finding herself staring back into three concerned faces. Moder looked—if such a thing were possible—even whiter than before, and Joche’s stoic face held a concerned expression. She frowned back at them, taking a defensive step back. “What?” she asked.

“Are you okay?” asked Moder, stepping forward.

“I’m fine… just a bit of bruising. I’ll be fine. Don’t touch me,” she warned as he reached out. He yanked his hand back as though she had snapped at his fingers, and retreated into the ranks. Her panic had faded as she caught her breath and examined her wounds, but it returned as they seemed to close in on her, the wind howling and whipping around them, and the sky growing darker… were she superstitious, she might be inclined to think the end was near…

“All right, back up lads,” Adamson said sharply. “Give the boy some space to breathe. He’s like to panic if you keep movin’ in.”

Nick tried to resist nodding, feeling that that might undermine her “I’m fine” insistence, but a few tiny little head bobs managed to get past her defense. She really needed them to back up…

Adamson reached out and put a hand on her back, just below her neck, and pulling her through the crowd with Ishmael tagging along at her heels. “Go have the cook check you out. I’ll wager he’s got more experience than our illustrious ship’s doctor…” there was a slight hint of bitterness in his tone as he spoke of the doctor.

“What’s wrong with him?” she nearly croaked.

“That ‘expert’ is more suited to caring for ladies’ fainting spells and ‘tired blood’ than for a ship full of sailors, if ya catch my drift,” he murmured, pushing her gently down the galley steps.

Nick snorted at the irony, and Adamson looked at her strangely. Then he stopped her, and reached for her waist. She jumped back and tensed defensively, sending a sharp twinge through her shoulder in the process. His eyebrows went up in surprise, and she frowned.

“Sharp reflexes… I just wanted to untie you from the mast, so’s you don’t get yourself tied round the ship…”

She blushed furiously and dropped her gaze, reaching down to untie the lifeline herself. Then she scurried down into the galley, holding her arm to her side and allowing herself a moment of weakness. While Silver’s back was still turned, and the crew was out of sight, she winced and shut her eyes. The impact still echoed in the muscles and the bones felt bruised… but it ought to fade soon…

“Lad? What’re yeh doin’ down ‘ere? Don’ dey need yeh up on deck?”

Her eyes snapped open, and she let go of the injured arm. “They prefer people who don’t fall off the ship, actually…”

“Who fell off da ship?” he asked blithely.

She gave him a look and stepped up onto one of the benches, sitting on the table. “Nobody fell off, but not for lack of trying. Adamson sent me down here to get checked out… I landed on my arm and shoulder and ribs.” She tucked the injured arm against her middle and curled around it.

“Why’d ‘e send yeh ‘ere? Dey’ve got a perfec’ly good doc upstairs.”

“He said that fellow’s useless. Or as good as. ‘Sides, your eye’s gotta come in handy sometime, right? I mean, besides figuring out people’s secret identities.”

“Ah don’ righ’ly know ‘ow t’ use it fer med’cine, lad. I’m same as anyone else, stuck wit’ ol’-fashion med’cine.”

“So… you can’t just check on my shoulder by scanning through it?”

“Ah could, but it’d be more ‘ffective t’ ‘ave yeh take yer shirt off. Sorry, lad.”

“Damn,” she breathed. “Well… then just… never mind.”

“Are yeh sure?”

“Yeah... I’ll be okay. I’m not taking my shirt off when anyone’s around, and hiding out somewhere is totally absurd. That would be even more suspicious-looking. I’ll be fine.”

He eyed her for a moment, then turned back to the stove. “Wha’ever you say, lad.”

She sighed and pulled her feet up on to the table as well, and wrapped her good arm around her knees until she was tucked neatly into a little ball. Silver glanced over his shoulder again when she had been quiet for too long, and was surprised to see the little Nick-ball curled up on the table. He looked at Morph, who hovered by his shoulder, and the little pink blob gave something akin to a shrug. “Lad, if anyone comes down now and sees yeh like dat, yeh’ll ‘ave to answer a few questi’ns. Like why yeh fol’ up like dat—boys dun tend t’ work dat way…”

She slowly uncurled, stretching her legs out so that her knees cracked, then lay back on the table with her arms across her stomach. He realized she had been dozing slightly, and suddenly wished he hadn’t disturbed her. Then with a heavy sigh and a heave she sat up again, wincing at the pain in her ribs.

“Go have a lie-down,” he offered. “I already go’ dinner in deh works. I won’ be needin’ much ‘elp dat I can’ get from d’ rest of dem.”

She shook her head with another smaller sigh, and climbed down from the table. “I’m going to back up there and see if there’s anything else I can get done.”

He thought to protest—dinner was nearly finished, and she’d have to come back down shortly, but he knew she wouldn’t heed him. So instead he grumbled to himself for a moment about being cursed with a string of stubborn cabin boys who don’t know what’s good for them. Then he recalled that stubborn cabin boys became stubborn first mates, who still didn’t know what was good for them.

When Nick got back out on the deck, Ishmael came hustling from somewhere out of sight and barreled into her, weaving excitedly between her legs and beating her with his tail. She grinned and reached down with her good arm to scratch behind his ears. “Where have you been?”

“Off barking at the men up in the rigging,” answered Adamson. “But only because I chased him away from the galley—he wanted to follow you down there.”

“He could have…”

“Didn’t want the cook distracted while he was checking you. What’d he say?”

“Oh… uh, I’m fine. Pretty cool-looking bruises, but that’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation, but didn’t press. “All right, well… whatever you feel up to helping with, just go ahead. You can be excused from work until dinner if you’d rather—we’ve got everything covered.”

She shook her head. “If there’s something I can do, just tell me. It’s not like my arm came off.”

He smiled lightly and looked out on the deck in the fading light. “Well… I’ve just given the last of the orders… the men should be wrapping up soon.” He sat down on the steps that led to the fo’c’sle, and Nick leaned against the railing with Ishmael sitting attentively at her feet. For a long time they sat in quiet observation as the men came down out of the riggings and milled about on deck. Most of the crewmen were stepping back from their work, looking around to see what else needed to be done. Everyone seemed reluctant to head belowdecks, but no one could find anything else to do, so clusters formed along the sides of the ship as the men stood and talked quietly. The sails were all secured, and the deck was cleared of all loose supplies and weapons… and the midnight-colored clouds swirled just off the starboard side, the winds coming in gusts onto the deck—there was time for a moment of rest before they all piled into the galley. “There’s nothin’ left to be done now, lad. The storm’s practically on us, we just have to hope Hawkins gets back in time, and get that longboat tied up… then we’re set to sit out the storm for the next four days.”

“Four days?” she asked, thunder rumbling in the distance to punctuate her words. “I thought we were trying to only get clipped!”

“That is getting clipped. This storm is huge,” he emphasized.

“I guess so—” she began, but a shrill whistle from the galley caught her attention. Silver was calling to her. “Gotta go,” she told Adamson.

“So I hear,” he said with a grin. “Go on. Good work today.”

She smiled back. “Thanks.” And with that, she turned and headed down into the galley.

---*---*---*---

There was a gentle rap on the door. Alanna looked up from her book and glanced at the clock—dinner. The only human interaction she got during the day was when Mr. Hawkins delivered her meals. The rest of the day she was shut up in this stuffy little room, with no company but her maids… it was driving her mad.

“Come in,” she called. The door creaked open slightly, and Nick peeked in around the door, carrying a tray with three steaming bowls of soup. Alanna grinned faintly. “Hello there… it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Sorry I’m late, I just—”

“No, no. I don’t mean that. I mean you haven’t been by to talk to me for weeks. I’ve seen more of your first mate than I have of you.”

Nick had the grace to blush slightly. “I’m sorry… it’s been… it’s been busy. I’ll try…”

“No matter,” Alanna demurred. “I understand. So much happens on this ship, and we see none of it…”

Nick made a face. “None of it fun, though. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything. And you won’t miss anything—we’re going to be battening down for the next four days or so.”

“Lovely. More reason to keep me cooped up in here.” Alanna threw the book onto the desk with a bit more force than necessary, and sighed. Nick jumped, and set the tray down on the vanity.

“Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’m wonderful,” was the reply.

“Maybe… maybe when the storm passes…” Nick offered in a small voice, “… you could go out on deck again… maybe talk to some people… so you don’t get cabin fever and lose your mind.”

Alanna paused, staring at the book on the desk for a moment. Then she slowly turned to look at Nick, raising an eyebrow as a tiny smirk rose on her face. “Do I seem like I’m losing my mind?”

“Maybe a little,” answered Nick.

“That’s because I am. This stupid ship, and this stupid room, and that stupid prince, and the stupid wedding, all for the stupid crown and the stupid Empire… I just want to quit, and cut off my hair, and dress as a boy and run away.”

Nick frowned. “That’s not the answer.”

“It could be. If I had no responsibility to my people. I told you once—I wish I were you. No obligations. Nobody to answer to. You took your life into your own hands. I wish I could do the same.”

“You can,” she said quickly.

“No, I can’t. I have to do what I’m told,” Alanna said, with a rather large helping of bitterness on the side.

“You can… you can’t change the fact that you have to marry this fellow, or that you’ve gotta be Empress in a few years… but you can change the Empire. You can change every other life under your command. Maybe if you just focus on that—on cleaning up the spaceports and chasing out the pirates and stuff, the rest of what’s happening will just… take care of itself.”

She looked doubtful, but thoughtful. “You mean… like keeping taverns from forcing their barmaids to be whores?”

Nick looked out the window watching the purple and black clouds rolling and twisting. “Like keeping girls from being forced to marry.”

“And letting them work on ships if they like?”

Nick looked back at her and grinned. “Maybe.”

Alanna smiled tiredly back. “I’ll think about it.”

Nick nodded agreeably and turned back to the door. “I promise I’ll come by again soon,” she said over her shoulder.

“See that you do. I’d hate to lose my mind,” replied Alanna. There was an exchange of grins, and Nick closed the door behind her with a soft ‘click’.

---*---*---*---

Nick entered the galley slowly, peering around and trying to get her bearings as to the layout—there were twice as many men eating as usual, so there were even fewer seats, and she didn’t want—

“You! Sit here!” came a shout from the corner. It was punctuated by a sharp laugh, and a thunk on the table. She looked over immediately, startled by the sudden noises. Joche was pointing at the seat next to him, with Moder laughing on the other side of the table. Other men were at the table too, and they all turned to look at her. She recognized a few faces from working on the deck with them, but she had no names to put to them. Her cheeks flamed and she hesitated, fearing ridicule or challenging questions... but for lack of anywhere better to sit, she sighed and obliged.

“Right here,” said Joche, as though she might not have perceived that he meant the spot next to him, even though it was the only open seat at the table. She nodded and stepped over the bench, sitting down awkwardly with her hands in her lap.

“So… uh—”

“How’s that arm?” interrupted Moder.

“What?”

“Your arm? The one you tried to rip off earlier?”

“Oh, it’s… it’s fine.”

“Let’s see it!” he said excitedly, rising from his seat to reach up and tug on her sleeve. The collar of her shirt was pulled down over her shoulder, sending a panic through her. She jumped and yanked her arms away, wincing as she strained it.

“What’s the matter?” he asked as she wrenched out of his grip.

“It… it’s not up there… it’s here,” she said shakily, rolling her sleeve up. The underside of her upper arm was a lovely reddish-purple, bound to be darker by morning. The men nodded approvingly and a few bold ones prodded the marks lightly with their fingertips. Nick sat as still as she could manage until Joche swatted them all away.

“Wait till tomorrow when it’s not still bruisin’, ya dunces. You’ll make it worse beatin’ on it tonight.”

“We weren’t beatin’ on it,” argued a shorter fellow with a pointed, scaly face. “We were checking on it.”

“Don’t argue with Joche,” interrupted Moder. “You know how he gets when he finds his new pet.”

Nick blinked twice in silent horror. “I’m not… no, I’m not a pet, just… thanks, but no.”

Joche frowned sharply and threw his spoon at Moder’s head, who ducked and let it hit a burly man behind him. The man growled and turned around. “Keep it down, boys.”

Nick sat half-petrified as this went on. Picking a fight was one thing—and it was one thing she was okay with. But she had a feeling she was going to get caught in the crossfire here, and she wasn’t prepared for that. Surprisingly though, Moder just waved apologetically and the man turned back around. There was some light punching that went around the table as the blame was handed off, but eventually the matter fell from their collective conscious and the talk turned back to Nick’s least favorite subject—herself.

“I don’t keep pets,” explained Joche. “I’m just… capable of being nice to people, and these heartless trogs have no idea what that’s like.”

“So we tell him he’s making a pet, which he is,” continued Moder. “If we’re nice to you, you’ll think we like you, and we don’t want you to think that unless it’s actually true. But if we call you his pet, you won’t know if we like you.”

Nick’s head spun slightly. Was this what Jim felt like when she babbled at him? “But you don’t like me?”

“The jury’s still out on that one,” he answered with a smirk.

“So where’d they get a little runt like you?” interrupted the pointy-faced one.

“Spaceport,” she mumbled.

“Really? Street rat?”

“You could say that…”

“What’re they thinking? We got a ‘cademy fulla boys rarin’ t’ get on a ship and the secon’ one of ‘em gets sick and pulls out we grab the nearest street rat?”

“Shut up, Piers. You know we couldn’ve gotten another cadet.” Joche turned to Nick to explain. “Coop got the pox and we had to ship ‘im back to the Academy. But then we were out a cabin boy, and it would take too long for them to send us a new cadet, so we grabbed one off the port.”

“That would be you,” Moder pointed out, in case she hadn’t guessed.

“But Cooper was dead useful, you gotta admit.” A third man leaned in close, almost conspiratorially. “He had hands for feet, an’ this tail about as long as he was tall, an’ he could do about four chores at once. Dead useful,” he repeated, settling back.

“But dead he’s useless,” countered Moder. “And anyway, this kid’s done okay. I think we’re doin’ alright with ‘im, even if he’s only got two hands.”

Nick flushed and looked around, hoping someone would say something vaguely insulting. She knew she could come up with a response for that. But the conversation took off in another direction, beginning with the usefulness of tails and a second pair of hands, and somehow finding its way to the patapon races on Envor. Nick drifted out of the chatter, and stared into her hands on the table. Joche and Moder watched the kid’s face, then exchanged a look. He was off-guard, dazed from the barrage. Moder decided to go in for the kill. He leaned in across the table, keeping his head low, and whispered “We know you’re lying, by the way.”

Nick looked up at him slowly, her heart suddenly thundering. She fought to keep her breathing steady and her expression neutral, but it was impossible to know if she pulled it off. “About what?”

“You know what,” he said, more sharply than he intended. The kid had to ask?

“Mmm... not sure if I do. I could be lying about a lot of things, and now I’m not sure which one you know about.” Her voice shook only slightly, though she felt a little better that he was falling back. He must have expected her to panic… outwardly, at least.

“What else could you be lying about?” he asked, slightly surprised.

“That would depend on what you know.”

“We know you’re lying about your age… you can’t be more than twelve or thirteen. Why’d you say you were fifteen? You’re not even shaving yet.”

Nick stared at him for a moment, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then it spread across her face, and she laughed and shook her head. “You’re right. I’m not fifteen.”

“Well how old are you? And what else are you lying about?”

She turned in her seat and got up off the bench. “I’m seventeen,” she said over her shoulder, “and I’m really a shape-shifter.”

Moder and Joche exchanged glances again, this time perplexed. There was something strange about that kid…

Hee hee hee...

Oh, Joche. Oh, Moder. You have no idea...

New characters! Old characters we haven't seen much of recently! Aren't you all thrilled?

Let me know if Moder's and Joche's names give you trouble. I tried to make the pronunciations clear, but if you have any questions, just let me know.

Part two will be up soon, but don't count on it being much before next Friday. Like, not this one, but the next one.

Read and review-- anything you can send my way would be greatly appreciated!