“Yes,” Rennington laughed, but tempered it as not to cause himself pain, “that one Brack found might hold my attention.”
Nicholai chuckled despite himself. It was the first time he heard his laughter in a long while. “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, stopping in the doorway. “Thanks.”
Rennington grinned from his place in the bed. “Off you go then, mate. That big ole book of smut won’t find itself.”
Nicholai smiled and shook his head, exiting to ascend the stairs to the main deck. He never reached the top. A shadow loomed down on him from his place below deck. He gazed to the top of the stairs and squinted, trying to make out the face of the tall figure, silhouetted by the sun.
“I see you finally ventured beyond the galley,” Kazuaki kept his dominating spot above Nicholai at the top of the stairs. His eye fell to the book in the Time Father’s hand. “I’m afraid you won’t have much time for reading. Now that you’ve had several days to rest, you’ll make yourself useful as a deckhand. We’re down a man with Rennington in recovery.”
Nicholai knew it wasn’t a question. He didn’t know how to respond. He wanted nothing more than to expedite the process of saving Lilac, but he understood the logic behind Kazuaki’s order. Whether he liked it or not, he belonged to these outlaws until they reached land again, and with all the non-perishables he helped them unearth in Avadon, it could be a long wait. On a positive note, the sea kept him safe from the Time Fathers’ wrath. It gave him enough of an opportunity to figure out a solution to Southeastern.
“Typically when I give an order, the proper response is an acknowledgment,” Kazuaki said, not missing a chance to establish the ship’s hierarchy. “Since you’re so familiar with the galley, you can head down there. Go dump your belongings in your room and get on with it. Help Penn clean the dishes, scour the area, sort through all the foodstuffs we gained, and whatever else the man tells you.”
Nicholai increased his grip around the book and inhaled. Yes. He would play Kazuaki’s game. Not only would he play it, but he’d also excel at it. Though he gave the orders back in Southeastern, he needed to learn how to take them. It was his only chance at survival. He swallowed his pride. For Lilac. “Yes, sir,” he replied, turning around and heading to his room to dispose of his things before going to the galley.
Kazuaki arched a brow, taken back by Nicholai’s quick submission. He shrugged it off and turned around, coming face to face with Bermuda. He wasn’t aware she stood behind him. The woman was so close he felt the heat coming off her body. “Bermuda,” he said with a start, feeling the usual quickening of his blood at being near her. “I didn’t see you there.”
She seemed unaffected by his proximity and took a logical step back as not to crowd him. “You’re pawning him off on Penn?” she asked, looking over the captain’s shoulder in the direction Nicholai disappeared.
“For now. Penn could use the help. He’s been letting the condition of the galley slide for a while now.”
“For how long do you intend to keep him?” Bermuda asked. “I mean, what are your long term plans? Do you intend to bring him on as a new crew member?”
Kazuaki shoved his hands into the pockets of his long jacket as a breeze blew his unkempt hair. “I plan on running him ragged,” he confessed. “We’ll work him so hard he won’t know which way is up. I don’t want to give him many opportunities for anything else.” Kazuaki did not divulge his plans in their entirety, but he knew he did not want to allow Nicholai time to find whatever he looked for in that book of his. The sooner Nicholai discovered whatever it was he was looking for, the sooner he’d abandon the captain’s ship. Kazuaki was not ready to part with the Time Father yet. On top of their need for an extra deckhand, he proved to be a useful pawn in his endeavors. The captain suspected there was more value to their ‘friend’ than they realized.
The books they stole from the library provided a fountain of knowledge. Kazuaki delved into fairytales he had never heard of before. The list of leads they had was a mile long. Ancient, mythological treasures of all sorts waited for someone to unearth them. He and Bartholomew made their way through a majority of the texts, cataloging each lead in order of importance and likelihood it was true. They now had an overwhelming amount of opportunities at their fingertips. With any luck, one of them led to a solution for Bermuda. Seeping the toxic touch of that demon, Mimir’s, influence from her heart remained his top priority.
“If I can think of any tasks to give him, I’ll assist where I can,” Bermuda said.
Kazuaki’s exterior remained unchanged, but her mechanical tone tore his insides to pieces. He missed their banter. The sarcasm. The thrill of certain moments. Though he knew better than to pursue her affection before her affliction, those little moments he fantasized about the ‘what if’s’ sustained him. Those were long gone now. “That’s why you’re my right hand,” he forced himself to say.
Bermuda shrugged a single shoulder, looking down at the stump of her wrist. She gave him a quick salute and walked away, off to command the ship’s people to keep it running smoothly. There was no rest for the quartermaster.
The captain watched her depart. He’d save her. It took longer than he wanted it to, but he’d hunt the rest of his countless lives. With Nicholai occupied, he returned to his cabin. With any luck, the books held her salvation. Come firestorm or high water, he would fix that woman’s heart.
✽ ✽ ✽
Nicholai peered into the small galley, finding Penn. The man loomed over the crates they plucked from the escape boat, shoving food into the already chaotic cabinets high above his head. Cast iron pots and pans rattled and clanked together with each bounce the ship made on larger waves, creating a cacophony of primitive music enjoyed by the ship’s cook and cooper.
Without looking up from his duties, Penn said, “There’s food on the counter for you.” He knew Nicholai was there despite his effort not to come across as a nuisance.
“The captain suggested I come lend you a hand,” Nicholai said, entering the cramped quarters that made up the ship’s kitchen. He looked to his left, eyes landing on a stack of unwashed dishes that hadn’t seen soap and water in weeks.
“Suggested?” Penn asked, still refusing to make eye contact as he shoved another handful of rations in a cabinet.
Nicholai pursed his lips together, approached the sink, and put on a brave face. He didn’t know where to start. “Well, suggested, ordered ... semantics, you know.”
Penn walked over to a metal bucket full of water that sloshed about on the galley floor. With the efficiency of a man who held many years of experience, he placed the bucket on the heating surface of the fire hearth. He maneuvered around Nicholai to another cabinet and removed a scrubbing brush before shoving it into the Time Father’s hands. After, he bent down near a low cupboard and rifled through, removed an old hunk of soap, and tossed it in Nicholai’s direction. “Once the water’s heated through, combine it with the soap and scrub,” was all he said before moving back to his original task.
Nicholai fumbled before he caught the soap, finding it difficult to grab while also holding the scrubbing brush. He knew Penn did not share Rennington’s interest in making small talk. He cleared his throat, waiting in long, awkward silence for the water to heat. When he was certain the temperature climbed high enough, he plugged the sink and loaded it with the first of what promised to be many sets of dirty dishes.
The two men worked in silence for some time. The tension was thick. A man could cut it with any of the filthy knives Nicholai scrubbed with his brush. Even with the hot water and soap, the filth was difficult to remove. It baffled Nicholai, only because he suspected Penn did a limited amount of actual cooking. All the meals they pilfered from the boat were ready-to-eat rations. At most, all they needed was for someone to heat them. He suspected their meals prior were the same since non-perishable goods made the most sense to carry on long journeys. “So,” he started, trying to kill the silence, “have you been working for Kaz
uaki long?”
Penn said nothing at first. Nicholai’s only response was the sound of his brush scrubbing away at cooked-on food. After Penn finished his task of emptying the last crate, he said, “My entire adult life.”
Surprised the man of few words answered him, Nicholai tried to keep the momentum going. It was easier than sitting in the quiet, with only his thoughts to amuse him. Most of his thoughts bordered on the dark side the last several weeks; breaking away from that and gaining more knowledge about the people he’d be spending a good portion of his time with seemed like a logical thing to do. “What did you do before you met him?” he asked, thinking back to Elowyn's time she served as a medic for the Northern military and Rennington and Iani’s lives as Southern footmen.
Penn looked annoyed. All of Nicholai’s hopes of having an easy conversation sank when he responded with, “What did you do before you met him?”
The Time Father paused, not expecting a heated reply. “Point taken,” he said as he scraped a cast iron pan with his soapy brush.
“The feck are you doing?” Penn rushed over and removed the cooking vessel from Nicholai’s hands. “You’ll scour off the seasoning!”
Nicholai rubbed the back of his neck with no care to the fact his hands remained covered in soap and water. “And with any luck, the bacteria too.”
The cook muttered something under his breath and set the cast iron atop the fire hearth. “Salt and water to make a paste—that’s how you clean cast iron. Not sure what rock heap the captain pulled you out of, but he normally makes good decisions on who he brings aboard,” he murmured. “You’re feckin’ useless in the galley, can’t even clean a pot right.”
The insult didn’t bother him. Penn was right, he was useless in a kitchen. Lilac took care of most of their meals, save for the occasional time when he purchased a dinner elsewhere and brought it home to her. If he stood any chance at all of thriving in this environment, he needed to rise above these tests. “Show me,” he challenged the cook, stepping aside and gesturing to the sink.
Penn arched a skeptical brow. Though he seemed surprised at first, his temperament shifted to a blend of skepticism and irritation. “You trying to pawn your dirty work off on me, then?”
It wasn’t easy to win with this guy. Nicholai shook his head. “Just tell me how to do it. One time. That’s all I need. Take a break if you’d like, when you come back, this place will be spotless. To your liking.”
The cook narrowed his eyes. His chin inclined as he mulled over Nicholai’s offer. “All right, newbie,” he said, his voice thick with suspicion. If he wanted to work, Penn would give him work, as merciless as it was unrelenting. “Here’s how it’s done ...”
✽ ✽ ✽
Kazuaki Hidataka waltzed without shame into the sorry quarters he issued to Nicholai during his unexpected stay. After hours of bending over books, he needed a break and had no qualms about rummaging through the man’s belongings, scarce as they were. The captain lifted old clothing, inspecting the pockets for anything that hid inside. He raised the cot, feeling around the thin material for any unusual lumps where Nicholai might have stashed his things. He found nothing that aroused suspicion.
The room was so small, it was easy to perform a thorough sweep in a short time. Kazuaki knew all the hiding places a man might hoard something of importance, but Nicholai utilized none. His search for hidden objects initially made him overlook the book at the foot of the cot. Hidden in plain sight, as soon as his eye fell on it, he recognized it as the book Nicholai carried around earlier. The one he lingered long enough in the catacombs to find, despite the onslaught of gunfire.
The captain picked the book up in his hands, analyzing the cover. “Fundamental Principles of Behavior and Precepts for Time Fathers and His Chronometer,” he read aloud, bored halfway through the title. It did not make much sense to him why Nicholai obsessed over this book. As a Time Father, he should’ve already known everything this piece of literature held.
Flipping the tome open to a dog-eared page, his eye scanned the contents. He guessed this was as far as Nicholai got. The words were as dry as the book’s title; a series of laws and regulations relating to everything expected of a Time Father. One chapter discussed Chronometer maintenance. Another chapter detailed how to initiate a new Time Father by lubricating the Chronometer first with an established member’s blood, followed by the blood of the recruit. Tragic stuff. Just one stifling demand after another. Why anyone wanted to sign themselves up for this life, Kazuaki Hidataka never knew.
He skipped ahead several chapters, scanning the pages. Boredom almost propelled him to set the book down when his gaze fell upon a phrase in the text. “The Earth Mother,” he whispered aloud, recalling a time where he heard those words before. It was the catacombs, the library, the book he was uncertain on whether it was political or legend. As the captain scanned the short article dedicated to the Earth Mother, his interest grew. Nicholai said he knew nothing about the topic.
The book’s covers met with force as Kazuaki slammed it shut. He placed it back down on the bed. With haste, he ushered himself back to his cabin, where he kept the other books. The information he gained reignited his desire to research. He needed to return to the other book they found: The Balance of the Earth Mother. If the small amount of information he absorbed from Nicholai’s book held true, he may well be onto something big.
One thing remained certain, as the captain strode toward his cabin, thinking about how the Time Father told him he knew nothing of the Earth Mother: Nicholai would rue the day he dared to lie to Captain Kazuaki Hidataka.
✽ ✽ ✽
Penn sat on the main deck, his legs draped over the rails of the ship as he teetered on the edge. Though he drank large swigs of alcohol from a soiled, copper mug, his balance remained in tune with the dips and rises of the ship at sea. It had been a long while since he took time to enjoy the sunset and the delicious feeling of liquor coursing through his veins. As the cook and cooper, his duties aboard Kazuaki’s ship were limitless. Though not as skilled with a weapon as most of the others, his abilities complimented things the crew experienced on a day-to-day basis, rather than the occasional occurrence. Penn Elmbroke was a busy man. But now, all he busied himself with, was killing his mug of booze.
His reprieve did not last long. The forceful bark of the quartermaster almost caused him to drop his mug into the ocean. It would’ve been a shame, too, as it was his favorite.
“Penn Elmbroke!” Bermuda shouted from behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him to turn around and face her. “Where’s Nico? You were supposed to be watching him!”
“I was,” Penn replied without alarm, swinging his legs over the rails and positioning himself back down onto the boards of the deck. “I put him to work in the galley.”
“Alone?” Bermuda narrowed her eyes into slits. “For how long?”
Penn shrugged, aloof. “I don’t know, a good few hours, I’d say.” He did not recall the precise time when he left the man down there, but it was long enough to gain a good buzz from the alcohol.
The quartermaster seethed at his indignant response. “Gods only know what he's doing down there,” she snarled, motioning him to follow her. Bermuda did not enjoy straying from the captain’s orders.
Penn followed. He did not enjoy bowing down to authority, but he respected Bermuda and the captain. Even after she lost herself to Mimir’s influence. That respect alone drew him to follow her. Stubbornness lived inside his every bone, but they had his loyalty on lockdown. Though his bullheaded actions and rebellious behavior led some to think otherwise, Penn loved the captain and the quartermaster with a fierceness. They weren’t his blood, but they were certainly his family.
The woman burst open the door to the galley and stopped, blinking at the sight laid out before her. Copper pots hung in their place, glistening with a brightness she never recalled seeing on them before. Nicholai cleaned all the dishes, once a common fixture in the galley sink, and pl
aced them in their locked cabinets. He scrubbed the bricks to the fire hearth with a nylon bristle brush and wiped it down, restoring it to its former glory. The clutter that clung to the limited counter space found a home out of sight. From the ceiling to the floor, the ship’s galley never looked as pristine as it did at this moment.
Nicholai just finished reorganizing the rations Penn put away earlier. He turned over his shoulder to see the two, motioning toward the cabinets. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, pulling the doors open to allow them a better look. “I categorized the non-perishables into breakfasts, lunches, suppers, that sort of thing. It should be easier to find what you’re looking for now, Mr. Elmbroke.”
Penn looked around the room. He scarcely recognized it as his galley. He looked back at Nicholai and blinked, unsure whether he was seeing things due to the amount of alcohol he consumed, or if what stood before his eyes was a reality. “Penn,” he said. Though his tone still held a hint of irritation, he relented to Nicholai’s efforts to formally address him. “You can call me Penn.”
Bermuda straightened her posture, staring at the room with skepticism. “You accomplished all this? By yourself?”
Nicholai nodded, rubbing at his exhausted face with both hands. “Yes, well ... with Penn’s instruction, of course.”
Penn showed no sign of gratitude for his acknowledgment, but his demeanor softened. Bermuda glanced once at Penn, then back at Nicholai. She caught the Time Father staring at her wrist where a hand should’ve been. The woman frowned. “Well, if you’re finished here,” she started, “see if Elowyn needs any assistance. She’s been caring for Rennington ‘round the clock. She could use help.”
Nicholai closed his weary eyes, feeling the fatigue wash over his eyelids and brain. Exhaustion would not deter him. “Yes, ma’am,” he responded, nodding to Penn before he squeezed between the two and headed toward Elowyn’s room.
Bermuda watched him go and turned back to Penn. He wore a smug look on his face. “Get to work,” she ordered. “He may have cleaned this cesspool, but you’ve still got casks to make. We’ll need more places to store our dry goods if Captain plunders those other escape boats.”
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 14
