The longer the day went on, the more that thought settled into Nat mind. A plan of sorts grew from it.
First, he had to make his apologies to Jenson. Only by helping with the biscuits could Nat get what he needed. It would be worth another shorted meal to prove his innocence and do away with any doubts the crew might harbor about him. All without confronting the engineer or causing any more trouble.
24
Never one to sit still and needing a distraction from her aching stomach, Sam fell back on the games she’d played when Lily went to work. If she could keep busy, the hunger would burn less, and the engine’s whispers, softer now, would not press as much.
First she counted every pipe she could see and imagined what they might be used for. This space offered many more sights than the stable she’d spent a few months in when hiding while her sister worked at Cooper’s Bakery. Memories of the bakery did not help her, though, bringing with them as they did the taste of fresh pastries along with the stench of burnt crusts. Lily could only bring those no customer would willingly buy, but Sam hadn’t cared.
The smell lingered, and Sam realized it lacked the buttery undertone of burnt pastry.
She sent a careful glance at the hatch, but it remained sealed against the chance of water splashing down to interfere with the engine.
The lure of the smell, both something to think on besides her gnawing hunger and because fire in tight quarters could spell danger, drew Sam from her hiding place once again.
The pipes seemed larger, the way out to the center of the room harder, with her energy expended in fixing the engine. A small part of her grumbled that the engineer had not returned to wonder at her handiwork, but mostly she felt grateful for his continued absence.
Her glance drifted to the spot where the dish had been left unattended, and she amended her thought. She’d prefer he returned with a sumptuous meal to fill her belly, if he could do so without discovering who had taken up residence in his engine room.
Guilt stabbed once again at how quickly she thought to take his food. At least if he brought the plate, he would not blame another, but she had no right to it.
The smell drew her forward again, not food, but offering an important diversion.
Metal clanked under her foot, and Sam picked up the gears absentmindedly, threading her fingers through them and tucking them into her pockets without a second thought as she made her way across the room.
The results of her investigation proved disappointing.
The engineer had left the boiler fire burning when he still had hope he could fix the engine with his brutal tactics. The smell came from flames licking the last of the provided fuel and giving off black smoke in burning that which had nothing left to give.
Sam’s hand hovered over the small pile of coal and kindling as she considered the risks in feeding the fire, but ultimately she turned away. The engineer might accept the engine repairs because he had seen to the fixing, even though her methods little resembled his, but he could not help but question a fire that burned long past when any fuel must have been exhausted.
With one last glance around the bare chamber in the hopes of finding something edible stashed in a corner, Sam withdrew once again, her growling stomach loud enough she feared the sailors above would hear her.
No one came, and with no other choice, she settled into a long wait. She brushed at a smudge on her skirt only to find something hard in her pocket, an edge of the treasure trove she’d collected. Though Sam knew she should return the gears and other bits of metal to the pile, knew the thieving increased her chances of being caught, she could not go back to contemplating her fate with nothing to keep her from worries.
In fitting her stolen parts together and testing their machining, she could forget for a moment the risks of discovery. She could push aside all thought of the dangers that awaited her in a land where she knew no one and only spoke the trade tongue. Finding the Naturals safe haven without being able to ask and while keeping her abilities hidden seemed too insurmountable a task to contemplate, especially when most considered Naturals dangerous fugitives.
When she’d set out on this journey, her focus rested on Lily and saving her sister from the stress of hiding Sam. A guided trip with assistance at every turn and people who knew who to ask and where to go seemed laughable now. How easily it should have gone. How very different the truth turned out to be.
At least she could hold onto the knowledge that Lily could not know what had happened. Even if the carriage driver had returned to tell them, surely Henry would have protected her sister from this truth. Lily had to get stronger because some day her sister and Henry would find their way to the place Sam claimed for her own and visit.
She would do whatever necessary to make sure that happened, both for her sister and for herself. After all, how difficult could it be? Henry had evidence this place existed, and she doubted whether most Naturals had a friend like him with the coin and connections to investigate so thoroughly.
Soothed both by her thoughts and the smooth touch of metal between her fingers, Sam drifted into daydreams of her gilded future, her forehead resting against the rough wooden wall of the ship, the rush of water a thin length of board from her skin.
25
“I’ll sweep up the mess in here. Happy to do it.” Nat waved Jenson from the kitchen, glad to be back on the cook’s good side even if it meant apologizing for something he hadn’t done. The ship had too little space for grudges. Nat hadn’t realized how important the crew’s opinion had become to him until he thought they were all looking askance.
“You’re a good kid, Nat. Just keep your hands clean from now on.”
He rubbed both hands down his sleeves, knowing full well the cook had meant something much different. Still, he won a laugh. After helping with the morning biscuits, he had flour there and everywhere else. Though they tried to be careful, between unexpected jolts and the need to powder the trays so the batter didn’t stick, there was enough to sweep up, enough for Nat’s plan at least.
His portion sat on the shelf, braced between the wall and the lip so it wouldn’t slide. Jenson had served it on his way out, leaving the porridge steaming and aromatic.
He scowled and tried not to breathe in the enticing scent.
The previous day, he’d shoveled cold porridge with no thought to taste or time to savor and been blamed for swallowing down a fresher portion. Now, if he wanted to prove his innocence, he had to give up his portion once again, not to the demands of sailing but to hungry rodents who must be infesting the engine room.
The growling of his stomach warned Nat he’d have a hard day ahead of him, but if he took a single bite, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.
Turning his back on the plate, he bent to the task, not just sweeping the flour clear from the counter and floor so no rats came here looking for food, but also tucking it into a length of cloth he’d borrowed for this purpose. An empty plate would prove nothing, but prints in flour could not be denied.
It seemed to take forever to clean the space, longer still because of the scents drifting over from a meal meant to be his but for which he had a bigger purpose. Finally, though, he collected the folded cloth and his plate, ready to set a trap.
Up on deck, those on watch had gathered near the prow to investigate a smudge on the horizon. Curiosity almost pulled Nat from his path. Nothing should have been there for a day or more, and the possibility of a ship, friendly or not, needed to be determined so a course could be set.
The plate in his hand reminded him of his task, and he needed to complete it quickly.
At least the distraction had pulled Mister Garth into the discussion. They may have left under full sail, but evading a pirate or an enemy privateer had little to do with pride and everything to do with survival. The engine repairs could be crucial.
Nat thought maybe his trap would prove more valuable than just clearing his name. If he revealed the rats, they could set the ship’s cat in the engine
room to prevent any damage from the same creatures that had taken Mister Garth’s meal.
No one was paying attention to the engine hatch when he reached it. Nat lifted the wood only a small way before slipping into the shadowy interior.
His plan would fail untried if they caught him sneaking in where he didn’t belong. No one would believe his intentions, not with the engineer’s accusation hanging over his head. That truth almost made him give up the plan, but he could not just walk away as Mister Trupt counseled.
Nat paused long enough to let his eyes adjust to the dim space before crab-walking his way to the bottom of the step. Without moving to the floor, he reached over and placed his own meal where he’d left the engineer’s the day before. This time, though, he opened his makeshift flour bag and shook it over the space around the crate until no rodent could approach the porridge without leaving a damning trail.
All he had to do now was wait, an act made more difficult by his own hunger and the steam still rising from the cooked grains. His back ached, crouched as he was on the stair, and the morning’s heat had begun to filter in through the hatchway, turning his hiding spot into a hot, close space.
Time slowed and even his heart seemed to beat at a sluggish pace.
No matter how long he stayed, how still he kept, or how he fought the need to adjust his position, he heard no scrabbling. Though he ignored the greater craving to lean over and swipe just one small finger’s worth of the porridge, he saw no four-footed beasts approach the plate.
What he did hear proved more troubling. Through the wood of the hatch, his name sounded not once but three times before he recognized it for the call it was in his dazed state.
Cursing under his breath, Nat abandoned his post, and his untouched meal, to seek out the first mate before Mister Trupt assumed he had shirked his responsibilities. From the irritation in the other man’s voice, Nat guessed the captain needed tending.
At least no one saw him slip out of the engine room. He could pretend to have been resting under the cover of a shore boat. He’d been working with Jenson while the rest of the crew relaxed, so just maybe no one would hold it against him.
26
Sam winced at the flash of bright light when the hatch lifted, but she’d already moved past the first row of pipes before stopping to assess whether the boy had left or just let in some fresh air. No, she could not see his shadow, and if she listened carefully, his breathing no longer stirred the hot space either.
She didn’t know whether he’d thought to hide from his chores or brought the engineer’s breakfast without knowing the bald man had gone above. Sam didn’t care.
She could see the porridge and the twist of steam still rising from it. Though she’d suffer guilt later, her shrunken stomach needed food now. She’d become vermin, and the hot porridge shouldn’t go to waste.
Noises came from the deck above her, the thud of feet, bare and booted, along with muffled talk, but the hatch didn’t move.
She scrambled over the remaining pipes, uncaring for how their chill made her shiver with such a reward waiting for her on the other end. She’d never felt so hungry. What little sustenance she’d gained from her portion of the first serving had gone to the engine, and more stripped from her bones as well. Nothing could keep her from the food, not thought of theft being wrong nor fear of the engineer’s return.
Sam burst from hiding, ready to dive across the unprotected space between her and food, then jerked to a halt so abruptly she struggled not to fall forward and leave the very prints she needed to avoid.
A fine white powder decorated the boards, fading to gray where it came across a patch of grease.
Her knees trembled, both with the effort of holding herself up and the danger she’d almost stumbled into. Whatever the cause for the powder, it had not been there before. And even if it had some purpose, like to soak up the spilled grease already discoloring the white, if she left footprints where any could see, all hope of remaining undetected would be lost.
Bad enough she consumed food meant for another, but in that she had no choice. Sailors would blame the varmints that devoured anything left unattended before they’d think of a stowaway, but not with human hand- or foot-prints telling another story.
Sam glanced toward the hatch, half expecting to see someone peering in from the outside, but it remained firmly shut.
The brighter light coming through the boards blinded her for a moment, but as soon as her vision cleared, she made her way around the powder even though it meant spending too much time out in the open for safety. If she had any idea what they’d look like, she would have tried to make a ship rat print or two, but a poor attempt would raise more questions than it answered.
She had little choice.
Staying undiscovered would mean nothing if she starved to death, and though rats could be a feast for a cat, she had no way of knowing how well they would sit in her belly, not that she’d heard or seen any so far.
The stairs creaked as she crept up the first two so she could reach through to where the dish rested on a wood crate. Though Sam flinched, that slight sound would be lost in the creaks and groans of the ship’s wooden frame as it cut through the water.
She kept her attention focused on the hatch in search of the slightest motion, giving only quick glances to the plate so she could place her hands properly to snatch it up.
Once the dish rested in her possession though, Sam needed no vision to gobble the serving of porridge down, tipping the plate so she could see above the edge even as her tongue swept bites into her mouth. She gulped them down as fast as they passed the barrier of her lips, hardly taking the time to chew.
Footsteps sounded not once but twice as she ate, each time making her freeze in terror.
Still, the hatch stayed closed, and the sounds faded as quickly as they’d come.
When her tongue could find nothing more, and even a look revealed no food remaining, Sam lowered the plate back to where she’d found it. Her fear of discovery combined with extreme hunger had distracted her from the need to take only what might go unnoticed. Unlike the first time, there could be no doubt something had consumed the meal.
The trip to her hiding spot stretched her tense nerves as she had to watch for the edge of powder rather than the hatch. She’d succeeded this far, but one small slip, and she’d be brought to the captain’s justice.
Sam didn’t feel safe again until she lay curled, back to the sun-warmed wall. Her fingers laced through the teeth of a large gear she didn’t remember collecting, but which offered her some measure of comfort. How long she had to wait before the chance to try for freedom remained unknown, and as such, it loomed endless before her. Still, she couldn’t help a sense of peace with how she’d fared so far.
Fate had been with her. If only it stayed on her side for a little while longer, she’d soon find safety and happiness in a place where she would never need to hide again.
27
“You!”
A hand pinched Nat’s ear before he had time to react, and he struggled to keep up with the engineer in the hopes of easing the sharp pain. “I was trying to—”
“Shut your mouth. You’ll tell it to the first mate and the captain. I have proof you’ve been sneaking in when I wasn’t there.”
Even had he wanted to, Nat couldn’t put words together as Mister Garth increased both the pinch on Nat’s earlobe and his speed. The length of the deck had never seemed so long, or so many of the crew on top at once, each staring at him a second time.
The hatch to the engine room stood open, something Nat had never seen before.
He gasped in relief when the pressure stopped, and then again when a sharp shove to the back sent him down the steps barely able to keep his footing.
There, in the open space before the piping began, stood both the captain and the first mate, as promised. Though a lantern lit the space, Nat had no inclination to look around. He glanced to the plate, and as expected, it had been licked clean.
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“Look at this. It’s not Jenson making free with my space, Captain. See the mess he leaves behind to taunt me? He’s no use for anything and thinks he’s above all of us because of a little book learning.” Mister Garth paused, tugged his forelock, and added, “Begging your pardon, Captain, but you’ve got the title to hold our respect. He does not.”
Captain Paderwatch turned to Nat, his brows lowered in as close to a frown as the man had ever worn in Nat’s presence. “Is this true, Mister Bowden? Have you been plaguing the engineer and causing him trouble? I thought you had an interest in the workings. This is not the way to gain a man’s consent. I thought you smarter than that.”
“But I wasn’t—I wouldn’t—I swear—” Nat struggled to get a full sentence out in the face of the condemnation on both the senior officers’ expressions.
Mister Trupt shook his head. “A man’s only as good as his actions, boy. Yours don’t show you well in this.”
Nat ducked around the captain to grab the lamp, his passage followed by a curse from the engineer, who’d tried to catch him and failed. “I wasn’t causing trouble. I was trying to prove I’d never eaten Mister Garth’s share. See, the plate’s proof enough. I gave up my morning meal to regain your trust. The flour will show it.”
He waved the lamp over the floor, but Mister Trupt caught his arm before he could see the rat prints that were surely there.
“You stole flour too? You’re not helping your case, Mister Bowden.”
“I didn’t do that either. Ask Jenson. I helped with the biscuits this morning even knowing I wouldn’t get my share. I swept up so he could eat with the crew. It’s only the waste I used. I swear.”
The first mate frowned. “What did I tell you about swearing? You’re too easy with the words. Makes them have little value.”
Secrets (The Steamship Chronicles Book 1) Page 12
