With its new parts, the engine hummed along without stopping, and each day her repairs gave hope they’d reach the port sooner than if they’d gone under sail alone. She only needed to hold on a little longer, or so Sam told herself. The ship would have to stop in for supplies even if it traversed the length of the Mediterranean before finding its proper landing. Once they reached a port, she’d surely be able to find food and a direction.
She had to believe in that truth else she’d go mad of hunger if the nibbles on her consciousness begging her for energy she could not supply didn’t drive her there first.
32
Nat sometimes thought he saw a glimmer of respect in the engineer’s expression, and Mister Garth had muttered a few half-hearted compliments, but still Nat had no time alone in the engine room. And with Mister Garth bringing up the porridge at every turn, he knew the engineer continued to believe he’d taken the food because of a grudge.
Neither had the question of the missing food left Nat’s mind, though he’d been unable to do much of anything about it. Mister Garth might tease about the absence of rat droppings, but Nat had been searching for just such a sign and finding nothing. His only hope lay in setting another, better, trap. Which meant the engineer had to leave the space long enough to overcome the instincts of whatever beast—rat, cat, or maybe even dog—had stolen aboard the ship and hidden in the unlikely spot of the engine room. The beast, if still here, must have been starving by this point.
He lay in his hammock at night thinking over just how his dusting for prints had failed and had realized two weak points. He’d dusted the flour across the floor, but hadn’t been able to stay long enough to see the animal, which meant the steps were free for use by whatever had eaten the food. The sailors might see rats as nothing more than a nuisance, but they freely admitted the little creatures had enough thought to know when a ship had been damaged beyond repair. Rats may have had enough sense to recognize the flour as too risky a pathway.
“Mister Bowden. A word.”
Nat froze at the first mate’s call, his arms tense around the sack of coal he carried to restock the boiler. Though he’d done everything asked of him, and caused no more disruption, he couldn’t help remembering what had happened so few days before. He wondered how long it would be before he could relax back into his old role. Mister Garth holding the question of the food over him made such a state impossible no matter how much common sense—and Mister Trupt—told him to leave it be.
The first mate strode over to him, unhindered by the boat’s rocking. Wind slammed them with waves towering almost higher than the deck, too rough for the sheets, which had all been furled. Only the engine kept them moving, its paddlewheels striking below the turbulent waters, protected from the same with wooden shielding.
“Yes, sir?” Nat kept his gaze down and his stance respectful.
“The captain has called a dinner this evening to recognize the work Mister Garth has done in fixing the engine. It’s never run so smooth.”
Nat bit back a sigh. He’d collected the old gears for the engineer. The ones he’d earned were made from a metal with twice the strength and a cleaner cut, but Mister Garth would happily take the credit. “I’ll tell him to make ready.” He turned to continue toward the engine hatch.
“Not so quickly, young Bowden. He means to honor you as well. Maybe not for the quirk that gained you the shipyard’s approval…” The first mate raised an eyebrow to show Nat had failed to cover his reaction. “But he has found your behavior since the incident exemplary. A lesser man would have balked at being asked to work with the very sailor that almost cost him his life. And no one ever said Garth was easy to work with on the best of days. So, yes, go tell Mister Garth, but ready yourself as well.”
“Yes, sir.” His response held more enthusiasm and his step on the way rose a little higher, but by the time Nat reached the hatch, he could have kicked himself for showing any sign of discontent. Not that he thought Mister Trupt would report his moment of weakness. It was more that he’d realized how opportunity had slipped through his fingers.
With Mister Garth at the captain’s table, he’d have had long enough to entice out the starving creature or creatures that haunted the engine room. He’d finally be able to wipe away any lingering doubts from the minds of the engineer and the rest of the crew. Whether the captain had intended to include him, or Mister Trupt made the change in recognition of some truth to Nat’s honest reaction, there would be no way to avoid such an invitation now.
“The captain’s table, eh?” Mister Garth said as soon as Nat passed the message. His face split into a satisfied grin.
It took less than a heartbeat for the engineer to see the other side to it, though. “You thinking of coming here, then?” he added as if able to read Nat’s mind.
Nat shook his head. “I have been called as well.”
That soured the engineer’s mood, but he gathered himself enough to say, “A mighty big honor the captain’s table. Not like when you eat with him in his cabin, boy. It’s a formal meal, though I suppose you’ve seen your share of those at your fancy home. Still, you’ll need to be on your best behavior. Show us both up fine.”
“I will.” Nat brushed past the engineer with his load, trying to ignore the fluttering that started in his stomach from the combination of missing the first, and possibly last, chance to catch the creature along with the pressure to live up to the captain’s mealtime expectations without further alienating Mister Garth with his “fancy ways.”
Once they landed, anything smart enough to avoid his trap would most likely take advantage of the confusion to slip off the vessel, or at least to an area where food seemed more abundant. If Nat had any hope of removing this taint, he needed to come up with an explanation for the missing food, proof that did not involve him.
As to the dinner itself, despite what Mister Trupt said were the captain’s intentions, if he made any mention of the quality of parts, or if Nat’s childhood table manners far outshone those of the engineer, he could offend the very man whose nature had already proved sensitive to such things.
The hours between Mister Trupt’s invitation and the dinner bell both raced and crawled. Each minute offered more distraction and further upset to his stomach until Nat shivered with the force of it. Never had he felt more vulnerable, not even when he believed himself on a march to the noose.
At least then the answer had already been given. Here, he navigated a stretch with rocks on one side and too short a draw on the other. A single misstep could lead to disaster.
“Time to go splash some water over your face and hands, Mister Bowden. Wouldn’t want to disgrace yourself in coming to the table.”
Mister Garth seemed almost fatherly as he escorted Nat up the stairs and into the evening light, but he was in no condition to appreciate the normally sour engineer’s jovial moment. He stumbled on the last step and only stopped his face from meeting the recently swabbed deck with both hands. Pain raced up his elbows from his wrists, adding to his dizzy head.
“Are you feeling all right? You don’t look so good.” The engineer pulled Nat back to his feet.
He swayed there, a movement that threatened to cause another tumble as the waves sent the deck counter to his motion.
Mister Garth caught his upper arm in a tight grip that had little to do with anger. “Boy, you’re the color of shallow water over algae. It’s not a good sign.”
Nat swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine,” he managed, his words slow and labored even in such a short phrase.
The engineer shook his head. “You will not. Something in Jenson’s cooking looks to have sat poorly in your gut. I’ll make your excuses to the captain. There’s no way you’ll be any good at his table.” Without waiting for a response, he waved another sailor over. “Escort this young man to his hammock and see he stays there. I need him healthy, not vomiting all over the engine.”
“No problem, Mister Garth.”
Nat glanced over to see Garth h
ad chosen Phil as his escort. Already, the thought of avoiding the treacherous ground at the captain’s table had eased some of the pressure on his head and stomach. Not enough, though, for him to protest as the sailor supported him back to his hammock. His head still spun and his stomach churned, making a quiet rest sound appealing.
“I’ll leave you here, Nat, but I’ll be back soon with a dry apple and hardtack. It’s a sailor’s remedy. Sure to ease the rough waters in your gut. Lie down and rest, if you can.”
True to his word, Phil returned with the food, but Nat pretended to be asleep. Sailor’s remedy or not, he had no intention of putting anything in his stomach. He had a feeling it would taste little better going down than it would on the return journey, and he had no hope of even a single bite choosing to stay.
Phil tucked a cloth bundle of food next to Nat in his hammock so no rats would come and eat this as well. Nat heard the sailor make his way back to the deck and his own meal, one that would last a much shorter time than the formal dinner Mister Garth now suffered through. The engineer, though, might find both the attention and higher quality of food on the captain’s table worth the effort, even if most of the sailors would have rejected the fare.
Captain Paderwatch rarely called together more than a couple of his officers, and even more rarely included Mister Garth among them. An honor indeed, and one Nat felt grateful he’d managed to avoid.
Still, sleep eluded him. Though his stomach pain eased, he did not feel up to partaking of the meager collection Phil considered a cure for what ailed him. Nat had never been one to suffer from stress before.
He felt so tentative now in the face of what had happened and what could happen again at the least excuse. Maybe not a hanging, but Captain Paderwatch made it clear friendly feelings and old favors only stretched so far. If Nat slipped up a second time, he’d be put off at the nearest dock with little hope of a recommendation to find himself another berth.
So much balanced on the slender point of Mister Garth’s acceptance.
He could not change who he was, or what he’d been. He could only prove to the engineer that he expected nothing for that past, nothing more than the chance to establish himself. And he already had a black mark against him in this endeavor, one he did not deserve.
33
Sounds from above settled as the crew found places on the open deck to eat. If the wind were too strong or the rain falling, they’d come to eat here, among the hammocks. Only the captain had a sheltered place to eat for every mealtime.
Nat envisioned the deck, each group finding their normal spots with him floating among them, friend of all but bound to none.
He dug for the apple Phil had left for him though he hadn’t consciously recognized the first twinges of hunger. Nat brought the dried fruit to his lips, but paused before taking a bite. The mental vision of the deck above moved to take in the empty space in front of the engine hatch where Mister Garth chose to camp when he wasn't up on the bow with the spot within clear view.
His fingers tensed hard enough to bruise a fruit still ripe with juice, though the apple in his hand hardly matched that description.
He had everything he needed in the food from Phil and the empty watch spot. Nat could finally do something about his situation.
The cramps in his stomach, whether left over from his earlier pains or brought anew by hunger, didn’t matter when weighed against a chance to clear his name, one that might never come again.
Both legs went over the edge, and he made a shaky dismount, but his head no longer spun, at least not with vertigo. Instead, his thoughts worked out a plan that could not fail—it must not. This time he’d place the trap at the very edge of the pipes and would not leave for anything.
The creature or creatures would think themselves safely hidden under the pipes, while Mister Garth would be busy at the dinner. Nat had no doubt jokes about his absent sea legs were already passing among the crew, part in warning about a sickness and part because Phil couldn’t keep an amusing tale to himself. No one would expect him to be up and about.
He could not have found a better circumstance had he engineered it on purpose.
The dark offered a cloak about his shoulders as he made his way across the space between the crew hatch and that of the engine room. Knowing where everyone chose to eat, Nat had only to look for strays, disgruntled sailors or those who had offended enough to be cast aside for the day or so it took to get over whatever made them separate.
He ducked around a shadow that could have been coiled ropes or a sulking crewman, and waited for a cloud to diffuse the moon’s light before scrambling to the engine hatch, his path only slightly hindered by the weakness that persisted in his knees. He held a doused lantern in one hand and the bundle of food in the other. Falling would have made him look even more the fool.
Another cloud gave him the time he needed to duck inside, while a roar of laughter from one group of sailors masked any noise he might have made.
Nat stumbled down the steps, almost dropping the lantern when he went from impeded vision to pitch black. The bundle with the food fell from his other hand as he used that appendage to brace against impact. His food vanished into the gloom.
He hadn’t considered just how dark the engine room would be without either sunlight coming through the cracks or a lamp to light his way.
His breathing sounded overly loud along with the echoes of his thudding entrance, but though he hung there frozen for longer than comfortable, no one came to investigate. It seemed he’d arrived in the engine room without detection, as much by the grace of fate as his own clumsy planning.
While he’d waited for an alarm to sound, his eyes had adjusted to the room well enough to make out the banked fire that kept the boiler going during the night. Not willing to chance the ship meeting an obstacle too small or dark to be seen in time, the captain had Mister Garth lower the flames to smoldering so the boiler did not cool but neither did it push the paddles round fast enough to drive them into the unknown before the lookout could call and the steersman react.
Here his plan held solid.
Making his way across the dark chamber afforded Nat more than a dozen bruises from pipes and levers he’d never consciously noticed in the lit room, an uncomfortable journey. Still, when he reached the fire, its glow revealed the kindling he’d added to the supply just that afternoon. A quick bit of prodding, and he had a spill to light his lantern.
Nat released a sigh of relief as the shielded lantern revealed more of the space where he stood and turned an unfamiliar territory into one well known from all his labors.
As the sound of his sigh faded, though, he heard a different noise, something that didn’t belong in a space populated only by the low-set boiler’s barely audible hum.
The scrape of rough sackcloth against the deck.
He closed his fist, only to remember how the cloth-bound food fell from his grasp on the steps. His idea for a trap was working all too well, but with him too far to catch sight of the villain much less apprehend the creature to prove he would never steal another man’s food.
Nat stalked toward the steps, fighting the instinct to run. He had to keep quiet or the creatures would scatter.
There must be more than one rat, or something the size of a dog, to drag the bundle so quickly. And smarter than he’d thought. Whatever haunted the engine room could not help but be starving, and yet had not torn open the bundle and began to feed right there.
If he hadn’t been listening to the emotion in his sigh, Nat wondered if he’d have noticed the faint dragging sound in time.
As he turned the corner, Nat raised the shield to fill the room with brilliant light, at least compared to the darkness of a moment before. He’d kept the flame within his vision so he wouldn’t be blinded, but the squeak from his quarry showed it had no such protection.
A flash of movement and a clatter of pipes gave Nat a direction.
He set off in pursuit, the lantern showing him a path through the
maze so small that even with the aid of sight, he made enough noise to bring the whole crew down on him, or so it seemed.
Still, the creature moved faster, always just beyond his vision, making a clear sight of its shape impossible. Doubts about the wisdom of chasing after a desperate beast whose manner he knew not crept into Nat’s head while his body kept pushing forward, but the curve of the ship’s outer wall showed before he could hesitate.
He had it cornered.
Nat raised the lantern high, wanting to see what he’d caught up with before crawling through the last set of pipes to a space too small to give either of them room to maneuver.
34
Sam pressed her back against the rough wall, unable to go any further. Her feet scrabbled on the deck as though trying to push her through the wooden planks, but nothing could stop the light from reaching her.
She watched, fascinated, terrified, as a pale yellow wash came closer and closer, seeming to take forever though she knew time had slowed like tree sap in the winter, trapping her in the instant before she lost everything.
The light crossed her toes and rose higher before it paused as she heard a gasp.
She tore her gaze from the yellow and squinted beyond it to see none other than the boy, Nat. He’d caught her after all.
She’d harmed him time and again without ever meaning to. Of all those to discover her, it had to be him.
Pleas dried in her throat, only a cracked whisper of nonsense making it past the gate of her lips. Exhaustion, hunger, and fear stole any bit of language, leaving only the certainty he’d be happy to see her tossed overboard, thrown into the water without even a plank to float on.
The boy stared back, seemingly as speechless as she found herself. Or maybe he contemplated all the ways he could exact revenge, how he would make her pay for every moment she’d cost him.
Secrets (The Steamship Chronicles Book 1) Page 15
