by Alex Lidell
My hands close around the shrouds. The ropes’ familiar give is inviting. I’ve climbed this rigging so many times, I can scamper through it in blind darkness. Or with a tender ankle. I can do anything so long as my jerking spells keep silent.
I slow my breaths. I have to keep calm. Once I’m on the platform, I’ll tie myself in. Simple and smooth. Just a bit of rope to conquer before then, preferably with body and dignity both intact. With a push, I launch myself into the rigging. My heart is fluttering fast and hard. One step. Two. I falter.
I’d fallen the last time I was up here. That the convulsion struck me when it did and not moments earlier is the only reason I still live. The ropes sway. There is something about the openness, the clear pass to my element that rings a warning in my ears.
Domenic is right, I am bloody frightened of the shrouds now. My breathing races. I am a man’s height off the deck, climbing up with reckless abandon as the wind rips around me. Calling to me. Demanding my answer.
Not now, I beg it. But it won’t listen. It has me out in the open for the first time in too many days, and it’s hungry for me. And me for it. My left ankle buckles harder than I expect, and I catch myself with my right foot. My arms grip the ropes. Something is wrong. I know it in the darkness of my mind, in that space behind my eyes that once threatened to crack my skull with building pressure.
I’m not just frightened. I’m terrified.
I don’t know whether a jerking spell waits in the wings or if it’s raw fear of it that shakes me. But I know that a convulsion would make my right side useless, and my left ankle will fail if it must support my body weight alone. The spells have hit me twice out here. I grip the ratlines hard, but I still feel the helplessness and see myself falling falling falling.
I’m stalled in place. And shaking. And my eyes are closed.
I open them.
Domenic is staring at me, bewildered. His certain confidence is gone, and his face is begging me to please keep going.
Rima steps up beside him, smiling like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Is there a problem, Mr. Dana?” he asks. “I was certain I heard you order Ash to the lookout platform.”
Domenic is very still and stoic. He knows something is wrong. And he is right.
A numbness settles over me. If I continue now, I think I will die. Not a worthwhile death of battle, but an empty one born of fear and pride. I have a choice. I can die, or I can bleed.
I climb down.
Chapter 10
I stand alone in my berth, staring at nothing. I disobeyed an officer’s order. An order I had daftly lulled myself into believing Domenic would not issue. Storms. His solid presence beside me felt so good that it made me stupid. It turned me blind to the consequences of my secret, and the chain of command, and our births. If I’d stayed away from Domenic, as was right, I’d have long ago convinced one of the middies to officially assign me deck-only duties.
I swallow and rub my sweaty palms over my trousers. Too late for that now.
The door behind me flies open and shuts with a slam.
I flinch.
“Nile.”
I turn, registering Domenic looming over me.
“You lied to me.” A storm rages in his face. “I asked you, Nile, and you looked me in the eyes and lied. You think you’re the first seaman to grow wary of heights after a fall? I would have helped you. We would have worked through it together.”
“I told you I needed to work through it myself.” I cross my arms, my anger rising to meet his. “Instead, you decided you know better than I what’s good for me. Again. You are like my mother, thinking that if you force me to follow your version of propriety, I’ll realize my previous folly.”
“I’m not your mother—I am the first officer of this ship,” he growls. “And I’m responsible for this crew, of which you are a part. Taking you into my arms didn’t change that.”
“So you send me to the lookout platform with a glass, like you would fish bait. Like Catsper did to young Penn.”
“It’s a proven and humane trick,” Domenic snaps back at me. “And it works.”
“Clearly.”
Domenic pinches the bridge of his nose, his other hand balled tight at his side. When he looks at me again, his face is stone. “We shall hold Captain’s Mast at noon tomorrow. Present yourself to deck then.”
The door shuts behind him, and I sink to the deck, shaking. I’d wanted his arms around me, whispers of courage. Of love. But that isn’t what happened. It was my fault. Had I been smarter and stronger, I’d have ensured Commander Dana never looked at Nile Ash long enough to notice anything amiss. But I was neither.
The door creaks open sometime later, and Ana steps into the berth. She hugs her shoulders and looks at me as if deciding what to say.
My face is blank as I stare back. The friendship we’d once had was a mistake. It is time to plug what leaks I can before my ship of life sinks.
“Captain Rima would like to see you,” she says finally.
I don’t ask why. She would have told me if she wished. “Thank you, ma’am,” I say instead and walk past her down the passageway, my stomach telling me that the day is bound to get worse yet.
“Ms. Ash.” Rima smiles when I enter and points an open palm at a high-back chair. Relax and lean back while you still can.
I sit on the edge, each of my senses as alert as a hawk’s. No. As a hawk’s prey. “Thank you, sir.”
“I was sorry to see your difficulties today,” the captain says with that compassionate voice I know better than to trust. “Had I known Mr. Dana’s intentions, I’d have pointed out your injury to him before things got out of hand.”
I keep my face politely attentive. There has to be a reason for this meeting beyond demonizing Domenic, which can be accomplished before a larger audience at tomorrow’s Mast.
He taps his hand against his table. “Perhaps…” Rima pauses as if the thought he is about to share is just occurring to him now. “Perhaps we’ve placed you at an ill-suited post. I understand you read and write quite well and can give even the middies a run when it comes to mathematics. If what I’ve heard of these achievements is not inflated too greatly, perhaps a clerking position would answer better than your present tasks.” He smiles slightly. “I’ve no clerk now, you see, and I suffer terribly for it.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises with each of Rima’s easy words. Rima despises me. He knows damn well I played a hand in undermining his authority the night of the quake and that I’ve disturbed the plans of his precious Eflians more than once. So what game is he playing? Why offer me an intimate station? And why now, instead of waiting until after tomorrow’s Mast, when I’m weakest?
Because today he has leverage. He knows I fear what awaits me at Mast and that he can protect me from it. Because he wants something specific in exchange.
“I will serve the Aurora in the best way I can,” I say with a bow. “What would you have me do, sir?”
His smile widens. “Well, first, let us examine your knowledge of the basics. Will you point out the kingdoms and their ports on my chart?”
I knuckle my forehead and carefully do as instructed, keeping my answers to the major dockings any merchant would know of. The rules of this game are a mystery still, and I know I better find them out quickly.
“Surely you can do better than that,” Rima chides. “I presume you’ve spent time on a naval vessel before coming to the Aurora?”
I can hardly deny that after my recent performance. “Aye, sir. On the Maylian.” Named after my late aunt, I don’t add. My answer is true enough. I did serve on the small Maylian for a spell, before she was decommissioned. It was a short, safe stint ferrying messages all over the Lyron waters—the only duty that placated my mother after my brother Omar’s death.
Rima nods, unsurprised. “And show me the ports the Maylian docked in.”
The military ports. I hesitate. As a League captain, Rima would be privy to the location of these already. Most o
f them, anyway. I bow and trace my finger along the military routes, skipping over only the handful of the most sensitive Ashing holdings.
“Where else?” Rima snaps. “I’m in little mood to repeat myself. Maylian is an Ashing ship. Certainly she docked in more places. Or is your memory too faulty for such simplicity?”
I understand the message well. Identify the sensitive ports or declare yourself unworthy of being my clerk. And of my protection. But is he testing me for information he knows or fishing for insight the admiralty did not condescend to give him? His wife’s portrait looks down at me, and I lean toward the latter option. The lady is forever maneuvering for admission to courts she has no standing in, and it would little surprise me to believe the same of her husband.
“That’s all I recall, sir,” I say with what I hope sounds like apology. I may have run from Ashing, but I’m not about to discuss our secrets. “If you give me the evening to research, I will have a better answer for you at once.” It’s a lie, of course. There is no better answer to be found in Rima’s manuals, but it seems fitting.
Rima sighs and steeples his hands on the tabletop. “I need a clerk who will know her duty and her environment, Ash. I have little time for instruction or research projects.” He tilts his head, studying me. Weighing. Deciding what value I might have, what I might be able to offer in return for his patronage.
“Well,” he says after a few moments. “Discretion is the better part of valor. I value discretion.” His hands lower, his fingertips drumming the table. Then he stops and nods to himself. “Very well. Let us speak of something else. It is important for a captain to feel the pulse of his crew, to know its irritations before they become conflicts, to resolve discord before it requires discipline. Would you agree with that?”
I follow the change in direction without moving a muscle. A new proposal. I need not betray Ashing’s secrets - I can betray those of the Aurora’s crew instead. Storms and hail. This won’t end well.
“Ash?” Rima prods gently. Almost kindly. “I asked you a question.”
“Aye, sir,” I make my voice high and obliviously perky. “Very important, sir.”
His mouth twitches. “Are you observant, Ash?”
“Oh yes, sir. Very much so.”
“Let us see.” The captain leans back in his chair. “What can you tell me of…” He studies the overhead beams as if deciding which inconsequential name to throw my way, while I play the game, waiting to find out whose confidence Rima would demand I betray to save myself. He snaps his finger. “Of Lieutenant Catsper, let us say. What can you tell me of him?”
Chapter 11
“And what did you tell him?” Catsper asks beneath the constant rumble of boys’ voices that give the Cove its ironic privacy.
“That you have an evil dog who wishes him dead.” Sitting on the deck, I cross my legs beneath me. Rum rubs his ear against my knee, but growls when I try to pet him. I rub my temple instead. Captain’s Mast is two hours away, I’ve not slept the night, and I am more terrified with each bell. “Bloody hell, Catsper, what do you think I told him? That I would be his bloody informant? I played a daft imbecile until he threw me out of the cabin.”
Catsper’s face is dark. “Did you tell Dana?”
A new wave of anxiety hits my gut. No. I’ve avoided so much as eye contact with Domenic since he’d left my berth. Point of fact, with the notable exception of the captain, I’ve spoken to no one but Catsper. I shake my head once and study my boots.
Catsper sighs and leans back on outstretched arms, studying me lazily. “Did you two get stupid?”
I should know better than to be surprised, but my chest clenches despite itself. “You think hauling someone before Mast is the latest fashion in courting?”
His expression remains steady. “I think that Dana’s recent pallor has nothing to do with a lack of sunlight.”
I twitch in surprise. “It little matters now,” I say. A catch in Catsper’s brow suggests he may not agree, but I can’t bear to continue speaking of Domenic. “What make you of Rima’s summons?”
“The offer of protection doesn’t shock me. Rima takes pains to ensure the core of the crew is loyal to him personally. The specific questions he asked I must think further on.”
I’m certain Catsper’s thinking will happen outside the Cove, but I find myself unable to continue the conversation. My thoughts struggle with the growing nagging in my chest and stomach and such that even most basic logic slips from my grasp. I chew my nail and give the marine an ambiguous nod.
“You are frightened,” he says with irritating calm.
“Wouldn’t you be?” I snap. Though for all I know, maybe not.
Catsper raises his brows. “I would little look forward to it.” He angles his chin up and calls out to one of the Spades on the other side of the room. “Penn! Remove your shirt.”
The boy unquestioningly bares his torso.
I inhale sharply. Thin scars cross his skin. Waves and hail. He is just a boy. “What had he done?” I ask Catsper.
“Nothing.” Catsper motions Penn to get dressed. “It is part of Spades’ training to learn to endure pain. As you can see, we are all still alive. As you will be.”
“You’re all mad,” I whisper.
“Perhaps. But we fight well.” Catsper crosses his arms. “You’ve landed into this predicament of your own choice, Ash. Whether you succumb to or learn from it is your choice as well.”
“Learn what?” My voice drips venom. I didn’t expect Catsper to patronize me, of all things. “The concept of an order? Or action and consequence? Or maybe the rules of the navy?”
“Learn to survive.” Catsper rolls to his feet and holds his hand out to me. “Enough talking. We’ve an hour to work on your wrestling before festivities begin.”
He never asks me why I defied Domenic’s command in the first place.
I stand before the entire ship’s company, my heart pounding in my ears. Survive, Catsper’s voice says in my mind. Survive.
The officers look down at me from the poop deck. Rima. Kazzik. Domenic. Catsper. The middies. A boy with a drum. Behind me, separated by a line of black-clad marines, the seamen press together. Around me, though, there is space. So much space. I clasp my hands together behind my back, squeezing as tight as I can. My heart pounds so hard, I’m certain the whole ship hears the beat.
“And what have you now, Mr. Dana?” Rima asks. His voice is that steady, careful mixture of firmness and compassion that doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows exactly what’s before him. And he loves it.
My gaze shifts to Domenic. His face is stoic as it always is, but his fists are curled tight at his sides. In spite of what Catsper said, I am afraid. Very, very afraid.
“Seaman Ash refused a direct order to ascend into the rigging,” says Domenic.
Rima waves his hand. He wants Domenic to continue presiding over Captain’s Mast. I’m little surprised. Rima knows how to extract the greatest benefit from agony.
Domenic’s throat bobs.
You know what scares me? That one day you will do something in front of the crew, or fail to keep your mouth shut, or bloody forget where you are, and I will have no choice but to hurt you.
Except he had a choice. Not now, but yesterday, when he chose to treat me like a middie, to send me up into the rigging for my own bloody good. When he thought he knew better than me.
“Have you anything to say, Ash?” Domenic asks.
I think I catch a slight emphasis on anything. Domenic is throwing me a lifeline, but I’ve nothing to grip it with. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face. The grating is already rigged in the middle of the deck, and the smoldering fear in my chest flares through me. This can’t be happening, my stomach pleads with me. Not to me.
But it can and it is and it will. Princess Nile of Ashing would never suffer such a fate, but Seaman Nile Ash opened herself up to it when she enlisted. Of all people, I well knew the discipline common sailors in the navy live under whe
n I chose to make my stand among them. This is a test. If I cannot face this, there is little point in pretending I can sustain the naval future I’ve chosen. And even less point in everything I’ve done up to now.
“Ms. Ash,” Domenic snaps. “I asked if you had anything to say.”
I tighten the hold I have on my wrist and hold up my head. “No, sir.” I’m pleased at the steadiness of my voice.
“Have the officers anything to say on Nile Ash’s behalf?” he asks of his colleagues.
Silence. Then I see Ana shift her weight, leaning out to look at the captain. Her eyes are wide. She’s expecting something she is not getting. Ana’s gaze flickers between Rima and me, and I see her draw breath.
Catsper’s hand closes around Ana’s wrist, so subtly that I would have missed it had he not taught me the move. He is pressing a pressure point, and by Ana’s sudden gasp, I know he has hit it perfectly.
She snaps her mouth shut.
A momentary relief washes over me. Like Catsper, I little trust whatever Ana was about to say to be of aid. The moment is over too quickly, though, as Domenic speaks again.
“Very well. One dozen lashes,” he says clearly from behind a mask of duty. “Remove your coat.”
My head swims. I numbly pull off my coat, leaving a thin white undershirt that flaps in the wind. By custom, women are permitted to keep a thin shirt on through punishment for modesty’s sake—though wearing a chest band beneath is forbidden. Two Spades stride up and secure my wrists to the grating. “You’ll be all right, Nile,” Penn whispers quickly, before he has to step away. “The waiting is the worst part.”
I hope he’s right. I’ve witnessed many seamen take a dozen cuts without making a sound. I’ve no choice about the fate of my back, but I do have a say in holding together my dignity. Survive. I find Catsper’s gaze, solid and reassuring, and hold on to it.
