by Alex P. Berg
Steele snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Fine. I’ll start now, then.” I offered my arm. “My lady?”
She smiled and took it, and I led her down into the line. Barely had we situated ourselves at its back, though, when a crewman in a crisp navy blue and white uniform and a sailor’s cap approached us from the direction of the gangway.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Waters?”
I nodded. “Yes?”
The sailor tipped his cap. “Greetings. I was instructed to keep an eye out for you. Do you have any baggage?”
“We have someone bringing it for us,” I said. “It may already be on board.”
“Excellent,” said the young man with a bob of his head. “If you’d be so kind as to come with me, I can spare you the trouble of waiting in line. The captain himself has requested to meet with you on the bridge.” He held out a hand. “Shall we?”
I suppressed a smile. While my clothes rubbed me the wrong way, being treated with effusive kindness and deference was something I could get used to. “Certainly. Lead the way.”
6
The sun dipped low over the horizon as we entered the bridge, sending its rays glancing onto the ship’s controls, most of them encased in brass and gleaming brightly. There was the ship’s wheel, three-quarters as tall as I was, made of solid oak and polished to a glossy finish, and beside that a stand of wood and brass for the ship’s compass and inclinometer. A spyglass had been mounted onto a rotating post at the wheel’s side, and behind the helm in a glass-faced cabinet, I caught another golden gleam. A sextant, if I knew anything about nautical navigation—which honesty I didn’t, but at least I knew sextants only worked outdoors.
A quintet of speaking tubes tipped with tapered cones spread across the front of the room, and I caught a hint of a command from the one farthest left. The helm was empty, but two men stood at the windows—well, one man and one orc-hybrid, if skin tone and size were any indication.
Our escort stepped forward. “Captain Heatherfield? I’ve brought Mr. and Mrs. Waters, sir.”
The captain turned, letting the light illuminate the bronzed creases of his face and brighten his silver-streaked hair. His uniform resembled our escort’s navy blue and white ordeal, but his jacket was of a much finer cut, with large golden buttons and fringed epaulettes on the shoulders. A naval insignia hovered over his right breast, an indication of his former service in defense of our nation.
“Excellent,” he said, stepping forth. “Thank you. Dismissed.”
The crewman bowed his head and exited stage left. The captain extended a hand. “Captain Heatherfield. Welcome aboard the Prodigious.”
My partner shook his hand first. “Samantha Waters. It’s a pleasure.”
“Please,” said the Captain. “I’m a crotchety, weathered old coot, and you’re a lovely young lady. Trust me when I tell you the pleasure is mine.”
I shook his hand next. “Thomas Waters. Nice to meet you—though I’m sure the pleasure of my acquaintance is less than Sam’s. I know this is a random question, but… what is that thing?” I pointed at the stand with the compass. “It’s not a barnacle. Those are the clam-like buggers who attach themselves to hulls. But it’s a similar sound, right? A—”
“Binnacle,” said the Captain.
I snapped my fingers. “A binnacle! That’s it. It was going to bother me all night if I didn’t ask.”
“Actually,” said Steele. “Barnacles are more closely related to crabs and lobsters than to clams.”
I tilted my head at her. “Are they now?”
She nodded. “Barnacles are arthropods. Clams are mollusks.”
“I never would’ve guessed that.”
Captain Heatherfield glanced at us, a puzzled expression forcing its way through crinkled eyes and pursed lips.
“Apologies, Captain,” I said. “You invited us up to introduce yourself, and we’ve already derailed the conversation. I am, I confess, a master of the conversational tangent.”
“But not of homonyms,” said Steele with a sly smile.
The Captain put up his hands. “Don’t worry. I like nautical banter as much as the next ship’s captain, but I don’t want to waste more of your time than absolutely necessary. I’m sure you’re eager to engage in the night’s festivities, and to prepare yourselves for an exciting few days of entertainment and gaming, but I wanted to let you know that a personal greeting on my part isn’t a luxury I’ve afforded to all of your competitors in the upcoming poker tournament, if you catch my drift.” He tilted his head toward us and lifted his brows in emphasis.
“So you’re...aware of the situation then?” I asked.
“Yes, but most of my staff and crew are not,” said Heatherfield. “Olaugh. Come here, please.”
The big fellow turned from his post and joined the captain at his side, his wrists clasped behind his back. He stood roughly my height, though his cap afforded him an additional inch, and while he wore the same outfit as the captain, it fit him not nearly as well. His collar hugged his neck tightly, as did the shoulders of his coat, but then again, every aspect of the guy was broad. His nose. His forehead. His eyebrows. Even his mouth, with the protrusion of small tusks from his lips that marked him as an orc, though not necessarily a pure breed if his olive skin was any indication.
“This is Kratt Olaugh, the Prodigious’s boatswain and head of security,” said Captain Heatherfield.
Olaugh nodded, but he kept his arms behind his back. “A pleasure.” He spoke in a thick, husky tone.
“He and I are the only ones aware of your true affiliation, should we say, other than your own companion, Mr. Steck, who’s joining us aboard the Prodigious as a porter. None of the other staff or crew know of your purpose here, but be assured that Olaugh and I are fully committed to helping you and Steck. As I think you noticed from my attire, I’m a former navy man, and beyond that I served as a master at arms. I have just as much a spot in my heart for justice and the rule of law as you do. And while we weren’t able to inform the staff about your purpose, we did ask them to cater to your every need. They’ll be happy to do so. Should you need something they can’t provide or you feel you can’t ask them for directly, please approach myself or Olaugh for assistance. Understood?”
Steele nodded. “Thank you, Captain. We appreciate the help.”
“Not a problem,” he replied. “Though with that said, I should emphasize to both of you how important this maiden voyage is for our parent company. The Prodigious’s managing corporation expects everything about this trip—the service, the entertainment, and the poker tournament, especially—to be a roaring success. I’m not a gambling man, so I don’t care as much about the latter, but I value my employment and I look forward to many years as the Prodigious’s captain. Should you uncover anything untoward, either with regards to your competitors in the tournament or otherwise, I’d ask that you treat the matter discreetly.”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” I said. “We have our own role to play here, and for once, it doesn’t involve kicking down any doors or pounding in anyone’s head. My partner wouldn’t even let me bring my trusty skull thumper along for the ride.”
“It’s not exactly appropriate for the company we’ll be keeping,” she said.
I thought about Orrin and Johann’s rap sheets and wasn’t sure I agreed with that statement, but I nodded anyway.
A voice sounded from one of the speaking tubes, drawing the Captain’s attention. “Good,” he said with his eyes turned toward the tube. “Well, in that case, I hope you have a lovely time, and for your sakes, a lucrative one. Olaugh? Can you escort our guests to their quarters?”
“Absolutely, Captain,” said the orc. “If you’ll come with me?”
He cracked the door and held it for us, and I followed Steele back into the evening’s chill sea breeze.
7
Boatswain Olaugh turned the key, unlocking the door to our
stateroom with a satisfying clack. He plucked it from the keyhole and held it between outstretched fingers, dangling from an oversized oval keychain embossed with the room’s number: one fifteen.
I accepted the key. “Thank you, Kratt.”
“I prefer Olaugh. Enjoy your stay.” He gave Steele and me a curt nod, about-faced, and headed down the corridor.
I glanced at Shay. “Not a particularly chatty fellow, was he?”
“He’s probably stressed,” said Shay. “I’d be too if I were a commanding officer on a ship of this size. And I’m not even accounting for this being the Prodigious’s maiden voyage.”
“I suppose.” I didn’t offer the alternative explanation that he was just a jerk. It seemed self evident.
I cranked on the door handle. “After you.”
Steele entered. I followed, closing the door behind me. I hadn’t taken more than three steps in before I paused, wide-eyed. “Oh, yeah. Jackpot.”
The department had sprung for the swankiest of the swanky. A wide sitting room opened up before us, populated by polished cherry wood tables, cabinets with enamel inlays, velvet-upholstered sofas, and armchairs with intricate scrollwork in the legs and backs. Rich purple drapes hung from the windows, pulled back and tied to let in light, while a grandfather clock serenaded us with faint tick tocks. A warm fire blazed in the hearth, a thick fur rug on the floor in front of it and ceramic vases overflowing with carnations on the mantle above it. Doors to our left and right showed hints of bedchambers as lavishly furnished as our current environs.
Shay smiled at me over her shoulder. “A girl could get used to this.”
“Even the most jaded old curmudgeon could,” I said. “And before you ask, no, I was not talking about myself. I don’t consider myself old.”
I crossed to a bar on the right-hand wall, lifted a crystal decanter, uncorked it, and took a sniff. The liquor within greeted my nostrils with hints of raisins, vanilla, and oak. “Hmm. Brandy, I think. Well, not everything can be perfect, I guess.”
“What were you expecting?” asked Shay. “A decanter full of ale?”
“For your information, I’m a bit of a whiskey aficionado,” I said as I replaced the crystal bottle on its shelf. “And by aficionado, I mean I enjoy distillations that don’t burn like the searing fires of the underworld going down. Or up.”
“An aficionado, eh?” said Steele. “Tell me, then. Do you prefer malted or grain whiskies?”
“Please,” I said. “Malted. Rye malt whiskies, specifically. Charred white oak aged, if possible.”
Shay whistled. “Well. Color me impressed.”
“You know me,” I said. “I can’t give a straight answer to a question on the first shot. It goes against my nature.”
A knock sounded against the door.
I glanced at Steele. “Expecting anyone?”
“My masseuse.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“No,” she said. “Answer it.”
I crossed to the front and cracked the door. I opened it wide after I saw who it was. “Ah. Steck. You made it.”
The vice detective had changed into black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a four-button maroon vest—the same outfit I’d seen on the rest of the ship’s porters. With his left hand he gripped one of the brass bars of a luggage trolley, one loaded with several bags.
He dipped his head. “Your luggage, sir.”
His words carried with them a reminder to still my tongue, and he wasn’t wrong. Who knew what prying eyes had already turned our way or what ears lurked in the hallway? It was one thing to acknowledge Steck or an element of Steele’s and my police training in private, but to do so in public, even at the door of my stateroom, could jeopardize our mission. And if I was being honest with myself, while I’d thus far kept my promise to act more sophisticated in public, I hadn’t fully embraced my persona. Specifically, the aspect where Steele and I were a couple, probably because I was concerned with the effects a fake relationship could have on our real one. Had I made the right choice in agreeing to this mission in the first place?
“Sir?” said Steck.
I blinked. “Right. Sorry. Please, come in.”
I stepped to the side, and Steck wheeled the trolley into our living room. He kept up appearances until I closed the door.
Steck shook his head as he looked around. “Fifteen years on the force. In fifteen years, this is the first time a case like this has come across my desk, and yet somehow the luxury stateroom falls to the two of you while I get stuck with porter duty. Where did I go wrong?”
“I take it the crew’s quarters aren’t as nice,” said Steele.
Steck gave my partner a long glance. “We’re sleeping in bunks, six to a room, one substantially smaller than this sitting area here. It smells like coal and engine grease, not rose water and…is that raisins?”
“It’s the brandy,” I said. “You can have some if you like. It’s not really my cup of tea. But don’t blame us. You had your chance.”
“To do what?” he said.
“To take our place.”
He looked taken aback. “How so? I don’t have a close relationship with anyone who could go undercover posing as my wife. Or girlfriend. Or, you know, whatever.”
“What about Munn?” I said.
Steck broke out in laughter. “Munn? Are you kidding me?” He forced out another laugh. “No way we could pull that off. She’s at least ten years my senior. Never mind she has kids and obligations at home that would make it difficult. No one would believe us as a couple. She drives me crazy most of the time. She’s a total ball-buster.”
He glanced at Steele, who regarded him coolly. “I, uh…didn’t mean anything by that, you understand. I’m all for workplace diversity. And Munn’s deserving of her station. Really good at what she does. It’s that sometimes she gets shrill, and bossy, and…I can tell I’m digging myself a hole here, so I’m going to stop.”
Steck picked up a pair of bags from the cart and hefted them. “As you can see, we were able to switch out the single bedroom suite we’d initially reserved for a double. Might cause the maids to talk, but they’ve been instructed to leave your room alone anyway. We don’t want anyone prying. Too much on the line. So, who’s got which room? Or are we sharing? Actually, forget I ever said that. It’s, uh…none of my business. Man, I need to stop talking. Maybe I’ll just leave the bags here in the sitting room. Does that work?”
“That’ll be fine, Steck,” said Steele. “Thank you.”
The grandfather clock clicked and whirred, and its chimes sounded. Steck glanced at its face. “Holy harvest. Six already? We’ll be casting off any minute now. You two should head to the mixer. All of your competitors should be there. It’ll be a good opportunity to feel them out.”
“Great minds think alike,” said Steele. “Daggers, why don’t you change into your tuxedo.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I drew my hands across my suit. “You’re telling me this isn’t formal enough?”
“For a mixer, yes,” said Steele. “For the grand ball that follows it, no. So please change.”
Steele unbuttoned her coat and shrugged out of it, finally revealing what she wore underneath: an off the shoulder mermaid ball gown in a brilliant scarlet satin. The top half hugged her chest and waist and hips tightly while the bottom flared out at the knees, though it had been bundled and pinned just below that to keep from dragging. Apart from the shape of her calves, it left startlingly little to the imagination.
Steele bent over and undid the pins, letting the dress unfurl and cover her toes. When she straightened, she glanced at me, her brows furrowed. “Daggers?”
I tested my jaw. It still worked. “Um. Yes. I’ll, uh…be changing into my tux now.”
8
I stretched my neck as I walked arm in arm with Steele along the interior of the promenade deck. “I still don’t know about this bowtie, Shay. Maybe I should’ve
gone with the ascot.”
My partner gave me a once over. “The bowtie is classic. I chose it for a reason.”
“That reason wouldn’t have anything to do with comfort, would it?”
Shay shot me a cool look. “We could trade shoes if you like.”
“Point taken. But honestly, how do I look?”
Shay sighed and rolled her eyes. “You know, for someone who puts as little effort into his day to day attire as you do, you sure can be insecure. You don’t see me constantly looking for reassurance about my dress.”
“That’s not a fair comparison,” I said. “You look amazing.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Shay’s smile said otherwise. “But for the record, you look quite handsome. Like a rich playboy with little regard for expense. So start acting like it. We’re almost there.”
Ahead of us, one of the ship’s crew admitted individuals into the lounge where the mixer was being held. For a moment, I wondered if I’d need a ticket for admission, but apparently our dress was proof enough of our status for the doorman. He immediately let us in with a flourish of his hands and a deep bow.
Inside, the lounge much resembled our own sitting room except for being larger, better lit, and more densely populated. Roughly a hundred people milled around the interior, sipping on drinks, chatting, and smoking pipes or cigarettes. A trio of bartenders at the far side of the room furiously rattled cocktail shakers and poured drinks, while waiters and waitresses in black jackets and slacks roamed the room bearing trays of deviled eggs, smoked salmon and dill crostini, and shrimp half-submerged in shot glasses of cocktail sauce.
Steele and I drifted toward the center of the room. I eyed the line at the bar, but before I could make a decision on whether or not to dive into the fray, a waiter approached with a tray of tall flutes.
“Champagne?”
“Why yes, thank you,” said Steele as she took one.
I’d made my distaste of wine known to Shay on multiple occasions, but the dry nature of champagne made it a slightly different beast. I lifted a flute off the tray by the stem and nodded my thanks to the waiter.
