Ship of Destiny (11 page)

Jek leaned over the railing. “Good evening to you, Paragon!” Over her shoulder, she asked Amber, “Can I borrow a fine needle from you? I’ve some mending to do, and I can’t find mine anywhere.”

“I suppose so. I’ll come in a bit and get it out for you.”

Jek shifted restlessly. “Just tell me where it is and I’ll get it,” she offered.

“Use mine,” Althea interjected. “They’re in my small duffel, pushed through a piece of canvas. There’s thread in there, too.” Althea knew that Amber’s exaggerated need for privacy extended to her personal belongings.

“Thanks. Now, what was this talk of what few men do?” Jek allowed her lip to curl and a speculative look came into her eyes.

“Not what you’re thinking,” Amber told her tolerantly. “We were speaking of people living their dreams, and I said that few do, and even fewer enjoy the experience. For too many, when they get their dream, they discover it is not what they wanted. Or the dream is bigger than their abilities, and all ends in bitterness. But, for Brashen, it seems to be turning out well. He is doing what he always wished to do, and doing it well. He is a fine captain.”

“He is that,” Jek observed speculatively. She leaned back along the railing with catlike grace and stared up at the early stars speculatively. “And I’ll bet he does a fine job elsewhere also.”

Jek was a woman of appetites; it was not the first time Althea had heard her express interest in a man. Shipboard life and rules had pushed her into a period of abstinence that was at odds with her nature. Although she could not indulge her body, she let her mind run wild, and often insisted on sharing her ruminations with Althea and Amber. It was her most common topic of conversation on the rare nights when they were all in their bunks. Jek had a wry humor about her observations, and her tales of past liaisons gone awry often left the other two women helpless with laughter. Usually Althea found her ribald speculations about the male sailors amusing, but not, she discovered, when the man in question was Brashen. She felt as if she couldn’t take a full breath.

Jek didn’t appear to notice her stiff silence. “Ever notice the captain’s hands?” Jek asked them rhetorically. “He’s got the hands of a man that can work . . . and we’ve all seen him work, back there on the beach. But now that he’s the captain and not in the tar and slush, he keeps his hands as clean as a gentleman’s. When a man touches me, I hate to have to wonder where his hands last were, and if he’s washed them since. I like a man with clean hands.” She let the thought trail away as she smiled softly to herself.

“He’s the captain,” Althea objected. “We shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

She saw Amber wince for her at her prim little words. She expected Jek to turn her sharp wits and sharper tongue against her, and feared even more that Paragon would ask a question, but the woman only stretched and observed, “He won’t always be the captain. Or maybe I won’t always be a deckhand on his ship. Either way, I expect a time will come when I won’t have to call him ‘sir’. And when it does . . .” She sat up abruptly, grinning with a flash of white teeth. “Well.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I think it would go well between us. I’ve seen him watching me. Several times he has praised me for working smartly.” More to herself than the others, she added, “We’re just of a height. I like that. It makes so many things more . . . comfortable.”

Althea could not hold the words back. “Just because he praised you doesn’t mean he’s staring at you. The captain is like that. He recognizes a good job when he sees it. When he does, he speaks up, just as he would if he saw a bad bit of work.”

“Of course,” Jek conceded easily. “But he had to be watching me to know that I work smart. If you take my drift.” She leaned over the railing again. “What do you think, ship? You and Captain Trell go back a ways. I imagine you two have shared many a tale. What does he like in his women?”

In the brief silence that followed this question, Althea died. Her heart stilled, her breath caught in her chest. Just how much had Brashen shared with Paragon, and how much would the ship blurt out now?

Paragon had shifted his mood again. He spoke in a boyish voice, obviously flattered by the woman’s attention. He sounded almost flirtatious as he replied, “Brashen? Do you truly think he would speak freely of such things to me?”

Jek rolled her eyes. “Is there any man who does not speak far too freely when he is around other men?”

“Perhaps he has dropped a story or two with me, from time to time.” The ship’s voice took on a salacious tone.

“Ah. I thought that perhaps he had. So. What does our captain prefer, ship? No. Let me speculate.” She stretched in a leisurely manner. “Perhaps, as he always praises his crew for ‘working smart and lively,’ that is what he prefers in a woman? One who is quick to run up his rigging and lower his canvas—”

“Jek!” Althea could not keep her offense from her tone, but Paragon broke in.

“In truth, Jek, what he has told me he prefers is a woman who is quiet more often than she speaks.”

Jek laughed easily at his remark. “But while these women are being so quiet, what does he hope they’ll be doing?”

“Jek.” All Amber’s rebuke was in the single, quietly spoken word. Jek turned back to them with a laugh while Paragon demanded, “What?”

“Sorry to interrupt the hen party, but the captain wishes to see the second mate.” Lavoy had approached quietly. Jek straightened up, her smile gone. Amber glowered silently at him. Althea wondered how much he had heard, and chided herself. She should not be loitering on the foredeck, talking so casually with crew members, especially on such topics. She resolved to imitate Brashen more in how he separated himself from the general crew. A little distance helped maintain respect. Yet the prospect of severing her friendship with Amber daunted her. Then she would truly be alone.

Just as Brashen was alone.

“I’ll report right away,” she replied quietly to Lavoy. She ignored the belittlement of the “hen party” remark. He was the first mate. He could rebuke, chide and mock her, and part of her duty was to take it. That he had done so in front of crew members rankled, but to reply to it would only make it worse.

“And when you’re done there, see to Lop, will you? Seems our lad needs a bit of doctoring, it does.” Lavoy cracked his knuckles slowly as he let a smile spread across his face.

That remark was intended to bait Amber, Althea knew. The doctoring that Lop required was a direct result of Lavoy’s fists. Lavoy had discovered Amber’s distaste for violence. He had not yet found any excuse to direct his temper at Jek or the ship’s carpenter, but he seemed to relish her reactions to the beatings he meted out to other crew members. With a sinking heart, Althea wished that Amber were not so proud. If she would just lower her head a bit to the first mate, Lavoy would be content. Althea feared what might come of the simmering situation.

Lavoy took Althea’s place on the railing. Amber withdrew slightly. Jek wished Paragon a subdued, “Good night, ship,” before sauntering quietly away. Althea knew she should hasten to Brashen’s summons, but she did not like to leave Amber and Lavoy alone in such proximity. If something happened, it would be Amber’s word against his. And when a mate declared something was so, the word of a common sailor meant nothing at all.

Althea firmed her voice. “Carpenter. I want the latch on my cabin door repaired tonight. Little jobs should be seen to in calm weather and quiet times, lest they become big jobs during a storm.”

Amber shot her a look. In reality, Amber had been the one to point out that the door rattled against the catch instead of shutting tightly. Althea had greeted the news with a shrug. “I’ll see to it, then,” Amber promised her gravely. Althea lingered a second longer, wishing the carpenter would take the excuse to get away from Lavoy. But she didn’t, and there was no way Althea could force her without igniting the smoldering tension. She reluctantly left them together.

The captain’s quarters were in the stern of the ship. Althea knocked smartly, and waited for his quiet invitation to enter. The
Paragon
had been built with the assumption that the captain would also be the owner, or at least a family member. Most of the common sailors made do with hammocks strung belowdecks wherever they could find room. Brashen, however, had a chamber with a door, a fixed bed, a table and chart table and windows that looked out over the ship’s wake. Warm yellow lamplight and the rich smells and warm tones of polished wood greeted her.

Brashen looked up at her from the chart table. Spread before him were his original sketches on canvas scraps as well as Althea’s efforts to formalize his charts on parchment. He looked tired, and much older than his years. His scalded face had peeled after he was burnt by the serpent venom. Now the lines on his forehead and cheeks and beside his nose showed even more clearly. The venom burn had taken some of his eyebrows as well. The gaps in his heavy brows made him look somewhat surprised. She was grateful that the spray of scalding poison had not harmed his dark eyes.

“Well?” Brashen suddenly demanded, and she realized she had been staring at him.

“You summoned me,” she pointed out, the words coming out almost sharply in her discomfiture.

He touched his hair, as if he suspected something amiss there. He seemed rattled by her directness. “Summoned you. Yes, I did. I had a bit of a talk with Lavoy. He shared some ideas with me. Some of them seem valuable, yet I fear he may be luring me to a course of action I may regret later. I ask myself, how well do I know the man? Is he capable of deception, even . . .” He straightened in his chair, as if he had abruptly decided he was speaking too freely. “I’d like your opinion on how the ship is being run of late.”

“Since the serpent attack?” she asked needlessly. There had been a subtle shift in power since she and Brashen had stood together to drive the serpent away. The men had more respect for her abilities now, and it seemed to her that Lavoy did not approve of that. She tried to find a way to phrase it without sounding as if she criticized the mate. She took a breath. “Since the serpent attack, I have found my share of the command easier to manage. The sailors obey me swiftly and well. I feel that I have won their hearts as well as their allegiance.” She drew another breath and crossed a line. “However, since the attack, the first mate has chosen to tighten discipline. Some of it is understandable. The men did not react well during the attack. Some did not obey; few jumped in to assist us.”

Brashen scowled as he spoke. “I myself noted that Lavoy did not assist us. His watch was well begun and he was on the deck, yet he did not aid us at all.” Althea felt her stomach jump nervously. She should have noticed that. Lavoy had stood it out while she and Brashen fought the serpent. At the time, it had seemed oddly natural that they two would be the ones to stand before the serpent. She wondered if Lavoy’s absence had any significance, beyond his being afraid. Had Lavoy hoped that she, Brashen, or even both of them might be killed? Did he hope to inherit command of the ship? If he did, what would become of their original quest? Brashen was silent again, obviously letting her think.

She took a breath. “Since the serpent attack, the first mate has tightened discipline, but not evenly. Some of the men appear to be targeted unfairly. Lop, for one. Clef for another.”

Brashen watched her carefully as he observed, “I would not have expected you to have much sympathy for Lop. He did nothing to aid you when Artu attacked you.”

Althea shook her head almost angrily. “No one should have expected him to,” she declared. “The man is a half-wit in some ways. Give him direction, tell him what to do, and he performs well enough. He was agitated when Artu . . . when I was fighting Artu off, Lop was leaping about, hitting himself in the chest and berating himself. He genuinely had no idea what to do. Artu was a shipmate, I was the second mate and he did not know whom to choose. But on the deck, when the serpent attacked, I remember that he was the one with the guts to fling a bucket at the creature and then drag Haff to safety. But for Lop’s action, we’d be short a hand. He’s not smart. Far from it. But he’s a good sailor, if he’s not pushed past his abilities.”

“And you feel Lavoy pushes Lop past his abilities?”

“The men make Lop the butt of their jokes. That is to be expected, and as long as they don’t take it too far, Lop seems to enjoy the attention. But when Lavoy joins in, the game becomes crueler. And more dangerous. Lavoy told me to go doctor Lop when you were finished speaking to me. That’s the second time in as many days that he has been banged up. They bait him into doing dangerous or foolish things. When something is amiss and Lavoy targets Lop for it, not one of his shipmates owns up to part of the blame. That’s not good for the crew. It divides their unity just when we most need to build it.”

Brashen was nodding gravely. “Have you observed Lavoy with the slaves we liberated from Bingtown?” he asked quietly.

The question jolted her. She stood silent a moment, running over the past few days in her mind. “He treats them well,” she said at last. “I’ve never seen him turn his temper on them. He does not mingle them with the rest of the crew as much as he might. Some seem to have great potential. Harg and Kitl deny it, but I believe they’ve worked a deck before this. Some of the others have the scars and manners of men who are familiar with weapons. Our two best archers have tattooed faces. Yet every one of them swears he is the son of a tradesman or merchant, an innocent inhabitant of the Pirate Isles captured by slave raiders. They are valuable additions to our crew, but they keep to themselves. I think, in the long run, we must get the other sailors to accept them as ordinary shipmates in order to . . .”

“And you perceive that he not only allows them to keep to themselves, but seems to encourage it by how he metes out the work?”

She wondered what Brashen was getting at. “It could be so.” She took a breath. “Lavoy seems to use Harg and Kitl almost as a captain would use a first and second mate to run his watch. Sometimes it seems that the former slaves are an independent second crew on the ship.” Uncomfortably, she observed, “The lack of acceptance seems to go both ways. It is not just that our dock-scrapings don’t accept the former slaves. The tattooed ones are just as inclined to keep to themselves.”