Chapter 16
Chapter
The upper and lower decks of his ship are wrecked with the remains of the chaotic afternoon.
Sea water languishes in puddles. Discarded buckets litter the hallways and decks, thrown aside when they were too leaky to be of further use.
Every available blanket, sail, and tarpaulin—hauled out, dampened, and used to smother any flames they could find—now they lay where they’d been dropped afterward.
The men are weary and, what’s worse, afraid. Four fires set in four different parts of the ship. No rhyme nor reason nor suspects.
McGann sits with Rogers, the two men whispering quietly while Catherine sleeps in the captain’s cabin.
“What in hell?” McGann asks, fighting the urge to rest his head in his hands. He’s exhausted, but so are they all. The captain should show it the least.
“I don’t know,” Rogers says. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.
If it was sabotage, why those four areas?
The mess, the galley, the rigging blocks, and the crew’s berthing.
The hold where the whisky and other goods are stored was spared, as were the captain and first mate’s cabin, and the chart house. Was it to cause fear? Mutiny?”
“They’d have put one in the hold then,” McGann says. “And whomever had his eye on being the next captain would have found it, put it out, and been proclaimed the hero.”
Rogers nods. Fire near the alcohol would certainly have caused the most fear and provided the most leverage for anyone who wanted to take over control of the ship.
“And the four fires were found by different fire teams?” McGann asks.
Rogers nods again. “They were. No man seemed more in the know than any others.”
“It’s unlikely only one man could set four fires in four different places.”
“It could be done,” Rogers says, thinking it through. “If they’d been set in advance and someone moved quickly enough. He’d be on to the second before the first even caught and pulled our attention. And then when all eyes were on those two, he’d have the time to light the third and fourth.”
McGann studies his first mate. “Aye,” he finally says. “I suppose it’s possible. Did you notice anyone missing from the fire teams?”
“No. But I wasn’t looking for that either. I’ll ask the men.”
“Nay, don’t. ‘Twill only terrify them further.” McGann pauses to think. “Is there something about the spaces that weren’t targets that made them special, then? Yours, mine, the hold?”
“Perhaps.” Rogers shrugs. “I couldn’t say what, though.”
McGann shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Whoever did this is aboard The Elphame too. Why would they put themselves in danger?”
“Perhaps that wasn’t the objective and there was some other reason for those fires.”
McGann grunts. “Aye. I’ve considered it too, but I can’t think what he might want if it wasn’t to bring the ship down. To put fear into the men? To what end?” He shakes his head. “I’ve to check on Catherine now,” he says. “But keep your eyes open.”
Catherine wakes with a pounding headache and the sensation of her skull being crushed. She tries to open her eyes, but she can’t because her lashes are crusted closed. She jerks her head in panic, and a larger wave of pain crashes through her.
“Shhhhh, lass,” comes a soothing voice beside her.
His soothing voice. He’s here.
She knew he would be.
“Hold still.” A wet cloth is laid on her eyelids. “I’m just going to clean you off. The smoke must have irritated your eyes.”
She stills herself while he murmurs over her, letting herself feel the relief of the cool cloth on her irritated skin, the soothing hum of his voice in her ears.
For a moment, she feels like she’s back in Chester House, asleep in her rooms. But then the events of the last week come flooding back to her.
She’d run from her wedding. She’d stolen aboard The Elphame. She’d agreed to be McGann’s pretend wife. She’d been hit in the head. And then nothing.
She gingerly reaches up to touch her pounding skull and finds it wrapped tightly in a bandage. And then a rough hand grasps hers and squeezes.
“There now,” he says. “Leave that bandage be and try to open your eyes again.”
She cracks one eye open and then the other, wishing almost as soon as she does that she hadn’t. Her eyes are irritated and burning, immediately watering. Her throat is too scratchy to speak.
“I’ll get you some tea.”
McGann stands from his hunched position in the desk chair he’d drawn over to her bedside. She watches him move away. He’s unreasonably graceful for a man his size. So much so that she notices, even with the ache in her head.
“How long?” she croaks, her voice harsh and scratchy.
“How long until what, Menace? How long have you been sleeping? A day and a night. We’ve seven days left now, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He returns with the tea and helps her to a sitting position, her head throbbing with the movement. He gently holds the teacup for her while she takes a sip. And then another.
“What happened?” she asks once her throat is less parched.
“There were fires. I found you in the hold with a serious knock to your head, in a pool of oil. Do you remember anything? Why you were there? If you slipped, or…?”
She tries to recall, but her mind holds nothing but a throbbing, aching darkness. “No,” she says quietly and shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, lass. You’ve taken quite a blow to the head. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
She lets her mind travel up and down the length of her body but finds nothing amiss except the throbbing pain at the back of her skull.
“No. Just my head.” And then after a moment, “I knew you’d come for me, Andrew. I don’t remember much, but I do recall that. How afraid I was, slipping in and out of darkness. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew you’d come. I knew you’d find me.” She pauses. “And you did.”
“Aye,” he says, turning away from her. But not before she sees the heat in his cheeks. “Of course I found you, lass. I’d have torn the whole goddamned ship apart to find you.”