Chapter Twelve
Before Nick could ask a follow-up question, a call for ‘medic’ echoed down the hall. “Duty calls,” Anna said. “Do try not to hump him, Kit. The children aren’t going to be long with Olis’s help. One of them even begged for help from Captain Hin. Hah!”
Kit’s tail cut sharply through the air from side to side, glaring at the back of his aunt’s head as she disappeared down the hall.
His jaw was taut as he marched to the stove and set a pot of water boiling.
He threw in a handful of leaves that bubbled, filling the room with an overpowering floral scent.
Nick watched Kit, debating what he wanted to address first.
Kit beat him to it. “Scenting doesn’t always mean that.”
There was a guilty note in Kit’s voice. Nick turned over the words in his mind, considered Kit’s tone, and when he couldn’t decide if Kit was being truthful or not, he considered the way his tail was lashing. “Alright.”
Kit’s eyes cut to Nick, laden with irritation. The only thing Nick could tell with certainty was that Kit seemed embarrassed. And when Kit tossed more leaves roughly into the pot and stirred, he guessed why.
“I think you smell nice,” Nick said.
Kit froze. Bull’s-eye.
Nick turned his face into the shirt Kit had leaned against and breathed in. “It’s pleasant,” he added. “I don’t know why she made such a big deal about it. Maybe she was just winding you up?”
Movement returned to Kit’s tail. It hooked one direction, then the other. It was still making hooks by the time the kids all returned with their construction projects.
Nick joined them at the table, impressed by the collection of solid square frames. “All of these would work,” he said, placing them around a few different-sized pots. They were tall enough to shield the plant from the wind, but not so tall they’d block sunlight.
“Are we planting them now?” Mini asked, looking at Nick.
All the kids copied him, and even Kit watched Nick, as if he had the answer.
A small bit of pressure settled over Nick as he looked back at Kit.
He worried that Kit would be distraught if they planted the beans and they didn’t grow.
And they were down to three. Nick tried to remember what the failure rate for coffee seed germination was but quickly realised there was little point in that—those numbers weren’t based on plants being germinated on a ship, in soil from another world.
“We have constant access to clean, fresh water?” Nick checked.
They all nodded.
“It’s going to stay sunny and warm the further we sail?”
More nods.
Nick was going to get rescued any day now—or escape once they were near land—so embarking on a long-term project like this didn’t make sense.
But the idea that even once he was gone, Kit and the children would tend and grow the plants, that Kit might one day get to taste a cup of coffee—it was a soothing daydream.
“Let’s plant them.”
The children cheered. Kit produced the seeds, and they all watched as Nick buried them in three of the smallest pots and poured water over them. He gave careful instructions about how dry the soil should be and how, on cold nights, the pots might need blankets.
Kit picked up two of the pots, but Nick stepped in, taking them right out of his hands.
“Mini, you’re in charge of the plants. Kit will put together the rota for their watch, but you bring them out.” Nick gave one to Mini and one to the child next to him.
“This way!” Mini took charge, and the children raced out with pots and frames and fresh water.
Kit watched them go and then looked back at Nick.
“She obviously saw you go by last time,” Nick said. “No sense in reminding her you’re on board.”
Kit nodded stiffly. “Lady Desre was upset by the others seeing her. She is…recovering once more.” And then Kit looked at Nick, hopeful, longing. Desperate.
Nick sighed. “Right. I’ll tell you what I know.”
◆◆◆
They sat together at the table, the air smelling like warm soil and nature.
Nick rolled up his sleeve, spending a long time staring at his arm.
It was an unfortunately artistic section of Laurence’s work—the symbols were blended together, and Nick couldn’t confidently distinguish one from the other.
His inner wrist began to throb as he stared, as if it were trying to translate his arms but couldn’t.
Nick eventually took one of Kit’s quills and drew a wide circle on his skin. “It was one of these,” he said.
Kit’s head cocked sideways. “What do you mean?”
“Remember the night of the party, how I told you this one itches when it translates?” Nick tapped his inner wrist. “Here, it was burning when she touched me, like someone was holding a flame to my skin. But there was so much going on, I’m not sure exactly which symbol it was…
I’m not even sure how many symbols are in this circle. ”
Kit’s tail began to lash. “You do not know what your own spells do?”
Nick wasn’t going to get into it about the student thing again; Kit was only going to think he was lying. “I don’t,” he said instead.
Kit’s jaw tightened. He leaned in to peer closely at Nick’s arm. “You can cast all of them on me?”
“Err,” Nick hesitated. He hadn’t exactly been given a full explanation about them… Laurence just said he was writing a spell that would let Nick learn other languages. He hoped that meant all he had to do was copy it. “I can try.”
He thought the answer would aggravate Kit further, but instead he looked relieved. “Thank you.”
Nick felt uncomfortable with the thanks. “I don’t know if it will work. But even if it doesn’t—I’m still going to figure something out. Even though you kidnapped me, well…” Nick sighed. “I want to help you.”
Nick had to make sure that when his rescue came, Desre didn’t get to sail off scot-free. One way or another, there would be justice.
Kit’s tail crept close, circling Nick’s ankle. “I do not deserve it,” he said softly, “but thank you.”
It was an echo of when Nick had offered Kit the coffee beans at the party. Nick stared at Kit, thinking of his determination to grow the coffee beans—the gift he didn’t think he deserved either—and thinking of his kindness and patience with the children. His openness and his vulnerability.
It was cruel to take someone gentle like Kit and force them to be a weapon.
“I think you do, Kit,” Nick said.
◆◆◆
Every minute that Nick spent in the room, he practised drawing the symbols on slate with chalk.
It was a dismal effort. Nick was one of those rare kids who had hated art from the age of four, a premonition of what was to come because Laurence had soaked up all the art genes for himself and left Nick with nothing to work with.
A fact that hadn’t magically changed now that he had a pressing need to draw well.
Nick leaned back sharply, annoyed at the latest terrible attempt. This wasn’t going to work. It would take months to be able to copy it accurately, if he ever managed it at all. And Nick didn’t even know how the symbols functioned. The only thing he could control was how accurate the drawing was.
The slate slipped from his grip as a sudden surge of heat raced through the black ink lines on both his arms. The delicate stone, so carefully wrapped and stored after each lesson, shattered on the ground.
Nick only spared a glance for the broken instrument, clutching his arms as another surge of heat raced through the tattoos, flaring to pain, tearing a twisted gasp from his lips.
Kit surged into the room with a look of alarm.
His eyes swept through the open room in a quick jerk, seeing the shattered slate, and then he rushed to Nick’s side, cupping his shoulders and leaning over him as he curled forwards.
“Nick?” His tail lashed dangerously through the air. “What’s wrong? Did you cut yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Nick forced out through gritted teeth. The heat and pain came in steady throbs. It felt like boiling water was pulsing through the lines in time with his heartbeat.
Kit caught Nick by the wrist, the leather of his gloves creaking as he drew Nick firmly towards him and bent to examine his arm. “I feel heat through my gloves. What is this?”
“They get hot when they’re doing something,” Nick gasped. “But all of them—I don’t –”
A tolling bell drowned out Nick as he half collapsed from the chair into Kit’s chest. At the first ring of the bell, Kit went rigid. Nick heard the ship come alive; feet raced across the decking, so numerous they vibrated the boards beneath his knees.
The door opened. “Mermen spotted,” Mini shouted to be heard over the bells. “You restrained him already?”
“Get Anna,” Kit barked.
Mermen. Shit. Alright.
Nick needed to get to the deck. He could throw himself into the water.
They’d find him in seconds. But the agony in his arms was crippling.
He had a mouthful of Kit’s silk shirt in his teeth to choke down a scream as pain passed through him in a wave.
Sweat poured from him, his body burning like he was in the grip of a roaring fever.
Without releasing Nick, Kit dragged over the water bucket from the stove and dunked a cloth into it, then covered Nick’s arms in the cool water. It doused the pain, his skin no longer crackling, though in seconds he felt it building again like charging electric static.
“If hurting him upsets you this much, then let someone else do it.” Anna’s practical voice cut through the haze of Nick’s mind.
“I didn’t do anything,” Kit snapped. “He’s in pain. The magic on his arms—Nick, what can we do? I don’t understand how your magic works. None of us on board do. Except Lady Desre.” Kit hesitated, then continued, pained. “I will ask her?”
“Leave him to me. You need to be on deck.”
At Anna’s suggestion, Kit’s grip on Nick tightened. A hand protectively cupped the back of Nick’s head. “His arms are bleeding. And his blood is”—a sound of distress fell from Kit’s lips—“it’s steaming.”
Nick blinked through the haze to see that Kit was right; the black lines bled, and the blood welling from the wounds smoked.
“If those mermen sink this ship, we’re all dead. If they realise he’s on board, we’re all dead. Leave him to me. I’ll do my job, and you go do your job.” Anna’s voice took on a hard, commanding tone. “Staying here panicking doesn’t help anyone.”
The bell stopped ringing. In its absence, an eerie silence fell, punctuated only by Nick’s ragged breaths.
Kit released a wounded groan, but when Anna physically pushed him from Nick and took on the role of support, Kit went. The loss of him left Nick shaking. He tried to reach for Kit but could only lift his head high enough to see the flashing soles of his disappearing boots.