9. The Making of a Bed
The Making of a Bed
The next time I wake, it’s because of a bell ringing outside. Accompanying the noise is a male voice, which booms down the corridor. The cabin floods with harsh white light, and I hear Cosmer sliding out of bed.
“Rise and shine, Ara,” he says, far too cheerily for the hour. “Let’s show them all what a great Hevallan soldier you are.”
I rotate to face him – only to see something that definitely isn’t his face.
“Cosmer!” I yell, covering my eyes with my sheet. My face burns.
“Oh. I sleep naked sometimes,” he says, like it’s not a big deal. “Should I have mentioned that?”
“Yes!” I hiss into the sheet. “I would not have agreed to this arrangement if I’d known that.”
“Too late now, though, isn’t it?”
“Just tell me when you’re dressed.”
“Of course. Sorry.”
I hear him moving around, putting his clothes on. Bare feet against the wood. Fabric on skin.
“You can look now.”
I risk a glance before committing myself.
It’s safe. He’s in breeches, and he’s buttoning his shirt.
My first thought is that he’s thin.
Thinner than I’d thought he’d be. I can see the definition of muscles, but also his sharp shoulders. The slice of his collarbones.
He glances up.
“What?” he probes.
I look away, fast.
“Could you… When you’re fully dressed…”
What is wrong with me? Speak.
“Step outside, please?” I finish, my voice higher. “I’ll need some privacy.”
“Ara. We used to swim together.”
Now I know I’m blushing.
“That was different! We were basically kids. And I never saw anything.”
“I did.” He smirks.
“Excuse me?”
“Look,” he says, serious now. “I’ll make sure I’m covered up from now on. But we don’t have a lot of time to be messing around in the mornings. We have thirty minutes to get ready to go down to the Mess Hall – that includes making our beds and cleaning the floor.”
He does up the last button on his shirt, right by his slender neck, then sits on the end of his bed to pull on his boots.
“And, if I’m being honest,” he continues, steadily, “You’re going to have to get used to seeing things up here that might make you squeamish.
These people are soldiers. A lot of them have seen dark things – and they have nothing to lose.
We’ve spent years fighting together, sleeping together, bathing together, shitting together...
” He tilts his body. “I know that’s not the way you grew up. But that’s just how life is here.”
He knows about my upbringing, but we’ve never really talked about it. This is new territory.
Guarded, I state, “I’m not prudish. If that’s what you’re trying to say.”
He glances at me, eyebrow raised.
“I’m not!”
“People used to call you and your brother The Nobles back home.”
“I’m certainly not a noble.”
The nobles I’d met I hadn’t particularly liked. The young Crown Princess only ever seemed to ask for things, or cry.
Reaching under the bed, Cosmer picks up a leather belt fitted with various items. He attaches the belt to his waist and takes out a comb from it. Looking into a reflective plate on the wall, he rakes it twice through his hair.
“I know that,” he says, gently. “But you’re eloquent. Educated. Just the way you hold yourself is different. And I know your destroy-them-with-kindness thing generally worked on the people in our village—”
“My what thing?”
He spins to face me again.
“But it’s not going to work on the people here. I’ll tell you that. And while I don’t really care what happens to that deserter oaf I’ve got to babysit now—”
“Don’t call him that—”
“I care what happens to you.”
He’s no longer looking at me.
In one motion, he pulls his leather jacket down from a hook on the back of the wooden door and slings it on.
I’m suddenly aware how small this room is. How airless.
A second passes. From a tiny dresser, he picks up my prisoner uniform. Lays it on my bed.
“I’ll step outside now, so you can get dressed – but be quick. And then we’ll make our beds. I’ll show you how we do that here.”
I swallow. “It’s fine. You can stay. Just… don’t stare.”
I emerge from the covers. Slowly, facing the wall, I begin to unbutton my dress.
Once I’m in my uniform, Cosmer tells me to watch him carefully while he makes his bed, because I’ll need to make mine.
First, he strips his bed completely. Then he gets his bottom sheet symmetrical on the bed and goes around tucking it under his mattress. He tackles the corners with a sharp, specific fold that gets them packed in tightly.
I watch as his long pale fingers move with perfect precision. It’s sort of mesmerising. I thought I’d known how to do something as simple as make a bed. Clearly not.
“Are you still watching?” he asks, on his last corner.
“Yes.”
“Good. Because you’ll be up in just a moment.”
He takes his top sheet, which has been folded in three, and lays it over the middle of the bed, before extending it out. He finishes by tucking it into the mattress with the same folded corners.
I have to admit, the result is a pretty immaculate bed.
He’s standing.
“Think you can do that?”
“I’ll try.”
He steps back to the door, and I side-step him awkwardly to make a start on mine.
I get the sheet straight fairly easily. But having Cosmer standing right behind me, watching me, throws off my concentration, and the first corner I make hangs a little slanted.
“You were rushing,” Cosmer says, calmly. “And you didn’t get it tight enough.”
“It doesn’t look that bad.”
“Take it out and do it again.”
I look at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, yes. That won’t pass Inspection – when the first officers come round checking all cabins.”
“So? What happens if it doesn’t pass?”
He bows his head in thought. “I suppose for you, your Integration would be affected. You might end up failing. For me, I’d be punished, in some way.
I already don’t have food privileges, but they could demote me.
And I’d rather not have that happen, if that’s all right with you. Took me long enough to get to second.”
I let my bewilderment show.
“They would demote you for this?” I shake the loose part of the corner angrily. “It’s a bed.”
He crosses his arms. Leans back slightly against the wall.
“Ara. It’s not the bed they’re inspecting. The bed tells them if they need to look harder at you. And for you, and your Integration, you don’t want them to notice you for the wrong reasons – or even at all. Okay?”
An exasperated noise leaves my throat as I undo my hard work and start again. But my fingers are shaking now.
Behind me, I hear Cosmer’s voice again.
“You need to pull.”
Great. He’s officially frustrated now.
And so am I.
“I am pulling.”
“Be in control. The sheet is not your senior.”
“The sheet is not my senior? What are you talking about?” I yell, with a yank so hard I lose my footing.
My body hits the floor.
I stay like that. Angry. Humiliated.
I keep my eyes down.
“This isn’t working, Cosmer,” I say, breathing. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”
I’m aware of movement. Cosmer is coming towards me.
Now in front of me, he bends down.
Quietly, he says, “You learned to fish when you didn’t know how to, right? You supported your family, after living in luxury. Stopped them from starving. If you did all that, you can make a damn bed, Ara.”
“Cosmer—”
His hand crawls over the floor towards mine. “May I?” he asks.
I nod.
Gently, he takes my hand, which clams up a little.
Guides my fingers back to the corner. “So, you’re going to pull this fold out – like this,” he says, demonstrating by moving our hands together.
“Then cross it over, like this.” He lets go of my hand.
“I’m right here if you need me.” He adds, as an afterthought, “And – just so you’re aware – we have, maybe five minutes left to do this.
” He flashes a grin. “But don’t let that add any pressure. ”
“I can make the bed,” I state, as if to convince myself.
“You can make the bed,” he affirms.
I stand up. Go from corner to corner. Copy the exact movements I’d seen him make, with the same positioning of my fingers.
I finish my last corner.
I feel exhausted.
And maybe, a little proud.
I turn around.
He’s nodding. “There it is,” he says.
I pant. “There it is? That’s all I get?”
“There. It. Is,” he replies, with the smallest of smiles.
Walking to the Mess Hall, my pride has worn off, and now I just feel uncomfortable.
I’ve never worn boots like these. They’re long and feel heavy and clunky on my feet, which are sweating. I’ve never worn breeches either, and these are itching me in unmentionable places.
In fact, I’m sweating all over. The sun is already streaming in through the portholes. The ship seems to burn from the inside out. I can’t imagine what it will be like on board by midday. The alternating smells of polished wood, cleaning spirit, and sweat are also starting to suffocate me.
We arrive at Deck 5. The queue for breakfast is snaking right out into the hallway.
“You’ll learn we do two things a lot here. Queuing, and cleaning,” Cosmer tells me, as we join it. “If you’ve finished one of those things – and you don’t have duties, that is – then just assume it’s time to do the other.”
I use the wait time as a chance to survey the other soldiers and pilots.
Most of them wear the same style uniform I’ve been issued – looser, buttonless shirts that look more like blouses but have collars, paired with simple light leather vests over the top.
Less common are the embroidered high collared button-up shirts and full leather jackets that Cosmer and Riss wear.
Most of the crew are older men and women – although many seem around my age.
Some seem too young. A couple of boys shoving each other further up the queue can’t be older than my brother.
And I understand now what Cosmer meant back in the cabin. These people do look hardened. Some are missing limbs or have scarring on their faces. And it seems to be all or nothing with them.
They grab each other all the time. Wrestle. Howl with laughter. One man tries his luck pushing ahead of someone in the queue and gets himself thrown right out of it. He lands flat on his backside – and then gets spat at.