Chapter Four #2
Hammocks are criminally unpleasant to sleep in.
And the repulsive smell and chorus of snores and muttering do nothing to enhance the experience.
I am at once resentful of Mr. Tydes and grateful to him.
For while he did assign me to this small personal hell, he also allotted me the first hammock in the fo’c’sle, and there seems to be no one in the bunk below me.
After spending an eternity trying to sleep, I struggle out of my swinging death trap and land on the floor with a small crash and a few choice words.
I hear snickering as I haul myself to my feet, but I pretend not to.
Instead I hold my head high and make my escape, stepping back out on deck for a breath of fresh air.
“Yer a bit overdressed fer this vessel, lad,” a voice says from behind me.
I spin about, alarmed, and find myself face-to-face with a man who looks not much older than me. His eyes are blue and have a mischievous slant to them, giving him a faint fox-like quality.
“Am I? Shoot, I was sure I had packed the right jacket for the occasion.”
The man laughs, and I am pleasantly surprised to see that he has most of his teeth, with one golden one behind his right canine, and his face is quite gentle on the eyes.
He has the sun-kissed tan skin of a man who was once fair but is now bronzed, and his hair is a shade of blond just brassy enough to have been red before the sun bleached the warmth from it.
He wears only breeches and a shirt, his sleeves rolled up despite the chill in the evening air. “So, yer the new lad.”
“Guilty as charged.”
He grins, and I daresay that glint of gold is alarmingly dashing. I find myself smiling with him.
“Dinnae see many lads like you on a ship like this,” he points out rather unnecessarily, his upper lip curling into something like a sneer.
I shrug. “I imagine I’m not so terribly different from you, outside of my station at birth giving me a few more advantages.”
“Bein’ born inta wealth makes ye plenty different,” he corrects sharply. Fair enough—but he doesn’t tell me off, so I suppose I haven’t offended him too badly with my feeble attempt at relating to him. “Name’s Renard.”
He offers his hand, so I reach out to shake it, trying to keep my handshake firm like I’ve seen my father do. “Kit.”
“Kit?” he repeats with a note of incredulity.
“It’s short for Christopher,” I elucidate, not bothering to explain that my full first name is, in fact, two names… because apparently my father couldn’t pick only one. “Kit suits me better.”
Renard lifts a brow and looks me over, still holding on to my hand. “Sure ’bout that? Ye seem a bit… fussy.”
“Thanks,” I grunt.
“How’d ye end up on this old boat, Kit?”
I tug my hand free, which is a little awkward. “I’m wanted for murder,” I say with an air of casual dismissal as I turn to lean against the port rail so I might watch the last colors of the sunset.
Renard joins me, staring at me rather than the beautiful view as he leans one elbow on the rail. “That so? Then ye’ll fit right in weth the crew of the Deliverance.”
I can only assume he’s joking, so I laugh—but I have nothing clever to say in response.
“But really, what’s got yer prissy britches on this ship in particular?”
My what?
“Ah, well”—I gesture vaguely to where I assume the port was some hours ago—“it required the least amount of walking down the dock.”
Renard’s expression shifts from indulgent to something I can’t quite place.
He stares at me, dumbfounded, and squints his glittering blue eyes in disbelief.
“Ye…” Suddenly he bursts into laughter—this time a full belly laugh, like he cannot help himself.
“Ye didn’t consider the ship at all? Just… picked the nearest one?”
“A ship is a ship,” I confirm with a little grin. “I was tired of walking. If there hadn’t been space for me, I suppose I would have continued on to the next one.”
“Why…” He stops himself, considering his next words. “All right, fair ’nough. I’ll accept that. Ye look ridiculous ’nough ta be tellin’ the truth.”
A little rude, but all right.
“An’ what made a foppish lad like yerself board a ship ta begin weth?”
“I told you,” I say in earnest. “I’m wanted for murder.” I allow my eyes to narrow a little as I smile mischievously back at him. Who doesn’t enjoy a little harmless flirting?
“Ah, aye.” He nods sarcastically. “Ye seem like a cold-blooded killer indeed. I can see it in those dead eyes of yers.”
He doesn’t believe me, but I won’t let up. I’m enjoying my ridiculous lie and the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. “It’s true, I just have that look about me,” I agree. “I am an absolute menace to society.”
“Now, that I actually do believe,” he says.
“That’s rude! I’m a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t lie.”
“Just murder people in cold blood?” This makes me laugh, and he pats me on the back. “Best get back ta bed, lad. It’ll be too dark fer ye ta fumble ’bout on deck soon, an’ no’ everyone on board is as gentlemanly as I am.”
I try not to think too hard about what he’s insinuating as I give an exasperated sigh and stand upright once more. I don’t want to go back to the hammock below, but I suppose I ought to avoid falling overboard, since I cannot swim. “Right.”
“I’ll look out fer ye tomorrow mornin’ in the mess,” he adds. “I’ll introduce ye ta the other officers.”
“Other officers?” I ask, giving him another once-over.
“Oh, aye. Boatswain,” he says, motioning to himself.
My blank expression earns a glare that is really more of a pout than anything.
“I’m in charge of the crew. Which means ye answer ta me first, an’ Cap’n second. Come now, lad—ye can’t have truly joined a ship’s crew havin’ nae idea how it all works.”
“Oh, I assure you I can have,” I counter, ignoring his suggestion that I should answer to anyone other than myself. “I am particularly talented in making dubious life decisions.”
“What a delightful mess y’are,” Renard says with a snort. “Get ta sleep. I’ll do my best ta educate ye in the mornin’, so ye dinnae go round lookin’ like a complete fool.”
“Only a partial one?”
“Indeed.”
“Much appreciated.” I smile at Renard and bow my head. “Good night, Renard.”
“G’night, lad.”
He steps away from me, and I don’t watch where he is headed. Instead I fortify myself with one last deep gulp of fresh air before plunging back into the hellish confines of the fo’c’sle. My frayed, filthy hammock awaits.