16. Sage #2
I wanted to ask him again what he thought he could discover that that royal court couldn’t, but he was so stubborn, I knew that was the only reason for it.
“Fine, so you just want me to read?”
“Read, and write it down if you find anything helpful.”
That was easy enough. I knew how to read, and this didn’t require much effort.
A cleared throat at the door made me jump, and I released Shadowhart’s finger I didn’t remember I was still holding.
My eyes widened when I saw the man who was with Shadowhart at the ball. Though Shadowhart looked very different when he wasn’t in the estate, he looked almost the exact same. He wore the same waistcoat and glasses, looking misplaced here on the ship.
“This is Bramwell,” Shadowhart explained. “He’s been doing this research, and will be working with you.”
“Hello, Princess Sage,” he said, bowing in the respect I was used to.
“Hi,” I said. Though it was the treatment that was normal for me, here, it felt odd, like I should bow back.
“I need to meet with Connie about mooring,” Shadowhart straightened, “but you two can get on, and let me know if you find anything.”
Shadowhart slid by Bramwell, even though he was much bigger and the door was very small.
“We’re docking?” I asked.
He turned. “We are. We need to stop for supplies since we were in such a hurry to leave our last port.”
“We can’t just go directly there?” I asked, feeling suddenly anxious to get this thing off as soon as possible.
“Not unless you want everyone to starve,” he said.
I held in the childish groan of frustration. “Fine.”
“Should we get started?” Bramwell asked, stepping to the other side and opening a book of his own.
Shadowhart was gone now, so I grabbed one off the top and got to reading. As I skimmed, I realized these were all children’s stories. What possible use could these have?
None, probably. It was clear I was just here to be babysat, but at least I was being left alone. Bramwell was in his own world, engrossed in his own book.
So I kept flipping through mine, doing what I was asked. I became very engrossed in a story about a frog trying to make his way down a long brook. The lesson was clearly about moving forward, and the importance of trying new things, but I wasn’t sure I agreed.
“Find anything?” Bramwell asked, just as the frog was about to take a leap across the rushing stream, with the potential to fall in and end up right back to where it started.
“No,” I said, not like I expected to. The act that I was helping was getting very patronizing. Like when Sybil used to ask me to “help” her with some tasks Mother gave her, but they turned out to just be false errands she used to keep me out of the way.
He nodded seriously.
“Have you?” I assumed he was doing actual research.
“A few scripts about cursed jewelry, but nothing specific to your case.”
He took his glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Dark circles sat under his eyes, probably from spending long nights investigating.
“I could help with some actual research,” I said.
His brow pinched as he put his glasses back on. “That’s what you’re here doing.”
“The act isn’t necessary,” I maintained a practiced tone. “I was handed a stack of children’s books.”
“I see the confusion,” he said. “But some of the best information can be found in the pages of passed down tales.”
“So… you think someone wrote a children’s story about my necklace?”
He shrugged. “Stranger things have been seen in this world.”
I contemplated that. At least I wasn’t just being patronized; I guess Shadowhart meant what he said about forcing me to work. And this wasn’t so bad.
“Would you like some tea?” he offered. “I can’t go long without one to sip.”
“I’d love one,” I said. “I didn’t even know there was tea here.” In the mess hall, there was nothing but black sludge they called coffee.
“I keep a special stash,” he said, standing. “You need to hide things like that here. Once—”
He was cut off by the loud sound of tearing. As he stood, his waistcoat pocket caught on the corner of the table and tore from the front, leaving a dangling piece of fabric, and a hole in the coat panel. A couple coins and a travel quill case clanked to the ground.
“Moons!” he yelled. “This is the second one this month.”
“Tear clothes often?” I asked.
He sighed, heading to the kettle in the corner I hadn’t noticed before. It had a magestone in it that glowed brightly when he activated it and began heating the water.
“More often than I’d like. It’s hard to replace waistcoats on a ship.”
I nodded, but then remembered the sewing kit I found.
“I can mend it for you,” I said. “I found a sewing kit.”
“If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it.”
“Let me go grab it.”
I went to my room and back quickly, sewing kit in hand.
He handed the waistcoat over, and I set to looking for a matching thread. The one I found wasn’t perfect, but close, and I started stitching.
“How long have you been sewing for?”
“Years,” I said. “Needlepoint is a very common thing for ladies to do when they gather, so my tutor taught me.”
“Seems you’re very good,” he said, watching me stitch.
I shrugged. “I’m okay. Good enough to put your pocket back together.”
It didn’t take long to fix, with only the pocket tearing.
“Here,” I said, handing it over, “almost good as new.”
Bramwell took it back and examined my work. My stomach squirmed, expecting to be told what I did wasn’t enough. Or that I did it wrong, ruined it in some way.
“This looks sturdier than it was,” he commented, taking me by surprise.
“It’s okay?”
“More than okay,” he said. “Would you actually mind doing a couple other things I’ve got holes in? We don’t stop long enough normally to see a tailor, so they just sit around.”
“Of course. Bring them to me at dinner.”
“Thank you.”
We went back to our reading afterwards, but his approval of my work kept a smile on my face for the rest of the afternoon.