2. In which a favour is called in and a wake is held
IN WHICH A FAVOUR IS CALLED IN AND A WAKE IS HELD
A whole twenty-four hours later, Hester sat on the deck nursing a mug of coffee, Septimus’s knife laid next to her.
The sun beat down on the top of her golden-brown hair, currently shoved into a ponytail.
She groaned, setting the coffee down, every movement sending shooting pain through her temples.
The drinking and huge cascade of magic had knocked her out cold.
“I’d say I cannot believe you slept an entire day away, but having known you for nearly twenty years, I can quite believe it,” Fliss said, sat cross-legged next to her, nose in a book, quite literally, given that her first mate refused to bend the spines.
“Did you want to attend the funeral? We could still make it if we ran.”
Hester closed her eyes, pressed her fingers into her temples and tugged at the magic in her chest. An icy sensation at her fingertips soothed the pain. “No. I think he would prefer us to have a hearty breakfast in his honour. After we’ve found work. After I’ve finished my coffee.”
“Work? You aren’t going to ask his wife for the sponsorship, then?” Fliss asked, setting the book aside.
“How can I go banging on her door asking for money? She just lost her husband. I’m not a monster.
It’s a blow, yes, but we’ll get south. It’ll happen.
I feel it in my bones. We can earn the funds.
” A tally of the money she owed flashed through her mind.
Last month’s mooring taxes, the rudder repairs after the last voyage to the Frozen North, and her Guild fees were due soon too, and while the captains all looked out for one another against Septimus’s wrath, she’d rather not go asking for favours. “Everything will be fine.”
She blinked her eyes open to gulls wheeling overhead, clouds dotting the otherwise blue sky. In her periphery, a ginger cat strolled along the quayside, and she shuddered, glad he wasn’t lurking on board somewhere.
“If you say so,” Fliss said. “What’s with the fancy knife?”
Hester drew the knife into her lap. “Septimus stuck it into my wall last night.”
Fliss’s eyes widened. “He was here? You tell me Ernest is dead, but you missed out that little nugget of information?”
She’d been waiting for Fliss to ask about the knife. “He was here. Briefly. He told me about Ernest. And threatened to have me burnt at the stake.”
Fliss snorted. “Like a witch? He does know witches aren’t real, doesn’t he? Honestly, how ridiculous. If only magic were real!”
“That’s exactly what I said to him.” If only Fliss knew the truth.
Fliss wrinkled her nose. “It is simply misogyny. Men burning women they’re afraid of.”
Hester shifted where she sat. “Precisely.” And he hadn’t called the constabulary.
No one had come to drag her to be interrogated.
And while Hester didn’t know the origins of her magic, she was certain she wasn’t a witch.
Didn’t know exactly what she was, having been dumped in the Havenport orphanage at age four, but she was definitely not a witch.
She could cast no spells or curses. Only the weather seemed under her command.
“He’s scared we’ll surpass him as the foremost experts on polar exploration,” Hester said, tapping the knife to her bottom lip, which curved into a smug smile.
“I’d say we have already bested him.”
“But we have not yet been south. Once we have, we’ll show everyone we’re made of stronger stuff than men.” Hester stood, dusting off her breeches. “Let’s go and find work. I feel galvanised.”
Fliss got to her feet and linked her arm through Hester’s. “You ought to sell that knife. I bet it’s worth a bit.”
Hester tucked it into her belt. “Most likely it would feed us for a month.”
It was not how she’d hoped her efforts would go.
“I can hardly believe it. Not a jot of work to be had in the whole town.” Hester leant against a wall on the corner of the bustling market square, frowning at the green dress in the shop window opposite.
The one she’d had her heart set on for weeks.
It was far too fine, really. She would have no occasion to wear such a dress.
Fliss leant next to her. “I cannot believe the university had no scientific expeditions. They usually have something. I suppose we can only keep trying.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Her face broke into a smile as a plan formed. “Stand here and shout ship for hire.”
Fliss’s brow furrowed. “Must I? That sounds humiliating.”
“You have the loudest voice.”
Fliss bent over at the waist and let out a hoot of laughter. “That is certainly not true.”
Hester’s smile widened. “Fine. You’re much more beautiful. It has to be you.”
“Now you speak more sense,” Fliss said, drawing herself up. “Fine. And what will you be doing while I’m humiliating myself?”
“Procuring breakfast. Or lunch. Or both. I’m famished.
Come and find me when you’ve got a job for us.
I’ll order for you, too.” She patted Fliss on the shoulder and followed the scent of bacon, weaving through the crowds of shoppers perusing the wares under the green and white striped canopies of the market stalls.
Fliss’s hollering began.
Hester smiled and quickened her step towards The Ship’s Cat, the scent of coffee and eggs mingling with the delicious bacon the closer she got. She stepped inside the tavern, mouth watering.
The place was busy with patrons eating breakfast, waitresses hurrying between the tables. Cat paintings crowded the walls around the taproom.
“Hester,” the landlord said, eyeing her from behind the bar where he drew on a pipe, smoke rings puffing into the air above his head. “His Lordship told me not to serve you until you paid him his coin.”
She scoffed. “Nonsense. I’ll have two black coffees and two breakfasts.
” Hester hopped onto a stool in front of the landlord and gave him her most charming smile.
It was a shame her magic only affected the weather and couldn’t be used to conjure food.
Her belly growled. “Would you let a woman starve?”
“His Lordship was very exacting in his instructions. I’d tell you to try somewhere else, but we’ve all had the same message.”
Hester’s jaw dropped. This was surely a joke. “Come now, Sam…it is Sam, isn’t it?”
“Peter.”
“Peter,” she crooned. “He need not find out.” Surely he wouldn’t be able to resist her charm. Men rarely could. Unless they were that waste-of-space excuse for a Pirate Lord.
Peter pointed towards the door, his jaw set. “Not till His Lordship allows it.”
Hester stared at him, hands gripping the edge of the bar until her knuckles turned white. How dare Septimus ban the landlords from serving her? She got down from the stool and swaggered to the door, the cats all leering down at her from their canvases.
“I’ll remember this, Peter,” she threatened, wagging her finger at him.
“Like you remembered my name?”
Hester chortled. She could appreciate a quick comeback. And besides, a plan was already taking shape in her mind. She slipped out, letting the door slam behind her, the glass rattling in its panes.
Fliss was still shouting on the corner.
Hester stalked over. “He banned them from serving me!” She raked a hand through her hair. “His Lordship has some nerve, and no mistake. He’ll pay for this.”
Fliss grimaced. “Remember that time last year when you angered him? That’s how you ended up needing that gold tooth.”
Hester snorted and folded her arms. “I like my gold tooth. Don’t you think it suits me?” She flashed Fliss a wide smile, the tooth in question shining, and Fliss rolled her eyes.
“Sometimes, I believe you have no good sense whatsoever,” Fliss muttered. “Wait, where are you going?”
“To visit Mei.” Hester marched off into the crowds.
Fliss ran to catch up. “Whatever for?”
Hester grinned. “You’ll see when we get there.” It never paid to tell Fliss her plans until the very last moment.
Reaching the end of the market square, Hester pushed open the door to a small shop.
The walls were lined with stylised artwork.
Pin-up girls, sailors, swallows, ships. A large oil painting of a Chinese junk boat hung in the centre of them all.
The smell of spices wafted from down the stairs, from the flat above the shop.
A woman with long, black hair sat on a stool bent over a sailor’s arm, stabbing a design into his skin with a small needle.
The artist didn’t look up from her work, but said in a drawl, “Hester, Hester, Hester. What brings you here?”
Hester leant over to study the tattoo, a shadow falling over the man’s arm. Mei fixed her with a look that promised a swift death if she did not move.
Trying not to smirk, Hester withdrew. “I’d like to call in that favour you owe me.”
“Favour?” Mei sat back, wiping down the sailor’s arm with a wet towel and admiring her handiwork. She raised dark eyes to Hester’s. “I recall no favour being owed.”
“You don’t remember? I’m sure there was something…”
“Just spit it out and tell me what you want.”
Hester glanced at Fliss. “I’d like a new tattoo.”
A muscle in Fliss’s jaw ticked.
“Fine.” Mei rolled her eyes. “Choose something from the book and I’ll be right with you.”
“What I want isn’t in the book.” Hester’s face cracked into a smirk. She couldn’t wait to see their faces.
Mei motioned for the sailor to pay, and he dropped a handful of silver coins into her waiting hand and left the shop. “Not in the book? Then what?”
Hester grabbed a pen from the small desk in the corner and scribbled onto a sheet of paper. “I want you to write this.” She handed the paper to Mei, who raised her eyebrows.
“Septimus, kiss me here,” Mei read. “Good God, woman. And where, pray tell, do you want this written?”
Hester grinned wider than ever and pointed to her backside with a flourish.
“Oh, Lord,” Fliss whispered, hiding her face in her hands.
The fear had still not released its deathly grip. Charlotte had not left the house until that morning. Couldn’t bring herself to cross the threshold and go out into the world, like she was truly leaving him behind. Like she was truly alone.