4. In which there is a final straw and running and whiskey don’t mix #2
Hester grimaced at the plate. Was he trying to kill her, giving her rancid food like that?
She kicked it across the room, then drank half the water in large gulps.
She began trickling the rest into the tiny cracks in the woodgrain around the door handle, her lips curving upwards.
She pressed a fingertip to the damp wood and pulled at the magic under her ribs.
The water turned to ice. She huffed a warm breath onto the ice, melting it, and then trickled more in, freezing it, and repeating.
As two o’clock approached, Charlotte had jotted down a list of questions and had instructed Alma to send the captains one-by-one to Ernie’s study, should any come.
She hoped that Captain Orn would attend, but if she didn’t, she would find someone else.
The idea was too entrenched for her to shake it now.
She sat in Ernie’s chair, staring at the painting of Mount Erebus that hung on the opposite wall and watching as the carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticked down the minutes.
Two o’clock came and went.
Then it was three o’clock.
Marjorie lay on the rug at her side, eyeing her and huffing her boredom.
Charlotte watched the hour hand on the clock move towards five, starting to lose hope in the idea that had blazed so brightly in her mind earlier.
A knock on the door sounded, and it swung open to reveal a man so tall he almost filled the doorway. Alma cowered behind him. It was the lord from the docks.
“Hello again,” Charlotte said, rising, discomfort settling along her bones. She hesitated before offering her hand.
“Lord Septimus Ironside and the Intrepid,” he said, gripping her hand so hard she winced.
The name sounded familiar. Though he certainly didn’t fit the usual look of the lords she had met, who were pallid, gangly people.
They didn’t have quite so many tattoos or look quite so rugged.
Charlotte cleared her throat and sat, gesturing for Septimus to do likewise.
The chair creaked as he lowered his bulk into it, and she was surprised it didn’t collapse under his weight, so muscular was the man.
She fiddled with the pen on the desk. “I have not seen you at any balls or soirees, Lord Septimus.”
“You wouldn’t. I do not enjoy such things,” Septimus said, setting his booted ankle over his knee and leaning back in the chair. “I have much more important matters to attend to than waste my time at dull functions. I am the Pirate Lord.”
“The Pirate Lord?” What an odd title. Pirates did not exist anymore, surely.
“Yes. It is an old title. I am not a pirate. Obviously.”
He wasn’t very forthcoming with details. “And what does that entail, being the Pirate Lord?”
He smiled, but it did not reach his blue eyes. “Ensuring the smooth and legal operations of the docks, keeping rogue members of the Captains’ Guild in check, many other things.”
He’d said rogue members through his teeth, with his hands clenched into fists. Charlotte raised her eyebrows. She had no idea what happened at the docks, or that a lord oversaw proceedings. Curious.
“And have you ever been to the Southern Continent, Lord Septimus?” she asked.
“I have. Many times. You will find none as experienced as myself, that I promise you. I sailed there with the Scott expeditions, with the Runcorn expeditions, and I even had the pleasure of sailing there with your late husband, may his soul rest in Heaven.”
She stifled a gasp, her eyes widening. That was why his name sounded familiar. “You went with Ernie?”
The door splintered, and Hester poured the last dribble of water from the tankard into it, then froze and thawed it.
She gave the wood a push, and it collapsed under her hand.
She cackled, thrusting her boot against the wood, kicking a hole in the lower half of the door, and squeezing through, splinters scraping against the bare flesh of her arms, her dress tearing.
No matter. She was out, and she had payback on her mind.
She let loose a crow of triumph as she scrambled to her feet, then ran into the deserted bar of The Harpoon.
Rows of bottles winked at her from a shelf behind the bar.
It would be rude not to relieve Septimus of some of his alcohol.
He could count it as part one of her payback.
Part one of many. She vaulted over the counter and grabbed a bottle of whiskey in each hand.
And not just any old whiskey, but the fancy bottles.
She strolled out of the front door and into the late afternoon with a spring in her step.
Grey clouds marred the sky, but with a flick of her wrist, they parted, and the sun beamed down upon her.
She swigged the whiskey and sauntered towards the docks, smiling to herself. No one could cage her, Hester Orn.
Back onboard the Valour, she called for Fliss, who was nowhere to be found.
In the distance, the town hall clock struck five times.
Hester took a deep gulp of whiskey for each peal of the bell, chuckling to herself for her cleverness, and then lay on the deck sunning herself and drinking the first bottle to completion.
“Hester! HESTER.”
She sat up.
Fliss was sprinting down the quayside, waving a piece of paper in her hand. Hester stood, swaying as the liquor took hold of her empty stomach, and marched across the gangplank towards Fliss. What could be so urgent?
“You need to get to Farthing Street—NOW.” Fliss thrust the piece of paper into her face. Farthing Street? Hester’s eyes widened as she read the piece of paper. It was an advertisement for a ship and crew to sail to Antarctica.
She spluttered, “Fliss, this is Ernest’s wife. This is my expedition!”
“Where have you been?! I snatched the advertisement from under Septimus’s nose, but he saw it and is there now. You must make haste. Before Mrs Bailey hires him,” Fliss said, bending over at the waist to catch her breath.
If Septimus was there, she didn’t have a moment to lose.
Hester sped off down the quay and towards the fancy end of town, racing for Farthing Street and Amery House as fast as her very, very drunken feet would carry her.
“You have so much experience, Lord Septimus,” Charlotte said, pursing her lips and glancing at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
It was a quarter past five. Captain Orn had not appeared, and it seemed that Septimus had the experience and the right ship for ice work.
And what was more, he had sailed with Ernie.
It would be foolish not to offer him the position. She was forced to conclude that Captain Orn was not interested after all.
Charlotte reached out a hand across the desk as she said, “I’d like to offer—"
The door of the study crashed open.
A dark-blonde, green-eyed woman in a torn red dress stood framed in the doorway. She staggered forwards, panting and clutching her stomach. Septimus turned, his fingers inches from Charlotte’s outstretched hand. His eyes widened, and then a snarl crept over his features.
The woman in red grasped for the back of his chair, her tanned face tinged a pale green. She retched once, twice, and on the third heave, emptied the contents of her stomach into Septimus’s lap.
Charlotte stifled a gasp as the woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinned and said, “Captain Hester Orn and the Valour, at your service, ma’am.”