6. In which a scuppering is threatened
IN WHICH A SCUPPERING IS THREATENED
Strong hands gripped Hester’s wrists from behind. Septimus picked her up and slung her over his broad shoulder. She shouted for Fliss and kicked with all of her might, a heady mix of heat and ice crashing in her blood.
The crowd of sailors followed her and Septimus into the street, Fliss and Victor at the front. Hester reached back for Fliss as she was carried towards the docks.
“Hester!” Fliss shouted down the street, her face stricken.
“Put me down,” Hester yelled, thumping at Septimus’s back. He was strong, unyielding, carrying her as easily as a doll. Another flush of heat swept through her. “Septimus. Where are you taking me?”
He turned off the main street, down a dark alley towards the quayside, and did not falter as she pummelled him, only held her tighter, clasping her legs together to prevent her from kicking him again.
Hester’s heart thundered, for he had to be taking her to the Intrepid. And that couldn’t be good. Maybe she shouldn’t have goaded him. “Septimus,” she pleaded. “Put me down.”
He carried her across the quay, and then over the gangplank onto the Intrepid, and still he did not set her down. He carried her below decks and into a small, bare room, dropping her into a wooden chair. It was dark and smelled of oil and damp. No portholes or lamps lit the gloom.
Hester attempted to scramble to her feet. Silently, Septimus pressed her back into the chair and made quick work of tying her arms behind her back and her legs together. He wasn’t often so quiet when he was angry with her, and this was the first time he’d brought her here. She clenched her teeth.
“What are you doing? Septimus? Answer me,” Hester demanded, trying to wriggle free of the bindings, but they were too tight, the rope cutting into the skin of her wrists.
She screwed her eyes shut, waiting for pain.
That little lick of fear she so loved was heating her from the inside, and her lips quirked. She couldn’t help it.
Septimus paced back and forth, his boots thudding on the planks, only managing two steps in the small room before pivoting, and she cracked an eye open to watch him.
In the dim light, he looked even more menacing, even more beautifully lethal.
She licked her lips. “If you’re going to beat me, can we get it over with? ”
He stilled. “I’m not going to beat you, Orn.”
The floorboards creaked as he continued pacing in front of her, and he narrowed his blue eyes. He stopped dead in front of her. “If you accept Charlotte Bailey’s offer of employment,” he said, levelling her with a stare that demanded her full attention, “I will sink the Valour.”
She frowned. Sink what? The Valour? “What are you talking about? I already accepted her offer.”
“Then un-accept. Tomorrow. I will take her south, and if you go ahead, then so help me God, I will sink your ship.”
Sink your ship. Did he honestly say that? She shook her head, hoping to clear it. “Just—just say that again. I think I misheard you.”
“I will sink the Valour,” Septimus repeated slowly, his words a growl that stabbed at her heart.
Hester’s brow bunched as the words settled in her mind.
Sink the Valour.
Sink. The. Valour.
She straightened in the chair, panting as her vision darkened, and the spark of magic that she usually kept so heavily bound spilled out into the world, the air tingling with power.
The rigging outside began to bang as a vicious wind ripped through it, heavy rain ricocheting moments later.
Thunder rumbled overhead. Septimus looked up at the ceiling, then at Hester.
She snarled at him, her muscles tensed. She was losing it—had lost it already.
The control she had on herself unravelling.
She fought against the bindings with renewed vigour, almost pulling one hand free, and then Septimus was nose to nose with her, his hands pressing on her shoulders.
“Whatever you’re doing, little witch, stop it.
” He glanced to the ceiling again, to the hammering rain and the crashing thunder.
She should try to stop the flood of magic.
He had just called her little witch. She should really try to quell it.
But she couldn’t. The air was so charged that little snaps of static crackled around them.
He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “If you agree to turn down Charlotte Bailey’s offer, I will let you go home. It’s that simple.”
Hester stared into his blue eyes, a deep loathing rioting through her veins. Another boom of thunder rang, so loud she wondered if her ears would burst with it, but he did not flinch.
“Say you won’t go south, and I will untie you,” Septimus said, his voice dropping even lower.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room and his stupid, hateful, beautiful face.
“Take your hands off me,” Hester spat.
“Say you won’t take Bailey south.”
Hester’s mind was adrift. Would he really sink the Valour?
Or was he bluffing? She could barely imagine life without the Valour.
The ship was her home, her career, and more, it had been her salvation.
Five years ago, she had been destitute. It had been the lowest time of her already abysmal life.
Having been ejected from the orphanage on her sixteenth birthday, she had spent two years sleeping rough in the market square, taking jobs on ships, barely surviving.
The Valour had turned all of that around.
And the thought of Septimus scuppering her beloved ship sent a tide of fury rising through her.
Septimus, who had everything handed to him on a plate.
He had never had to worry about money, never had to eke out an existence, never had to face being turned down for expeditions because of his gender. She despised him for all of it.
There was another crash of thunder, and the rain thrashed even harder against the ceiling, the electric smell of the storm incandescent on her tongue.
“You wouldn’t do it,” she hissed.
Septimus sneered. “You don’t think so? I swear I’d do it. I swear it on my crew’s life.”
Hester choked, her throat burning. There was nothing graver than swearing on one’s crew. Nothing.
He was serious then.
“Fine,” she croaked, slumping in her bindings, the power in her blood rescinding, coiling back into her chest. “Fine.”
“I want to hear you say it,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“I won’t accept Charlotte Bailey’s offer.”
“Swear on your crew.”
Hester glared, nostrils flaring. “I swear it on the Valour’s crew.”
Behind her back, her fingers were crossed.
Hester stalked away from the Intrepid, rubbing at her sore wrists, more rattled than she cared to admit. The thunder had stopped, but the rain still thrashed down, soaking her to the skin before she reached the Valour at the end of the quay.
She could keep the magic under control most of the time, even make good use of it.
It was one of the many reasons she was so successful.
Being able to summon weather, combined with the other skills she had honed over the years had made her an unrivalled sailor.
All of her life she had managed to keep the magic a secret.
She had never met anyone who seemed to be able to do what she could, and she was all too aware that if anyone found out, she would be run out of town at the best, burned at the worst, for while the witch trials were long over, Hester was no fool.
People were still superstitious, would still burn women suspected of being witches.
And she highly doubted those women had real magic like she did.
And now it seemed that Septimus was guessing what no one else ever had, not even Fliss.
She frowned, stomping across the gangplank, rain dripping from her nose.
“Hester! Are you alright? What happened?” Fliss stood silhouetted in the light of the companionway.
Hester pushed past her into the dry, leant against the panelled wall and heaved a sigh.
Fliss stilled, her brows knitted together. “Come on, I’ve got to a good bit in my book. We can read it aloud to each other.” She put her arm around Hester’s shoulders, and they walked to Fliss’s cabin.
Hester sat on the neatly made bed in the little room, hugging a frilly pillow to herself.
Fliss plucked a book from her shelf and snuggled up next to her. “Are you alright? You don’t seem yourself. Did he take you to the Intrepid?”
Hester glowered. She was livid with him and what he’d said. “He did.”
“Wait—did he hurt you?” Fliss’s eyes roved over Hester’s body, snagging on the red marks at her wrists.
“No, I’m not hurt. He’s jealous of the Antarctica expedition. He made me swear not to go, to let him go in my place.”
“And did you? Did you swear it?”
“Welllllll…” Hester said, her lips curving upwards. “He thinks I did.” She raised a hand, her fingers crossed, and winked at Fliss. “But he’d tied my hands behind my back, and it was all too easy to cross my fingers.”
Fliss grinned. “You wily old dog. So we’re still going?”
“Of course we’re still going. But he threatened to scupper the Valour if I don’t refuse the offer of employment, so we’ll have to be covert in our preparations.
Take some messages to the crew and to Amery House for me in the morning?
Charlotte will have to pretend she no longer wishes to go south.
We’ll make all of our preparations under cover of night, rather than muster here tomorrow. We’ll aim to leave in early August.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Alright. You can read first,” Hester said, motioning to the book. “Is it a particularly filthy bit?”
“It’s outrageous,” Fliss said, her eyes lighting up.