7. In which the Valour proceeds #2
Hester loved the start of a voyage, the freedom of life on the open sea, the potential for adventure expanding in all directions.
She marched along the lower deck towards Fliss, standing at the wheel, past the three masts, fully laden with sails, the four lifeboats hanging from the sides, swaying slightly as the ship did, the crew working or relaxing on the deck.
Her thoughts slid to Septimus, and she smirked as she imagined his rage to find them gone, and no trace of Charlotte either.
Oh, she would have loved to see his face.
She eased off the steady unspooling of magic from her chest, the wind dropping by a few knots.
She’d been eager to get away from land, but now the rolling waves and hazy sea mist were the only things in sight, she had to conserve her magic.
It dwindled to nothing over time. Was only ever at full power on land.
As she’d never travelled as far as they would on this journey, she wasn’t entirely sure when her power would sputter and die, and so it was best to use it sparingly.
“Morning, Captain,” a voice to her left said.
“Morning, Winston.” Hester smiled at the bosun who appeared at her side, matching her steps.
His short, dark hair was blown back in the wind, handsome grey eyes squinting against the sun.
Hester had once toyed with the idea of a relationship with him, but after sharing a drunken kiss she had given up the idea.
She couldn’t quite remember what had happened afterwards, but neither of them had mentioned that night again.
It was for the best. Best not to mix work and pleasure.
On the upper deck, Winston leant against the rail at the stern, watching the white spray of the wake. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Hester turned and shielded her eyes, scanning the hazy horizon.
Fliss glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t see anything.”
“Probably nothing.” Hester reached into a pocket for her spyglass and snapped it open with a well-practised movement. “Visibility is too poor to see much.” She closed the spyglass. “I’m going to check on Charlotte.”
“Poor thing,” Fliss said. “She’s barely left her cabin.”
“She’ll get used to it. Shout if you need anything.” Hester made her way down the companionway, through the corridors to Charlotte’s cabin, where she knocked.
“Come in,” a feeble voice called.
She opened the door to find Charlotte knelt over a bucket, Marjorie sat beside her. Doctor Valerie was closing up her medical bag on the dressing table.
“She’ll be fine. Just needs to keep eating and drinking,” Valerie said, tucking a loose strand of glossy brown hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. She clapped Hester on the shoulder and left the room.
Hester wrinkled her nose at the stench and patted Charlotte’s shoulder.
She knew it wasn’t pleasant, having spent many hours in such a state when she’d first taken to working on ships.
Knew it was a debilitating thing to feel so weak and useless.
She’d tried easing the wind, but they’d take forever to get to Argentina for resupplies if she slowed too much.
Besides, even if she could calm the weather, it was more difficult to calm the seas.
“Better out than in, Charlotte,” Hester said, pinching her nose to block the smell. “Although I’m not sure that saying really applies to seasickness.”
Charlotte rose on wobbly legs, and Hester helped her over to the bed, tucking her into the sheets. “Keep drinking water. It’ll pass.”
“I sincerely hope so. I feel utterly wretched,” Charlotte croaked.
“Give it a few days, you’ll be fine.” Something brushed past Hester’s leg, and Marjorie stiffened, then turned tail and scampered under the bed.
“Oh, where did you come from? Hello little kitty,” Charlotte said, reaching out to the ginger tomcat that had jumped onto the bed.
Hester froze. Satan. How had he got back on board without her noticing? She’d managed to lure him far away from the ship on the night they left. But it appeared that the little devil had found his way back.
“Charlotte. Do. Not. Move. Don’t touch him,” she hissed, backing out of the cabin and into the corridor. “Don’t make eye contact with him or make any sudden movements. Whatever you do, do not say the word A—N—D, which is harder than one might think.”
Charlotte looked utterly bewildered and chuckled. “Surely you’re mistaken. He looks so sweet!”
Hester thought back to the day the cat had been delivered, a year or so ago.
He had been a sweet orange kitten in a little basket with a ribbon tied on the top.
She had doted on him, letting him eat from her plate and sleep on her pillow.
She had originally called him Mr Plumpkins because he was orange like a pumpkin, and plump from all the scraps she would feed him.
However, after a few months the cat’s demeanour changed somewhat.
Fliss swore it was Hester’s influence. His favourite pastimes included using her pillow as a toilet and bringing gulls into the ship.
Fliss had renamed him Satan and the name had stuck.
“I honestly thought I’d managed to leave him behind this time. Blast him!”
Satan sniffed at Charlotte’s outstretched hand, then brushed his cheek against it, his tail ramrod straight, quivering in the air.
Hester flinched. “Now, get up very slowly and back away.” But upon hearing the word and Satan whipped around to face her, arched his back and hissed loudly. Hester swore and ran down the corridor. She took the companionway two steps at a time, her hands covering her head.
“He’s on board,” she cried to Fliss, whose face fell. Hester ran to the kennels on the lower deck and let all of the dogs loose, then crouched in the middle of the pack. Satan would surely never brave a whole pack of dogs.
“Above you!” Fliss called from the wheel.
Hester looked up, and her smug smile faded as a ginger streak leapt down towards her from the rigging.
The dogs darted out of the way as the ginger tomcat landed directly on her head.
His claws dug into her, slicing her scalp.
Yelping, she batted at the scratching beast. Oh, he was going to make her life Hell.
“Come here, Satan,” Arnold said, appearing through the crowd of dogs. The cat was dragged from her head, and Hester jumped to her feet. A bemused Arnold held the cat like a baby. “I’ve honestly no idea why you two can’t get along. Whatever did you do to him?”
Satan hissed in Hester’s direction again, then sped off to God-knows where.
“I did nothing to him. Nothing!”
“Perhaps you’re too similar.” Arnold chuckled. “He’s the only thing you’re afraid of, isn’t he?”
Hester narrowed her eyes. She hated to admit being afraid of something, but if she was afraid of anything, it was him. “If I ever find out who sent me that cat, I’ll throttle them.”