19. In which everything looks worse in the dark and there is a temper tantrum
IN WHICH EVERYTHING LOOKS WORSE IN THE DARK AND THERE IS A TEMPER TANTRUM
Hester sat in the galley, a steaming mug of tea wrapped in her freezing hands. The thud of running footsteps pounded the deck above, and she frowned. Was fairly sure everyone was down below.
Frank hurtled through the door, his eyes wide, face white. “Captain Orn. The Intrepid. She’s leaking badly. We need help.”
Shit. It must be bad if Septimus had sent Frank over. “Go. I’ll bring everyone.”
Ten minutes later, Hester ran into the hold of the Intrepid and covered her ears with her hands.
The din of rushing water, hammering, and the creak of the pumps battered against her.
The freezing brine bit at her lower legs, and in the dark she could barely see a thing, jostled by the crew, by faces she couldn’t quite work out.
She stood, aghast at the tons of water that were currently leaking through a hole in the side of the ship. This was nothing like the trickles of water that they fixed so easily on the Valour.
Winston and Betty waded over to Victor, who was soaked to the skin. Betty set a chock into one of the holes and drove it in. Septimus was working the pump, his sleeves rolled back, muscles straining as he pushed and pulled at the handle, his face set in a grim mask.
Hester waded over and grasped the opposite handle of the pump, helping take the strain as they worked to get the water out. But it was useless. They could never stop the rising water, only slow it.
The water was so cold. So cold it made her bones ache. But in the chaos, it hardly seemed to matter. With the anguish in his eyes, it hardly seemed to matter.
“How bad is it?” Hester shouted.
“Quite bad,” he said, barely audible in all the din. “Luckily we emptied the stores onto the ice a week ago, or everything would be ruined.”
“It will be alright. What Winston cannot do with timber is not worth knowing,” Hester said, though she could make out the tension in her bosun’s shoulders. He sawed a length of wood over his knee, then hammered it into place in the hole. Water sprayed mercilessly.
Septimus shook his head tersely and kept at the pump, working harder than ever. Hester struggled to keep up.
“Everything looks worse in the dark,” she said, hoping to lift his spirits. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel in his shoes. Wasn’t sure if anything would make her feel better. But she wanted to try all the same.
“The ice worsens. The pressure. I—” Septimus shook his head again and looked her in the eye. “I’m not sure how much longer the ships will stand it. Either of them.”
“They are strong. They will survive it. They must.” She could not conceive of anything else.
He laughed mirthlessly. “I fear you have been having such a fine time that you forget the dangers, forget what threatens our lives every day. There is no help, nothing and no one to save us should we falter.”
Hester frowned and pushed a little harder on the pump handle. “I do not forget the dangers, but what use is worrying and waiting for the worst to happen? We will make it to Vahsel Bay. The ships will hold.”
He had no answer to that, but pumped with more violence, and something deep inside her sank. For the briefest of days he had shown her a lighter side, a side which she had hoped to tease out. And now, it seemed he was back to his hatred of her.
Hester ran up the steps from the Intrepid’s hold and into the galley.
“Done,” she announced, then collapsed into a chair at the table, resting her head on her burning forearms. The lamps flickered in the dim light, casting long shadows.
“You fixed it?” Charlotte asked, setting a steaming bowl of porridge before her.
“Yes. We just need to pump the water out now. My God, this is needed,” Hester mumbled, shovelling porridge into her mouth. She shivered, and Charlotte wrapped a coat over her shoulders. “We shall have earned a good sleep after that.”
Charlotte dropped her voice to a whisper. “Could that happen to the Valour?”
Hester glanced up at her, trying to think how to answer. Of course it was possible, but it wouldn’t do to dwell on the worst-case scenario. “It’s best not to think of what could happen. We will deal with whatever arises, fear not.”
“Alright,” Charlotte said uncertainly, wringing her hands together.
Winston was next into the galley, face grey, his teeth chattering, his hands white as the ice.
“Get next to the stove,” Hester ordered, pointing with her spoon. Winston obeyed, squatting down next to the open door of the lower oven, his hands held out. “Well done, Winston. I don’t think the outcome would have been so good had it not been for you.”
“All in a day’s work, Captain,” he said. “Victor and Betty did a fine job too.”
“I’m sure,” Hester said.
A flash of black hair caught Hester’s eye. Septimus walked through the galley and back down into the hold. She darted after him, halting on the steps before the water. They were alone.
She needed to rope back what was slipping away but wasn’t sure how. “Thank you will be fine.” She leant against the wall with her arms crossed, a forced smile on her face.
“Oh. I didn’t see you there.” He turned to her, and he looked older, his forehead lined. She wanted to smooth her fingers over the wrinkles.
“I am thankful. Of course I am.” He took a step towards her, his eyes haunted. He raked a hand through his unbound hair.
Hester cocked her head, clasping her hands to stop from reaching for him. “Come over to the Valour. Have a rest. Mei will cook.”
He frowned, taking up the pump handle and beginning to work it up and down. “Are you insane? Look at this. It’ll take days to pump dry.”
She hesitated, then splashed down the last few steps and waded over to help. “Well, perhaps it would be good to have a break from it all. To forget for an hour or so. We could get the rum out, have a little fun.”
“Fun? How can you think of having fun? We will all be dead soon enough if we stop to have fun.”
Hester closed her eyes briefly, trying not to take his words personally. He was worried. It was no reflection on whatever he felt for her. Because she was sure he did feel something for her. Fairly sure, anyway. “Septimus, come on. An hour will make no difference. You need to rest.”
He glared at her and continued working the pump. “I cannot rest. Every hour makes a difference. Don’t you understand? This whole business is entirely your fault.”
She clenched her teeth, anger plummeting through her like a bird of prey diving for the kill. “My fault?!” she hissed. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
Clearly, she had been incorrect. He felt nothing for her. And that was fine. She felt nothing for him either.
He snarled, “If you had listened to me and not accepted—”
“Oh, we’re back to that, are we? Back to the patriarchal bullshit.”
He stopped working the handle and stared at her.
“Oh, don’t stop, my lord,” she breathed, a grin creeping over her face. “You’re ever so good at pumping.”
Septimus’s face twisted, and he stabbed a finger towards the steps. “Get out.”
“Do I get a countdown?”
“No.”
She shrugged, shredding up any fantasy she’d ever had that he might care for her. “Pity.”
“That was a mistake.”
The air crackled as Hester snarled back. “Indeed. A huge mistake.”
“You liked me pressing you against the wall well enough, witch,” he spat. “I could hear you panting.”
Hester growled, her teeth bared, the air snapping, power leaching through her carefully erected wall. Outside, the wind began to howl. “Stop it.”
“Why? I’m not afraid of your little weather temper tantrums. You’re just a swaggering idiot who doesn’t know what they’re doing. You’ll be the death of us all.”
Hester’s lips pressed together, trying to keep her cool, but static leapt around the hold, and the wind blew stronger, the rigging clanging far above. She couldn’t keep the magic inside. Couldn’t keep it from spilling out into the world.
Thunder boomed overhead.
“There you are,” a cold voice spoke into her head. “I’ve been waiting for you to show yourself.”
“Oh, God,” Hester said, her eyes widening in horror. This couldn’t be happening.
She grasped Septimus’s arm and breathed deeply, trying to stop the magic that was flooding out of her, trying to rein it in, to plug up the cracks. “Take it back,” she begged.
“No! Look around you. You think we’re getting out of here in one piece? You think they’ll all make it?” He thrust a hand upwards, to where the crews were gathered, eating breakfast. “The whaling captains warned us about the ice.”
Hester closed her eyes, panic bubbling, and then her magic sputtered and died, finally spent after months away from land.
She raised her eyes to the ceiling and thanked God, or Neptune, or whoever was listening.
Maybe the beast wouldn’t be able to locate them now. She slumped against the wall in relief.
“I am coming for you.”
A thud rocked the ship and she gasped, staggering to hold her balance. “Shit.”
“What the Hell was that?”
“It’s back,” she said. “It’s back. We need to get out. Now.”
She grasped his hand and dragged him to the steps, pushing him ahead of her.
The ship rocked and lurched, and the crew above them started to move, yells and cries and crashing pots sounding.
Septimus whirled on her. “What the fuck did you do?!”
“The orca—it can sense when I—use magic.” She pushed him ahead of her, both of them bursting into the galley.
“ABANDON SHIP.” His voice was loud.
Tears burned in her eyes. The floor beneath Hester’s feet rocked, and she fell forwards, cracking her hip against the table.
Pain shunted through her. And then the floor slanted away, everyone skidding and falling, the plates sliding from the table as the ship heeled over at a steep angle, the grinding ice a scream in her ears.
The Valour.
Had the orca seen it too?
But the Valour sat higher in the ice. It was possible it hadn’t been spotted.
The crews were scrambling to get out on deck, and a hand shoved her from behind. Septimus’s broad hand forcing her on behind the others. “Get out.”
She turned, locking eyes with him. “I’m sorry.” Words could not convey how sorry she was.
He shoved her again. “Get. Out.”
She dashed for the door, stumbling along the corridor, up the steps of the companionway, out into the dark.
Footsteps pounded, the rest of the crew running behind.
Winston grabbed her hand, hauling her to the ramp and down to the ice, where the stacks of stores had already been evacuated.
The dogs bayed around them. Her whole body turned numb.
Hester looked back at the Intrepid and cried out as the ship crumpled in the middle, plumes of icy water reaching into the sky.
Two of the masts snapped in half, swinging down to the deck and piercing it, wood splintering.
The shouts and screams of the crew rang into the night air, and she clutched Winston’s arm, beginning to shake.
There was a sickening crunching and grinding, and the ice beneath their feet shuddered.
“Septimus. Where is Septimus?” Hester spun, scanning the horrified faces of the two crews, searching for his hulking presence.
He wasn’t there.