36. In which digits are lost and magic awakens
IN WHICH DIGITS ARE LOST AND MAGIC AWAKENS
Frank lowered the sextant and called coordinates to Peggy, who scratched a pencil mark onto the map.
“Right where we’re supposed to be,” Peggy said with a nod, tucked under the foredeck in her sodden sleeping bag.
“I never doubted,” Hester said, shoulders dropping.
The stormy sea raged around them, stretching for miles in all directions. Hester tried to stand and stretch but found that she couldn’t uncurl herself from the tiller. “Err. I can’t get up.”
“Need a hand?” Frank came over and plucked her up. She promptly fell to the bottom of the boat. Pain shot through her.
“Oof. My whole body has frozen.”
Septimus blinked a weary eye open from where he lay under the deck beside Peggy and Winston. “Could you make any more noise?”
Hester crawled towards him, inching past the harpoon gun, the harpoon she’d taken from Orcus nestled safely in a blanket. “I require your assistance.”
He grunted, reaching for her and dragging her to him, straightening her out like a board.
“Ouch. Watch it. Ooo.” Hester groaned as he pummelled her stiff muscles. “Careful of my thighs. They’re red raw.” The saltwater and sweat produced painful sores, and the small tub of ointment they had in the medical bag didn’t seem to help at all.
“Better?” Septimus asked.
“Will you rub my stomach?”
“It pains you?” He ran his hands over her belly.
“Not as such.” Hester squirmed. “Lower.”
Septimus moved his hands down. “There?”
“Lower still.” Hester sniggered. To while away the hours sat at the tiller, Hester had been imagining what she would do with him once they reached safety.
“You’re right next to us!” Peggy stuck her head out of a sleeping bag and glared.
“Avert your eyes, Peggy.” Hester winked, attempting to force Septimus’s hand further south.
Septimus huffed a laugh. “She’s only joking. Nothing untoward is going on.”
More was the shame. “I am not joking,” Hester muttered.
“Would you look at that? I think the sky is finally clearing,” Frank said from the stern, his gaze set ahead.
Hester got to her feet slowly, peering over the decking that shielded them from the worst of the spray. “Shit. That’s not clear sky, Frank.”
It was the white crest of the most gigantic wave she had ever seen, a mighty upheaval of the ocean. Hester sensed the pearly-white presence of her mother before she appeared. The ghostly apparition screamed, “Hold fast.”
“For God’s sake, hold on!” Hester yelled as the boat tilted upwards, drawn inexorably forwards into the swell of the wave.
Elephant Island
The smell of iodine took Charlotte back to her childhood, to her mother mending scraped knees.
She was under the lifeboat Thirteen, which had been turned upside-down as a shelter, holding the hand of one of the Intrepid’s deckhands.
It was dark, a lamp casting an orange glow over Valerie, who was preparing her surgical equipment.
“All will be well, Tom. Valerie will have you fixed up in no time,” Charlotte said, stroking Tom’s hand, his knuckles white as he gripped her.
“Will I feel it?” he asked, his voice quavering.
Charlotte’s gaze met Valerie’s.
Valerie tipped an evil smelling substance onto a cloth and handed it to Charlotte. “The chloroform will knock you out. You won’t feel a thing.”
“I should never have stowed away in Argentina. What was I thinking?”
Charlotte grimaced. It was all her fault. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d thought that lately. “Ready?” she asked.
Tom nodded, and she pressed the cloth to his nose and mouth. In a few minutes, his head rolled limply against her thigh, and she released her fingers from the grip of his hand.
Valerie set to work amputating the worst of Tom’s frostbitten toes, five all told, while Charlotte cringed at the crunching of bone and held the dish for the surgeon to drop the offending digits into.
She almost regretted volunteering to play nurse, but she felt so responsible for everyone.
Poor Tom was only eighteen and had suffered frostbite worse than any of them.
When it was over, she left the upturned lifeboat and wandered down the desolate shore. It was far too soon for Hester to return yet, she knew that, but it didn’t stop her scanning the horizon on a regular basis.
She pulled the ragged, folded piece of paper from her pocket and opened the list of rousing phrases she had brought from Havenport.
It was nearly falling apart, the creases where she’d folded it a hundred or more times flimsy and thin, the ink smudged and barely legible, but she knew every word by heart anyway.
She breathed a sigh and folded it back up, the fresh ink on her wrist bold and bright as she pocketed the paper.
She rolled her sleeve back, admiring Mei’s latest work.
Across her wrist were the words, HOLD FAST.
Southern Ocean
The water was above her, below her, to either side.
Hester clung to the gunwale of the Tempest, her lungs bursting, her grip slipping.
And then there was air.
Cold, sweet air.
She staggered to her feet, crashed into Septimus, and dropped to the floor for a bucket to start bailing, water swirling around her.
Her mother hovered over the bow, wings beating slowly, face drawn.
Hester ignored her, tired of the presence that reminded her of the pain she was trying to be rid of.
There was a war inside her. She wanted to feel love for this person, but that was difficult when she only showed briefly, when she dodged her questions.
Let her hover there, proclaiming doom. It hadn’t befallen her yet.
Hester coughed out saltwater and threw bucket after bucket of water over the side. Beside her, Septimus did the same.
Peggy’s voice was urgent, “Hester. It’s Winston—he’s—”
Frank ripped the bucket from her hands and took over bailing. Peggy pulled her to the floor of the boat. Winston was lying there, limbs at the wrong angles, eyes closed.
Hester gripped his face. “Winston.” She shook him. It couldn’t be. “Winston!” She wouldn’t have it. She raked her gaze over his face, landing on a bruised lump on his forehead. “He hit his head. Winston, wake up.”
She dug her fingers into his neck, searching for a pulse. Her own heartbeat was racing. She dragged her fingers up his neck, pressing harder, desperate to feel something. He had to be alive.
There.
Slow, but there.
She collapsed her head onto his chest. “He’s alive.” She let out a sob.
Peggy stifled a relieved wail. “Thank God.”
Winston stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He vomited. Hester turned his head. It wouldn’t do to have him choke.
“Concussion. At least it’s only that.” Hester pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. The ocean was reminding them that they were a second from disaster, from death. She threw a withering glare to her mother.
Peggy helped her drag Winston under the deck and cover him over as best they could with the mouldering reindeer sleeping bags, soaked as they were. Next, she checked the harpoon was still safely stowed. She had a sinking feeling she’d be needing it.
Her mother had vanished yet again.
8th May 1916, Elephant Island
The wind shrieked around the grey cliffs as Charlotte hurried towards the hut.
Over the past week the crews had been working to make a more permanent shelter using the lifeboats Death and Thirteen.
Large rocks had been dragged and carried to make a base to prop the upturned boats on, smaller stones, coats and canvas from the tents used to patch the gaps.
It was in the construction that Charlotte realised how weak everyone was. Rocks that would have been lifted easily before took two or three of them to shift. Reduced rations and the lingering effects of the journey to Elephant Island had clearly taken their toll.
She crawled through the tube of canvas that they used as a door to the hut and surveyed the scene, or what she could see of it in the darkness.
“A whole chocolate cake,” Fliss said from her sleeping bag, perched up high on the mezzanine layer they’d constructed so there was space for everyone.
Emlyn groaned next to her. “Dumplings. Really large dumplings.”
Charlotte laughed and stepped over the rows of half-asleep crew in sleeping bags along the floor. She climbed up to join Arnold, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’d give my right leg for boiled eggs and hot buttered toast.”
“Read us the next recipe, Betty,” Arnold said, peering down.
Betty brought out the little cookbook with a flourish and cleared her throat.
“Tonight, we have Mulligatawny Soup on the menu.” A unified groan of longing went up from the men and women.
“Melt the butter over a medium heat. Add the onions, celery and carrot and cook until soft. Add flour and curry spices and stir frequently.”
“It’s torture,” whimpered Rufus, covering his ears.
Betty continued, “Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil. Simmer for thirty minutes. Add apple, rice, chicken, thyme, salt and pepper. Cook for a further twenty minutes. Stir in cream.”
“I think I’m going to orgasm,” Fliss moaned. Charlotte raised her eyebrows but couldn’t disagree with Fliss’s sentiments.
9th May 1916, Southern Ocean
It was the worst hurricane Hester had ever encountered. And with the black cliffs of South Georgia visible in the distance, their goal was almost in sight. Almost, but the wind was a solid wall, hurtling them towards the cliffs.
“Trying to land would be suicide,” Septimus said, voice almost drowned out in the gale. His hands gripped the tiller alongside hers. “Hester—could you stop the wind?”
Stop it…she could. If she used her magic.
But using it would signal their end, too.
Would draw Orcus to them. It was an impossible situation.
Hester’s eyes slid to Winston, who lay alongside Peggy under the deck, Frank tending to them.
Both were in such a bad way. It was imperative that they land as soon as possible, not only for Winston and Peggy’s sake, but the Tempest’s seams shook as the boat laboured heavily against the storm.
Hester wasn’t sure how much more of a battering the vessel could take.
She shifted where she sat, braced against the tiller next to Septimus. There had to be another way. The winds would die eventually.
Bright light blinded her, and when she blinked, her mother sat at her other side.
Through clenched teeth, Hester said, “I don’t need you to tell me we’re in danger.”
“I am here. When the end comes.”
That was rich. “You’ve not been here for the rest of my life, why grace me with your presence at the end of it?”
“You are not a mother. You would not understand.” Her voice broke on the words.
“I understand well enough. You hid me away. Left me. And you still refuse to give me a good reason why.” Hester began to raise her voice. “And you told me to embrace my fears, but you did not. You did not face whatever you thought would harm me, if you hid me away.”
Hester was standing now, though she did not remember getting to her feet. Standing with a snarl on her face. Her mother flickered in and out of her view, pain in her widened eyes.
The wind shrieked a warning, high and piercing.
And Hester knew what she had to do.
She turned from her mother and reached for Septimus, gripping his hand.
His eyes locked with hers. So blue and so fierce.
“I love you,” she said. She’d never said it before. Not to Fliss, even. “You were right. I was afraid of us. And when I embraced that fear, I got you.” It was time to embrace her fears once and for all.
Septimus flashed her a smile. “I love you, little witch. All of you.”
Hester faced into the storm, the wind whipping her hair back.
She had kept her magic tightly coiled in her chest for the whole journey, but she would fear Orcus no longer. Wouldn’t let fear control her anymore. She could face whatever he threw at her.
Hester let her tether to Septimus anchor her as she unravelled the magic in her chest. She let it out, let it shine bright, let the power thunder through her. Septimus gave a disbelieving laugh, staring at her, her glow reflected in his eyes.
Septimus smiled. “There she is.”
Hester held out a hand to the storm, her power soothing it, quietening it.
The wind dropped, the waves dying, the clouds parting. Her mother vanished, and the sun shone down on them. Hester tilted her face to it, smiling.
Frank, Peggy and Winston watched her from under the deck, awe-struck.
Septimus swept her up in his arms. “You are incredible.”
Hester grinned. “I know.”
“And if he comes, we’ll face him together.”
“Together.” She intertwined her fingers with his.
Within the hour, a shadow, black as night, passed under the boat.
Hester’s mother appeared by her side.
“Heave to, drop the sea anchor,” Hester said.
Septimus leapt into action to bring the boat to a halt.