Chapter Nine #2
Delauney felt his face go red. “Oh, oh no. No, I’m just interested in it, that’s all.”
“Isn’t that what genius is?” Ned asked. “Being curious about something? Asking the right questions? And you’ve felt this way for how long?”
“All my life,” Delauney said. “But you know how Mother and Father can be.”
“They’ll be devastated,” Ned said with a laugh. “Two serious-minded men in a family like yours? Your mother may never recover.”
“I’m not that serious-minded,” Delauney muttered. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before, though.”
“You should be sorry,” Ned said. “What did you think I was going to do, swoon? You won’t disappear on me when you’re off in Gerakia, will you? Because I’ll need letters, even if I can’t understand them, and the girls will riot if they don’t see their Uncle Laney at least once a year.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to disappoint your girls,” Delauney said. Ned grinned.
“Yes, because then I might actually be cross with you.” He swung an arm around Delauney’s shoulders. “Now, star-man, tell me more about this college of yours.”
***
WES WOKE TO THE DOOR rattling. He sat up, assuming that Delauney had indulged too much in the inn’s watery ale to remember his keys, and rolled out of bed as a shadow passed over the line of light at the bottom of the door.
“One moment,” he said, as the door rattled again. Something moved under the door, and Wes paused as the shadow disappeared, along with the hurried patter of fading footsteps.
He bent to touch the thing that had slid under the door and picked up a thick scrap of paper. Bewildered, Wes fumbled to light one of the lamps by the window, cursing softly as a match stung his fingertips. As the lamp sputtered to life, Wes squinted at the paper in his hands.
The words on the paper were written in a neat, elegant script, but the message made a chill roll through Wes’ body.
Mutineers pay in blood.
Someone knew. Wes supposed that it was only a matter of time before someone figured out that the new sailor on the Manatee was the man who’d whipped Captain Lennox, but there was no telling who could have written the note.
There were over a hundred sailors on the ship, and many of them had been poached from Lennox’s old crew.
Wes doubted that any of them had loyalty to the old spider, but loyalty didn’t matter when Lennox had enough money to buy any sailor he wanted.
All he needed to do was have a messenger intercept a sailor at Redmason and pay them handsomely enough to watch Wes.
They’d taken their time, but Wes had been staying with Delauney so often that there probably hadn’t been a chance for them to send a message before now.
That meant that whoever it was had been watching him. They’d known when Wes would be alone.
The door shook again, and Wes whipped around, shoving the paper in the desk drawer.
Delauney burst into the room with a grin, pink-faced with exertion, and practically trapped Wes in an enthusiastic embrace.
There was no chance to tell Delauney about the message with him practically shaking in Wes’ arms. They kissed fervently for nearly ten minutes before Wes gently pushed Delauney away.
“I assume it went well?”
Delauney answered by kissing him again.
Wes didn’t have the heart to tell Delauney about the message that night.
There was no use working himself into a panic trying to figure out who was in Lennox’s pocket, and Delauney was too elated by his talk with Ned for Wes to ruin the mood.
Wes would tell him later, when he’d done some digging on his own.
Except later never seemed to come. Drawing Ned into the plan shifted the tone of Wes and Delauney’s observations.
Peter insisted on speaking to Delauney in his friend’s parlor a few days after Delauney told Ned about his plans to apply to the Aviary.
He seemed a little uncertain when Wes came along, but like most nobles, he seemed to quietly erase him from the world at large before long, speaking to Delauney alone even when Wes explained the application process.
“I negotiated all six of my siblings’ marriage contracts and one application to the Two Sisters college,” Peter said, his gaze sliding over Wes as he tapped the outline he’d drafted, “so while I don’t know the nature of your research, I do know how to make an appealing case.
Bring your letter to me before you’re done, and I’ll make sure they’re salivating over you. ”
Delauney was quiet as they left, the light in his eyes dimming. “He didn’t speak to you once,” he said, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “And you were instrumental in most of this.”
“That’s how the nobility works,” Wes said. “What’s an ant to a heron? Most nobles don’t even notice servants unless they’re family retainers like Alain.”
Delaunay frowned. “I notice. I should talk to Peter.”
“And tell him what?” Wes asked. He felt a pang of guilt at the shamefaced look Delauney gave him. “It doesn’t matter, Delauney. He and I aren’t anything to each other.”
“But you’re something to me,” Delauney said.
They both stopped at that, as though they’d been jerked back by their collars.
Wes rubbed the back of his neck as Delauney coughed into his fist. The moment to say something passed, leaving them awkward and wary, listening to the rustle of the wind in the orange trees.
“We should go over our notes,” Wes said.
“Yes,” Delauney said in a strained voice.
Their time on Madog’s Throne flew by in a rush of paperwork, charting stars, and hauling equipment up and down the bluff at ungodly hours of the night and morning.
Wes found himself overtaken with a feverish excitement, tempered only by flashes of melancholy as he realized that if they succeeded, Delauney would run off to Gerakia.
Perhaps Wes could inquire at the library in Hekate’s Eye.
They were bound to have astronomers there, particularly with Fern living on the island.
But the thought of doing it without Delauney only dampened Wes’ mood.
It didn’t help that the second message came soon on the heels of the first, delivered by an anxious Alain.
“We found this before you woke,” they said, passing a folded paper to Wes with shaking fingers. They brushed their black hair out of their eyes as Wes opened it. “We didn’t want to give it to you.”
Wes examined the note. It was a crude sketch of a man bleeding out against the mast of a ship, with the words I know what you are scrawled at the top.
“Well,” Wes said, trying to keep his tone light despite the dread sinking in his gut. “That’s unpleasant, but you shouldn’t feel bad for giving it to me.”
“We don’t like it,” Alain said, ducking their head. “Do you know what it means?”
“I think so,” Wes said. He hesitated, unsure how much he could truly confide in Alain. “My old captain wasn’t a particularly kind one. He tried to beat a child, but I put a stop to it. I suppose whoever wrote this didn’t like my methods.”
Alain was quiet for a long moment. “We know that some people believe in striking children to teach them discipline, but we’ve never stood for it. We don’t have children of our own any longer, but we had one, once. When they died, we decided it would be best if we had no more.”
Wes folded the paper. “I didn’t know you were parents.”
“They lived to eighty-six before we buried them,” Alain said, “but they were still our child. We would have burned Iperios to the ground if someone hurt them.”
“They were lucky to have you,” Wes said. He thought of his own parents sending him off to live at sea, sparing no thought to the harsh conditions and corrupt officers.
Alain tentatively lay a hand on Wes’ shoulder.
“We may be bound by our demon, but we remember what it is to be one person, alone with our thoughts. It’s why we care for Peter, even though he is our charge and not our child.
It’s why we care for you. We have conferred, and we agree that we like you, Wes.
You are unsettled by us, but you put that aside to treat us like people. We don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Thank you, Alain,” Wes said. “Oculus.”
Alain smiled. “You’re welcome,” they said, and Wes felt as though he could hear other voices in those words, an echo of the colony in Alain’s mind.
He returned to Delauney, who was washing up after his shave. He turned to smile at Wes, but his expression faded when he saw Wes’ face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Someone knows what I did to Lennox,” Wes said. He handed the paper to Delauney. Delauney opened it, grimaced, and tossed it onto the desk as though it burned him.
“We need to address this somehow,” he said. “Do you have any idea of who might have written this?”
“No, but I don’t think I can,” Wes said.
He sat on the bed, watching Delauney pace restlessly across the room.
“There are too many sailors who used to work on Lennox’s crew.
He could have paid any of them to keep an eye on me.
And they’re just trying to rattle me right now.
It could be that he simply wants me nervous enough to try something.
If I confront him the next time I’m in Staria, he can use that as a reason to drag me before the council. ”
“I won’t have you antagonized on my own ship,” Delauney said. He rose to take Wes’ face in his hands. “We’ll root them out and put a stop to it. You’ll tell me if you see anything?” Wes hesitated, and a furrow formed in Delauney’s brow. “Wes.”
“Yes,” Wes said, kissing him softly. “I’ll tell you.”