I’ve seen enough. I’m not going to learn anything useful here tonight. I’ve not heard the merest whisper about the King’s Fleet, or a single nugget of information to arm myself with, and so I start my slow shuffle back towards my exit.
Once I’m successfully free of the secret passageway I pause. I should return immediately to my room, but I just can’t face it. I’m also starving as I’ve been on basic rations during my isolation. There’s virtually no one about, and I make my decision, heading to deck – after detouring through the galley to sneakily grab a sea biscuit. It’s far calmer than the night of the fighting, with only a skeleton crew working, so no one bothers me as I find a quiet alcove to huddle in, nestled between the stairs to the quarterdeck and the hull. It’s much more uncomfortable sitting here than in my room, but I find the fresh air the closest place to an escape from the evil that oozes from every corner of this ship.
Resting my head back against the side of the Maiden, I gaze up at the night sky and watch as a flock of moonbirds flitter past. Small and silver, they look like stardust falling to earth, and despite everything I smile. There is beauty in this world, even if I can’t reach it.
And then, as if just by looking I’ve somehow infected the moment, one of the dainty bodies drops to the deck with a thud.
I scramble over to lift the bird into my hands, and look around to see if anyone else has noticed. Confident they haven’t, I smuggle the bird back to where I was settled and open my hands.
It’s not dead, but it’s heading that way, its wing broken, its eyes turning glassy. Its little chest rises and falls rapidly, shock its most imminent threat.
I fold my hands back round it, gently, protectively, and close my eyes. It’s ludicrous to feel responsible, but somehow I do. Not just about the bird. About Lynx. About everything.
Live.
I will the bird to recover, thinking maybe if it can survive such a fall, I can survive what lies ahead for me. Stupid really.
The sound of voices approaching brings me back to my surroundings, and I shove my hand into my pocket, the bird safely concealed just as two crewmembers stumble up to deck, drunk and loud.
It’s Briggs and his on-off lover Choke, a woman named after her passion for crushing windpipes. I wish she’d just go ahead and crush Briggs’s.
I hope they won’t notice me, but I’m all out of luck as Briggs spots me and nudges Choke.
‘Look who it is,’ he says, his words slurring together. ‘The runt.’
Choke isn’t as drunk as Briggs and says nothing, though she grins at me with deadly intent.
Briggs comes over to where I’m sitting and I get to my feet, hand still securely in pocket to hold the bird safe.
‘Isn’t it past your bedtime?’
There’s no point in engaging with him; my only desire at this point is to slip away without causing a scene.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ I say. ‘If you’ll excuse me . . .’
He presses his fingers to my chest and pushes me back. ‘Hey, I’m not done talking to you.’ His eyes fall on the nibbled sea biscuit in my exposed hand and light up. ‘Been stealing from the rations, have you?’
I shrug, inwardly bristling at the accusation. ‘Missed dinner.’
‘I’m hungry.’ He turns to Choke. ‘You hungry?’
She says nothing, just watches with dangerous anticipation.
‘Hand it over,’ Briggs says.
It’s only a stupid scrap of food, but I refuse to be bullied by this poor excuse for a human.
‘No.’
His eyes narrow and he turns to Choke with a mirthless laugh. ‘Hear that? Runt’s grown herself a little pair of balls.’
Oh, please. Only a man would think that was a compliment. One swift kick to his would shut him up and it takes all my efforts not to do so.
Briggs smiles at me, before reaching to snatch the food from my hand. I could retaliate, stop him from taking it, but I fear any movement could risk hurting the bird precariously resting in my pocket.
So I don’t react at all.
He studies the sea biscuit as if he finds it repulsive. He holds it up for Choke to see. ‘Not sure about you, but I don’t want Runt’s leftovers. Cowardice might be catching.’
And he casually tosses it into the ocean.
Such a wasteful act is, of course, a great source of amusement to him, but to my relief he’s done playing with me, and he rejoins Choke, laughing so hard he starts to cough. I take the opportunity and practically run back to my cabin.
Once I’m alone, I carefully lift the moonbird from my pocket and place it on top of my trunk to examine it. And I smile. The wing I thought was broken appears to be perfectly all right, just a little dishevelled, and the veil of death that was previously descending has now lifted. I was mistaken about how gravely hurt it was, and sigh with relief. Maybe there’s hope for both of us still.
The door to my room bursts open. There’s no time to hide the bird as my father strides in, and it’s obvious he’s not here to tuck me in for the night.
I freeze, unable to move.
‘You think you can flout my rules?’ Father growls as he steps closer. ‘You think you can leave your cabin without me finding out? That I wouldn’t know you were spying on my crew?’
I have no idea how he knows – there wasn’t time for Briggs to tell him – but my protests shrivel away to nothing before they can leave my lips.
‘I thought you’d learned your lesson for disobedience with this.’ And he presses his thumb hard into my nose. Pain blooms through my head and I think I might be sick. ‘But apparently you think you’re beyond reproach. Allow me to relieve you of such misconceptions.’
He grabs the moonbird with one hand, and plants the other on my face, palm splayed, holding me back.
‘Consider this bird represents you and see what happens when I am displeased.’
And he crushes the fragile body in his brutal grip.
I close my eyes and fight back the sob rising in my throat. His hand still over my face, he pushes me backwards until I hit the wall.
‘You will remember who I am, and you will never seek to disobey me again, do you understand?’
His spit splatters on to my skin and I nod frantically. ‘Who am I?’ he shouts, his mouth practically touching mine.
‘My father.’
‘Who am I?’ he roars even louder.
‘My captain.’
‘Who am I?’
‘The Viper.’
‘And I will be obeyed.’ Then with one sharp thrust he smashes my head hard into the wall before he strides back out, leaving me alone once more.
I slide down, my legs unable to support me a moment longer, and stare at the little body lying on my floor.
The noose strangles me like never before, but despite being shaken to my very core I feel a spark of determination. He wants to silence me, to stop me meddling.
Which means there’s something to find.
We make port at the Sixth Isle not three weeks later. It’s my father’s favourite island and we come here frequently, in part because it offers many secluded bays where we can careen the Maiden, turning her on her side when she requires repairs, or cleaning the hull below the waterline of barnacles and weed.