“I am not at sea,” Reynolds said, finally finding his voice, his gaze fixed on her as if he could not bear to look at his first mate. “My authority doesn’t extend this far. The Judiciary—”
“Killed fifty-seven men today aboard Constance because of plague. They will understand. The other three, keep them in the brig. Set a guard. Then go down the roster and locate every man who served aboard, and find out if we have lost them, as well. Once you have taken the measure of our problem, then you might call the doctors.”
Reynolds worked his bristled jaw, searching for words, perhaps for courage. “I would prefer to lock them all up together, my lady. They are my men.”
“I think you will find that they are mine.” She looked at the unfortunate soul. He had been a worthwhile investment, until now. Certain acts of fortune could not be prepared for. Constance had been an excellent demonstration of that.
But...if she pushed now, Reynolds might leave her for Danforth or Sing’s ships, perhaps without carrying out her orders at all. And if the sickness could spread from man to man, the whole ship needed to be put down, and disposing of the three men who didn’t possess a family to complain to her wouldn’t help them at all.
“I defer to your experience,” she said at last, meeting Reynolds’ gaze as he sagged in relief. He likely couldn’t see her face, save for the pale tip of her nose pressed to the gauze of her veil. It meant he couldn’t see her frustration, either. “Hold them as you will, and send me a report in the morning of what you and the doctors find.”
“Yes, my lady.” Evelyn took one last look at the unmoving man, the fly still perched upon one round, now-dry sclera. And then she turned and climbed up out of the bowels of the ship, onto the rainswept boards. A small roof shielded her while, at her heels, Violetta set down her lantern to open up her umbrella.
“A lucky thing,” Violetta said, “that the storm held off until The Verity was docked and unloaded.”
Evelyn’s lips quirked. Violetta’s sense of humor was better formed than hers, but still a pale and twisted thing. A lucky thing indeed.
Once Violetta had everything in hand once more, they left the ship behind. Evelyn tallied the survivorship fees she would need to pay out to the three married men’s spouses, and returned to the matter of when and how to involve the Judiciary. It was clear now that she had little chance of containing the situation before delivering it to them, neatly wrapped; without Captain Reynolds’ dedicated aid, she didn’t have the resources. So she worked through a list of the maritime judicial officers who might still be at their posts that night and would be sympathetic. The burning of Constance likely meant that at least a few of the diurnal regulars had stayed on, but the growing squall would have hurried most of those home again. The furrowed streets could drain off most of the flooding, but the cobbles would still be slick and dangerous in the darkness.
As they reached the end of the pier, Evelyn spotted a familiar figure in the gloom, standing beneath his own umbrella, illuminated by a street lamp that had not yet guttered out. He was speaking with a man Evelyn recognized as one of Urston’s managers, who had no umbrella and was clearly eager to move on. Violetta had proven correct. The burning of Constance and the turn of the weather were both good luck for her; of all the men of the Judiciary who stuck their noses into her affairs, he was the least bothersome.
She approached Officer Linden Pollard directly and reached him just as Urston’s man was hurrying back towards the main road. The roar of the rain drowned out her footsteps, but Pollard must have felt her approach, for he turned around to face her just as she came to a stop. Violetta beside her seemed to glow in the darkness, her pale dress reflecting back the lamplight onto the two of them in their dark clothing.
“Lady Perdanu,” he said, inclining his head and carefully tipping back his umbrella so that he did not sheet water onto her. “What an odd time of night for you to be about. I hope you haven’t had trouble with The Verity? My second said that her unloading proceeded very well this afternoon.”
He had a smooth voice and smooth skin, marred only faintly by the furrows of age. His russet hair was mostly covered by his hat, and his high collar was still starched and bright white, despite the weather. On their first meeting, she had realized with disgust that he was handsome, but their subsequent meetings had proven that he had been able to rise above it.
“Officer Pollard. I do have a matter for your attention, unfortunately.”
His soft smile faded in an instant, replaced with blank firmness. She appreciated it, as always. “Theft?”
“Worse.” She nodded her head back towards the pier, to The Verity. “Six of my crew members have been captured by an illness.”
“Like Constance’s crew?”
“No.” That had been a coughing, retching plague, from what Violetta had reported and Urston later confirmed. “This is a far stranger illness. It’s as if they are...empty.”
“Empty?”
“Perhaps,” she said, choosing her words with care, “it is a problem not only for the doctors, but for your men as well.”
“You suspect poison.” Ah, but he was quick. She did appreciate him. “Or something like it. They don’t appear ill at all, except that they don’t move. They don’t blink. They are empty.”
“You think it might be the next move in the coup?” She wanted to tell him that it was something she had never seen herself, but doing so would show too much of a hand she preferred to play only with serving girls and indelicate debutantes. To Linden, she would always be the strange heir to Perdanu Shipping Incorporated. What grew in her garden was a private matter.
“I think that it is strange, and that the timing is worrying. Nobody took ill until after they arrived.”
He considered this, no doubt evaluating her words for likely honesty. Would it be a safer thing, for this to have been caused by poison in a home port? She wasn’t sure.
“Well,” he said, finally, “we may at least hope, then, that it hasn’t spread far. I will look into the matter. May I offer my assistance in tracking down your wayward sailors?”
It would upset Reynolds, but it was better than letting her captain’s tender feelings hide the other afflicted, now that he knew she meant to slaughter them. “Yes, if you would be so kind.”
“Of course, my lady.” He bowed to her, hand against his heart, umbrella once again tipped back to spare her. “Call on me tomorrow, that I might update you?”
She shook her head. “I make it a point not to come into town so often.” She touched the hem of her veil with one hand, and he eased back a half-step, shifting his weight to his heel. Nobody mistook her for a delicate, damaged flower, but few doubted that such horrid grief could leave a woman untouched. Her veil was armor. Her veil was indispensable. “Send a letter, separate from my captain’s updates. I would appreciate the added perspective.”
“You don’t suspect that he...?”
“No,” she said. “But I do know that they are his men.” She left the rest unspoken, and after courteous goodbyes, Evelyn made her way back to her carriage. Violetta followed, a silent ghost at her side, half-sodden where the umbrella hadn’t covered her.