New Storm Rising

01. Presents for Fish

"Bluurgh!"

With the enthusiasm of a professional vomit-cannoneer, I leaned over the side of the ship and sent a series of half-digested projectiles into the beautiful blue ocean. Only when my stomach had stopped heaving and I'd wiped the back of my mouth did I spot the small swarm of fishes below.

"Oh. Um...I hope you like showers?" I said, optimistically.

"Somehow," a cool voice came from behind me, "I very much doubt that, Mr Linton."

"You!" I wheezed, waving in the approximate direction of the heartless, ice-cold slab of stone that called itself my husband. "Don't you even start with me! And what's with this 'Mr Linton'? Is that any way to address your dearest, most beloved wife?"

Stepping up beside me—out of range of vomit, mind you—he cast me a cool sideways glance, his customary show of conjugal affection. "May I remind you, Mr Linton, that it was on your insistence you embarked upon this journey dressed in your male disguise? If you think you can expect me to publicly address you as "Mrs Ambrose" while wearing trousers and a bowler hat, you are very much mistaken."

All right, that was...sort of reasonable. Dang!

Luckily, I wasn't in a very reasonable mood right now.

"You expect me to go on a month-long ocean marathon in a dress and whalebone corset?" I gestured around at the swaying ship and creaking rigging. "I wouldn't even be able to bend ove-uuurggh!"

Abruptly, I grabbed the railing and, bending forwards, bestowed another shower upon the lucky fishes.

Yay! Three cheers for generosity!

It took quite a while for me to straighten up again.

"Case...in point," I rasped. "Besides, it was your fault we stepped onto this dratted ship to begin with! If you hadn't had the bright idea to start our honeymoon on this vessel from hell, I wouldn't feel like this right now! I..." Instinctively, I clutched my stomach, trying to convince it not to evict its contents. "I don't even know what the hell is going on! I've been on a ship plenty of times before, and nothing like this has ever happened! And now that I'm on my honeymoon I'm puking my guts out all of a sudden?"

"Goodness," said my currently-not-so-beloved husband. "After your wedding night, you suddenly feel sick and begin regurgitating. I wonder why that is."

"Why the heck are you being as cryptic as a crypt tick?" My grip on my stomach tightened as the darn thing started roiling again. "Are you sure you're the Mr Rikkard Ambrose I married? The silent rock who hates to pry his lips apart unless there's something serious to talk about? If you have something to say, say it!"

Mr Ambrose cocked his head, gazing down at me. "Oh, I think I prefer to simply watch and wait a few months."

"What...bleearrgh!—what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Silence.

"Mr Ambrose? Hey, husband! Spouse! Not-really-better-but-adequate half?" Taking a deep breath to calm my stomach, I turned—only to find Mr Rikkard Ambrose already gone.

Seriously?

What had that all been about? I knew he was rather taciturn, but only wanting to talk to me about it after a couple of months of waiting? Months?

That was bad even for him.

"What's the matter with him?" I demanded, turning to Karim, my dear husband's bodyguard, walking weapons store and leading contender in the century's-biggest-beard contest. "Wait a few months? What does he mean?"