Riven Isles

16 | New Moon

It had been enormously satisfying to sit my first watch with the ship's drunk. Roofus Tussock had blathered on to me, with a slur so prominent that I could not understand a great deal of his words, about how he had been tricked into guzzling saltwater upon waking from his 'nap'. Now, Mr. Tussock is no scholar, and the number of curses he crammed into his rant was impressive. I learned a few new swears before he barked at me to do the watch by myself and wake him if I saw anything. I didn't, and the watch proved to be a very long night of staying awake, alone, listening to the creaking of the boards and the whispers of the sails, and holding myself back from filling old Tussock's bottle with seawater again, because he'd know it was me. I had been very grateful for my nap earlier that afternoon.

While I'd been asleep, Dorian had strung up a hammock for me in the scholars' cabin. I'm grateful for it after keeping my eyes open all night. I sleep through brunch, and wake to a quiet, sweet-smelling room. No more gargling and gum-gnashing. No more fish reek.

There is a blend of sandalwood from the doctor, lavender from Lydia, and least interesting of all, books from Simon. He smells like print and paper, but the chamomile and peppermint scent of his tea supply a nice aroma to the air.

There's a faint scent of brandy and wine from corked bottles on a small rack.

I climb from my hammock and slip on my shoes and take pause to look out the window to the ship's wake. The water is calm, with swells no larger than five or six feet. I reach behind my head and pull my dirty hair back, tying it up with my leather strip, and then set off down the hall. I hoist myself up the stairs, and the pleasant sea breeze greets me. Dr. Oswald sits at the bow, almost finished with sewing the improved jib sail. Lydia is in the rigging with another sailor, doing something with the sails. The deck is dull with salt and dust. Sworn to my duty, I head for my mop and bucket under the bow stairs.

"Mr. Avery..." drones a voice. I freeze, and curse myself (in my head, obviously) for not seeing the man. How had I not seen the man? I turn, and look up at his prominent, scarred brow. "So... glad to see you awake."

Does he sound convincing? No, not very. Uncertain, I awkwardly mumble my thanks, anyways.

He holds out to me a thin sword in a plain leather sheath. I blink, for it does not seem like something he would have. The brown is far too kind a color for his bleak black attire. "Compliments of the captain," he explains, steady and slow.

"For me?" I ask, incredulous. To think, I'd just been mulling over my need for a weapon the very day before. I hold out my hands, but am hesitant to take it, in the case that I misunderstood.

Langley drops the gift into my grasp and withdraws his gloved hand to his side.

"Thank you, sir.

His half-lidded, sleepy eyes scan over me. Sleepy but watchful. Alert, but with little energy. I can imagine that his energy is stored, like in a spring. Dormant until called upon.

I feel myself shrink under his scrutiny.

"Have you experience with a sword?"

"No, sir."

"I have been instructed to provide you with lessons." He looks past me, which I'm starting to think is his way of telling me that he is finished with me. "Familiarize yourself with your blade, and we will begin on the morrow."

He nods to me, and ambles, poised, away. I lower the blade and stare after him. He plants his hands on the starboard rail and looks out to sea. After a few moments, he leaves to address a loitering bunch of sailors, and scatters them to perform tasks at different parts of the ship.