Riven Isles

19 | Confrontation

I'm going to drop him, I know it. Any moment now.

My shoulders are being pulled from their sockets, I swear. I try to pull him up, but can't move him at all, so I just hold him, dangling, and the sail wildly flaps above me. It starts to quiet. I pay it no heed as I stare below and try to will the sweat away from my palms. He's slipping. There are tears in his eyes, and he looks at me as if he wants me to just let go, but despite his quivering jaw, he can't speak, and I'm starting to slip with him. I'll let go before I let myself fall with him. I know that. I'm guilty of that.

Increas Langley brushes against my side, laying his gloved hands over mine in the nick of time, and I feel strong again. "With me, Avery," he says, and his confidence empowers me. "Ready, and..."

I plant my feet against the nearest stanchion and heave, and Langley does the same on another, and Simon comes towards us, through the gap between us, polished shoes scrambling to get a grip on the hull. The overhead, powerful flapping has stopped, and we are safe. Everyone is safe. Simon curls up on the deck, wheezing. I sit back, and gulp in breaths that are mostly just to calm myself, and I hug myself and rub my sore, sore shoulders. They're on fire.

Increas Langley, stone-faced, swivels and stalks across the deck, growling what I presume to be swears in whatever angry-sounding language he speaks. Leslie ties off the corner of the jib sail and the two officers start to bicker with one another. Dr. Oswald appears with his business face and rubs my shoulders and asks me if I'm hurt. I tell him I'm fine.

Simon moans. "I think I've c-cracked a rib or two, Cornelius. Or three. Oh, d-d-dear, or six."

"Hush, hush," clucks Oswald. He gently pulls Simon's arm over his shoulder. "Let's get you to the cabin. You too, Walter."

I get up, and help Simon, bringing his other arm around my shoulder. Dr. Oswald and I lurch over the deck. Simon trips down the stairs, audibly wincing. I'd brought him to the bow deck. I'd been the one that had wanted to watch the sail go up.

I swallow. The stairs below the decks are very awkward to descend, but we manage, and we hobble down the hall together, and Lydia follows us down the stairs with askings of what is going on.

The left cabin door is open. Wide open.

Simon's cot is stripped, and the simple sheets are strewn about the floor. He gasps and stammers.

"There are more important things, Simon," Dr. Oswald mutters, and we set the poor man down on the doctor's bed. He leans against the wall.

Dr. Oswald pulls out his bags of medical equipment. Lydia crouches beside him.

I kneel by the mess at Simon's bed, where all his belongings are haphazardly unpacked and cluttering the floor. On an impulse, I find his box of tea.

Opening it, I pull out a tea bag and sniff it. "By Laod, Mr. Woods," I breathe, nose wrinkling at the odor of alcohol, "Your tea has been tampered with."

The most surprising thing to me is that Simon had somehow not noticed. The bags not only smell of the liquor but are damp with it.

"The question is 'why?'" Simon replies, stripping off his vest. Lydia pours him a brandy.

I put the bag back and replace the box's lid, then climb into my hammock. I sit cross-legged and watch the doctor. Simon unbuttons his blouse, his breath shuddering as he strips it off. Lydia kindly helps him to raise his singlet, and she leaves it scrunched just above his ribs, so that it could be easily pulled back down to cover him up.