They hadn’t been talking about me.
They had been talking about her.
TheTouchstonewas alive.
And more than that.
She loved the captain.
8. Low Tide
I lay in my hammock, swinging to the music of the ship. It was like breathing once you grew accustomed, side to side, up and down. Some got sick, others lost their nerve, but I loved it. It was like being rocked as a child. Not surprising I loved it, since I had never been rocked.
I had a canvas hammock in a corner of the galley, above Kithriit, who rarely slept there. She was the only other woman on the ship, so I suppose they thought they were doing me a kindness by bunking me with her. Still, she was loud and restless, and I was glad that she preferred to sleep in the masthead. It was quiet now. The mess cook, a minotaur named Nanarobbin, was awake and warming up the oats for breakfast. So, I lay there, rocking side to side and listening to him hum.
It was early morning, and the bell rang with the changing watch. The dawn watch, actually, and once again, I blinked away the stinging of my eyes. Odd. I never thought I’d mourn that ship, nor her crew, but now, as I lay swinging in a foreign berth, a part of me yearned for her cramped quarters and surly company. TheDawn Watchhad been Navy, through and through. Dependable, predictable, sure. TheTouchstonewas none of that.
But theTouchstone, she was alive.
It was a thing I’d never heard of, never could have imagined in my wyldest thoughts. Magik beyond anything written in spell books or sheets, and it changed everything. My chest was tight, my belly in knots, and my mind pitched like a stormy sea.
I swung my legs over the side, sat there for a moment, hunched and shapeless.
TheTouchstonewas alive.
What did a body do with that?
I dropped to the floor, ignoring the stare from the cook as Iheaded toward the hatch.
“Come in, Ensign.”
I pushed my head through the flap. Echo was rolling a woolen blanket into a bolt, which he secured with a strip of tanned leather. He slid it into his surgery chest and bent to pick a pipe up from the floor. He tapped it a few times and laid it on one of his shelves before turning and tugging down the tunic at his waist.
“I thought you were an officer,” I said.
“I am,” he said.
“Then why don’t you sleep in the wardroom with the other officers?”
“Because I prefer to sleep on the floor by myself, rather than swinging in a canvas sack in the company of four snoring Overlanders, regardless of rank.”
I slunk into the room.
“How many did we lose?” I asked.
“We?”
“You,” I said quickly. “The ship, theTouchstone.”
“Five,” he said. “Including my loblolly, Arik.”
Shades of Corwen, the powder boy.
I didn’t know what to say. I was never good with platitudes or comfort or words.
“But only ten injured, so I’m satisfied.”
“Including the captain,” I said, “who is a hawk…”
