Page 11 of Valour

Charlotte knew she had won. Couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. She marched down the steps and back to the docks with Marjorie in tow, and there she pinned the advertisement to the board.

When she arrived home, her mother, the trap and the footmen were gone. Her trunks were stacked in the hall and being taken care of by Alma.

Charlotte smiled to herself. She had done it. Had stood up to her mother. She had an uncanny feeling that things had shifted, that she was about to step foot onto a new path.

And she couldn’t wait to begin.

The cellar door opened a crack, and a tankard of water and a plate of oysters and raw strips of beef was pushed through it. The door slammed shut again, the lock clicking into place. Hester scrambled forwards and banged on the door.

“Wait! Please, let me out,” she hollered, thumping on the door.

“I considered it,” Septimus said through the door. “But I’ve changed my mind. I’ll let you out at five-thirty this evening.”

“What? Why?!”

No answer came. The sound of footsteps died away, and she swore, fisting her hands. He was taking this too far, and she wouldn’t let him get away with it. This time, it was war. He would rue the day he locked her in a cellar. She would make sure of it.

Hester grimaced at the plate. Was he trying to kill her, giving her rancid food like that? She kicked it across the room, then drank half the water in large gulps. She began trickling the rest into the tiny cracks in the woodgrain around the door handle, her lips curving upwards. She pressed a fingertip to the damp wood and pulled at the magic under her ribs. The water turned to ice. She huffed a warm breath onto the ice, melting it, and then trickled more in, freezing it, and repeating.

As two o’clock approached, Charlotte had jotted down a list of questions and had instructed Alma to send the captains one-by-one to Ernie’s study, should any come. She hoped that Captain Orn would attend, but if she didn’t, she would find someone else. The idea was too entrenched for her to shake it now.

She sat in Ernie’s chair, staring at the painting of Mount Erebus that hung on the opposite wall and watching as the carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticked down the minutes.

Two o’clock came and went.

Then it was three o’clock.

Marjorie lay on the rug at her side, eyeing her and huffing her boredom.

Charlotte watched the hour hand on the clock move towards five, starting to lose hope in the idea that had blazed so brightly in her mind earlier.

A knock on the door sounded, and it swung open to reveal a man so tall he almost filled the doorway. Alma cowered behind him. It was the lord from the docks.

“Hello again,” Charlotte said, rising, discomfort settling along her bones. She hesitated before offering her hand.

“Lord Septimus Ironside and the Intrepid,” he said, gripping her hand so hard she winced.

The name sounded familiar. Though he certainly didn’t fit the usual look of the lords she had met, who were pallid, gangly people. They didn’t have quite so many tattoos or look quite so rugged. Charlotte cleared her throat and sat, gesturing for Septimus to do likewise. The chair creaked as he lowered his bulk into it, and she was surprised it didn’t collapse under his weight, so muscular was the man.

She fiddled with the pen on the desk. “I have not seen you at any balls or soirees, Lord Septimus.”

“You wouldn’t. I do not enjoy such things,” Septimus said, setting his booted ankle over his knee and leaning back in the chair. “I have much more important matters to attend to than waste my time at dull functions. I am the Pirate Lord.”

“The Pirate Lord?” What an odd title. Pirates did not exist anymore, surely.

“Yes. It is an old title. I am not a pirate. Obviously.”

He wasn’t very forthcoming with details. “And what does that entail, being the Pirate Lord?”

He smiled, but it did not reach his blue eyes. “Ensuring the smooth and legal operations of the docks, keeping rogue members of the Captains’ Guild in check, many other things.”

He’d said rogue members through his teeth, with his hands clenched into fists. Charlotte raised her eyebrows. She had no idea what happened at the docks, or that a lord oversaw proceedings. Curious.

“And have you ever been to the Southern Continent, Lord Septimus?” she asked.

“I have. Many times. You will find none as experienced as myself, that I promise you. I sailed there with the Scott expeditions, with the Runcorn expeditions, and I even had the pleasure of sailing there with your late husband, may his soul rest in Heaven.”

She stifled a gasp, her eyes widening. That was why his name sounded familiar. “You went with Ernie?”