Page 4 of Valour

A whole twenty-four hours later, Hester sat on the deck nursing a mug of coffee, Septimus’s knife laid next to her. The sun beat down on the top of her golden-brown hair, currently shoved into a ponytail. She groaned, setting the coffee down, every movement sending shooting pain through her temples. The drinking and huge cascade of magic had knocked her out cold.

“I’d say I cannot believe you slept an entire day away, but having known you for nearly twenty years, I can quite believe it,” Fliss said, sat cross-legged next to her, nose in a book, quite literally, given that her first mate refused to bend the spines. “Did you want to attend the funeral? We could still make it if we ran.”

Hester closed her eyes, pressed her fingers into her temples and tugged at the magic in her chest. An icy sensation at her fingertips soothed the pain. “No. I think he would prefer us to have a hearty breakfast in his honour. After we’ve found work. After I’ve finished my coffee.”

“Work? You aren’t going to ask his wife for the sponsorship, then?” Fliss asked, setting the book aside.

“How can I go banging on her door asking for money? She just lost her husband. I’m not a monster. It’s a blow, yes, but we’ll get south. It’ll happen. I feel it in my bones. We can earn the funds.” A tally of the money she owed flashed through her mind. Last month’s mooring taxes, the rudder repairs after the last voyage to the Frozen North, and her Guild fees were due soon too, and while the captains all looked out for one another against Septimus’s wrath, she’d rather not go asking for favours. “Everything will be fine.”

She blinked her eyes open to gulls wheeling overhead, clouds dotting the otherwise blue sky. In her periphery, a ginger cat strolled along the quayside, and she shuddered, glad he wasn’t lurking on board somewhere.

“If you say so,” Fliss said. “What’s with the fancy knife?”

Hester drew the knife into her lap. “Septimus stuck it into my wall last night.”

Fliss’s eyes widened. “He was here? You tell me Ernest is dead, but you missed out that little nugget of information?”

She’d been waiting for Fliss to ask about the knife. “He was here. Briefly. He told me about Ernest. And threatened to have me burnt at the stake.”

Fliss snorted. “Like a witch? He does know witches aren’t real, doesn’t he? Honestly, how ridiculous. If only magic were real!”

“That’s exactly what I said to him.” If only Fliss knew the truth.

Fliss wrinkled her nose. “It is simply misogyny. Men burning women they’re afraid of.”

Hester shifted where she sat. “Precisely.” And he hadn’t called the constabulary. No one had come to drag her to be interrogated. And while Hester didn’t know the origins of her magic, she was certain she wasn’t a witch. Didn’t know exactly what she was, having been dumped in the Havenport orphanage at age four, but she was definitely not a witch. She could cast no spells or curses. Only the weather seemed under her command.

“He’s scared we’ll surpass him as the foremost experts on polar exploration,” Hester said, tapping the knife to her bottom lip, which curved into a smug smile.

“I’d say we have already bested him.”

“But we have not yet been south. Once we have, we’ll show everyone we’re made of stronger stuff than men.” Hester stood, dusting off her breeches. “Let’s go and find work. I feel galvanised.”

Fliss got to her feet and linked her arm through Hester’s. “You ought to sell that knife. I bet it’s worth a bit.”

Hester tucked it into her belt. “Most likely it would feed us for a month.”

It was not how she’d hoped her efforts would go.

“I can hardly believe it. Not a jot of work to be had in the whole town.” Hester leant against a wall on the corner of the bustling market square, frowning at the green dress in the shop window opposite. The one she’d had her heart set on for weeks. It was far too fine, really. She would have no occasion to wear such a dress.

Fliss leant next to her. “I cannot believe the university had no scientific expeditions. They usually have something. I suppose we can only keep trying.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Her face broke into a smile as a plan formed. “Stand here and shout ship for hire.”

Fliss’s brow furrowed. “Must I? That sounds humiliating.”

“You have the loudest voice.”

Fliss bent over at the waist and let out a hoot of laughter. “That is certainly not true.”

Hester’s smile widened. “Fine. You’re much more beautiful. It has to be you.”

“Now you speak more sense,” Fliss said, drawing herself up. “Fine. And what will you be doing while I’m humiliating myself?”

“Procuring breakfast. Or lunch. Or both. I’m famished. Come and find me when you’ve got a job for us. I’ll order for you, too.” She patted Fliss on the shoulder and followed the scent of bacon, weaving through the crowds of shoppers perusing the wares under the green and white striped canopies of the market stalls.

Fliss’s hollering began.