The Steam Spy (Steam World Book 2), page 3
“Suh, I ask you to consider this,” I said. He glared at me before motioning me to continue. “If I am trained as a spy, and others are employed to gather information for him, would it not be wisdom to entertain the possibility that he has spies on this ship to report to him your treatment of me?”
“Spies!” Morton spat. “What sort of —” he broke off and turned back to the door. He turned back to me and said, in a much lower voice, “Not the captain?”
“Might I remind you, suh, who recommended this particularly ship to you,” I replied.
“Your father,” Morton muttered. He raised his eyes to me. “So Captain Tyler is a spy, is he?”
“I cannot say, suh,” I replied, shaking my head. “My father makes it a custom not to inform us of the business of others, suh.”
“Huh,” Morton said, glancing back again to the door. When he turned back, his eyes had a thoughtful look. He gestured to the small bag draped around my waist. “Is that your stuff?”
“Yes suh,” I told him. The bag was heavy and thick: I’d packed tightly and well. I undid the strap and pulled it off. Some of my things must have been jumbled together for there was a very noticeable click when I removed it.
“What’s that noise?” Morton demanded. “Did you steal from your master?”
“No suh,” I said. I gestured at the bag. “If I may, suh?”
He gave me a look but nodded. “Show me.”
I opened the bag and carefully pulled out the offending contents. Thirty-two pieces of carved wood, none more than two inches tall. There was a leather board, as well which unrolled on a flat surface. “Do you play, suh?”
“Chess?” Morton said, eyeing the pieces and picking one up — a knight — and fingering it. “You play?”
“It was part of my training, suh,” I told him.
“And you — a slave — think to play me at chess?” Morton said, affronted.
“Only if you want, suh. It would help pass the time — three weeks or more, I believe,” I told him. Lying, I added, “I’m not very good, suh.”
“I could not be seen playing with a darkie,” Morton declared.
“As you wish, suh,” I said, carefully wrapping the pieces back in cloth and setting them in my bag.
Heave, me hearties! Came a loud cry from above. I could hear the tackle groaning and feel the ship start to turn, pushing herself away from the quay and turning her head toward the sea.
“We’ll be under way soon,” Captain Morton allowed. “Put your things where you can, stay out of my way, and try not to get sick.”
“Yes suh.”
#
But it was not me who got sick. Even though the good captain had crossed the Atlantic once already, he was not a good seaman. Not at all. For the first four days I spent my time cleaning up his spew and doing what I could to ensure that he would reach England alive.
I did not like the man. That did not mean that I didn’t have sympathy for him. In turn — to my surprise — the good captain was grateful for everything I did to succor him. I refused to shave him, however. Not because I couldn’t but because I feared the seas were too high and it might cause me to cut him more than his beard. When I explained, he relented.
I had less luck in finding food for the both of us. The captain could keep nothing substantial down. I knew enough of illness and sickness to know that bread and water were his best sustenance, the thick porridge that was standard fair would be too rich for his tender stomach. The cook refused to serve me at all, at first.
“You’re to eat with your master, girl!” he had declared. “Don’t need more shade here than we’ve got!”
To my surprise and gratitude, Thompson interceded, telling the cook, “Her master is with the Admiralty, fool! If he doesn’t get back home alive, who do you think they’ll blame?”
“Not me!” Cookie had cried.
“No,” Thompson agreed, “not you. The captain.” The cook’s eyes widened as the notion sank into what must have been a very small brain. “And then what? Or do you like the press gang so much? Want to get back on a real man-o-war, do ye?” Thompson scowled at him. “Looking forward to a taste of the cat, are ye?”
“No, damn ye!” Cookie said. He glared at me and pulled up a couple of biscuits, throwing them at me.
I caught them awkwardly and nodded to him. “Thank you sir! My master thanks you, too!”
“Bah!” Cookie swore. But I think he looked pleased anyway.
I got the biscuits back to our cabin and managed to get half of one into the captain before he threw it back up with a mighty expulsion. Silently I cleaned the mess up, using some of our water to wipe his face. He looked at me and tried to smile. “Thank you, girl.”
“Claire, if it please you,” I said. He looked confused. “My name is Claire, suh.”
“A pretty name,” he allowed. “Could I trouble you for a sip of water, please?”
“Of course, suh,” I said. I feed him a sip from his cup and set it back down. “And may I say, suh, that you seem to be rounding the corner, suh.”
“Oh, god, I hope so!” he groaned.
I was about to reply when someone knocked on our door. I glanced at him and he feebly waved me to answer it.
I opened the cabin door cautiously, just a crack. I was met by an anxious pair of blue eyes.
“My mother,” the little girl began. “She’s been so sick. And my sister.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, waving a hand toward the captain. “I can’t —”
“Go!” Captain Morton said. I turned in surprise. He waved at me. “Don’t be long, if you can help it.”
“Yes suh,” I said.
His lips twitched upwards. “Claire, go see to them, if you would.” The words cost him for he dropped his head back down on his pillow.
“I can’t be long,” I told the girl.
“Claire?” the girl said as she beckoned to me. “Your name’s Claire?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised at the question. I pulled the door shut behind me, waiting until I heard the latch click in place. It could easily be opened from the outside but at least I was certain that it wouldn’t bang as the seas rolled the ship from side to side.
“It’s this way,” the girl said, reaching a hand and then pulling it back as she noticed the color of my skin. She used the same hand to gesture ahead, down the corridor. “Two doors down, on the other side.”
At the end of the line of cabins, then. The smell as we approached it was overwhelming.
“Did you not clean them?” I asked in horror as the stench overpowered my nose.
“Clean them? I don’t do such things!” the girl declared, drawing herself up haughtily.
“You do now,” I said, pushing open the door and peering inside. It was nearly black. I could hear groans from one berth but nothing from the form huddled up on the floor beneath. “Get me a light.”
“I — I don’t know how!” the girl wailed. “I’m only eleven!”
“And I’m only fourteen,” I replied.
“But you’re a servant, you’re supposed to know such things,” the girl retorted. With a sniff, she added, “I’m going to be a lady.” In a rush, she continued, “That’s why we’re going to England. So that I and Merribet can be finished.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “But for now, milady, you asked for help. Not service.”
“I —”
“So you need to get some water and a light,” I told her, pushing her back toward the door. “Get a bucket. Two if you can.”
“How?”
“Go to the cook, beg him,” I told her. “If he won’t supply you, throw yourself on any of the mates — they’re dressed the best — and see if they’ll get you what you need.”
“That would mean going up above!” The girl cried in terror. “I can’t do that! I might get blown away!”
“Try the cook first,” I said, pushing her away. I turned back to the mess in front of me. The two ladies had messed themselves top and bottom, I could tell from the smell. I moved in.
“I’m here to help,” I said in a voice that was not too loud but carried. “I’m Captain Morton’s girl,” I said, knowing that they would understand if I put it that way. “He’s said that I can help you.”
From the bunk, I heard a gurgle that might have been a moan. “First we’ve got to get you cleaned up. Into fresh things, too.”
I moved to their small closet and rummaged around inside. I had only seen them — I think — the once when we first boarded but it did not take me long to distinguish between the garments for the mother and for the daughter, the one being that much smaller than the other.
“Missus, your youngest has gone to get water and a bucket, without which we can do nothing,” I said. “When she returns, with your permission, I’ll see to your daughter first as I think she’s in the worst way, then to you.”
A moan, maybe of understanding, came from the bunk.
The door opened and the girl came back, crying, “I got two buckets!” She rushed inside, spilling some water in her haste. “It’s seawater, he says,” she prattled on. “Is that good enough?”
“For cleaning, yes,” I told her. “For drinking, never.” I felt for the bucket and moved it close to the heap on the floor. “And a light?”
“Cookie sold me a flint and striker,” the girl replied.
“Sold? What did you pay for it?” I said, surprised.
The girl lowered her head. In a small voice, she muttered, “He said I can’t tell.”
“Whatever you paid, it was too much,” I told her. “You’re never to pay that again.” A moment later, I added, “We’ll deal with Cookie later.”
The girl drew in a quick breath. Relieved.
“Pass me the flint and striker,” I said, searching around for the gleam of the metal lamp. Quickly I got a spark to start on a bit of cloth and moved the flame to the wick of the lamp, lowering the hood quickly. The warm light filled the room and I turned back to survey the damages.
It was every bit as bad as I’d feared. The two women were covered in vomit and, clearly, had loosed their bowels in their illness.
“Where are some rags?” I asked, turning to the girl. She looked quite green. “Never mind, I’ll find some,” I said. I waved her out of the cabin. “You go out and check on the captain. Just listen at the door. If you hear anything amiss, ask after him and report back to me.” She hesitated, glancing at her mother and her sister. “Go on! I don’t need you getting sick too!” She gagged and turned, glad to leave the foul stench behind her.
The lamp helped, of course. I’d learned that years back. Fire seems to burn foul smells.
In short order, I found rags. I wiped down the front of the poor girl, then cleaned the rest of her up. That done, I put an arm under her head and lifted.
“Come, my lady, we must get you dressed,” I said.
“Oh, thank you, Dora! You’re the best sister!” the girl cried, not seeing me.
“I’m not Dora,” I said. “I’m Captain Morton’s girl. Your sister asked me to help.”
“Oh, good!” The sister — Merribet — said, rising wobbly to her feet and grabbing the bottom of her shift. “I couldn’t bear for Dora to see me this way.”
“Of course, miss,” I agreed. I did not bother to point out that Dora had seen her sister in a worse way. Nor did I bother to take umbrage at the girl’s notion that there was nothing wrong in my seeing her in the altogether. That did not matter. What mattered was getting her into clean clothes and settling her in a better state.
Five minutes later, I guided her to a clean spot on the floor. “Now, if you will, I must see to your mother.”
“Of course,” the girl allowed.
The missus was somewhat easier, being higher up. She made a small protest when I tugged her out of her garb but relented when I made it clear that it was no longer fit for a woman of ‘quality.’ These ladies did have their airs.
It took longer to clean the bedding itself. The sheets were fouled, of course. I suppose a thorough cleaning might redeem them, though I suspected there would always be a disturbing mark. Perhaps they could buy fresh from the captain — such occurrences could not be unusual on a ship.
#
Two days later, there was a knock on our cabin door. I turned to Captain Morton and he nodded. He was doing much better. In fact, he was dressed and shaved — he insisted on teaching me the way of it. We were on our third game of chess — I had beaten him too quickly the first time, much to his disgust, and had begged for a rematch on the basis of ‘beginner’s luck.’ He had relented and I was playing much more diplomatically, keeping a private score of how many checkmates I had purposefully avoided. After all, ‘Fool’s Mate’ is scarcely beginner’s luck but if I wanted someone to play in order to keep my wits — and, even more so, his good graces — I realized I would have to ‘moderate’ my game.
“Yes?” Captain Morton called.
“If it pleases you, sir, may I enter?” A woman’s voice replied.
Captain Morton’s brows rose.
“I believe that is Mrs. Harris, sir,” I whispered.
“Of course!” Captain Morton called, gesturing for me to unlatch the door. I did, opening it in front of me and stepping back to the wall.
“Sir, I hope you don’t think this presumptuous, but I wish to give you my undying gratitude for the kindness you bestowed on me and my daughters,” the woman said, moving in and curtsying.
Captain Morton rose and bowed to her. “My pleasure, madame,” he said. “Although I must admit that I was in no better shape than yourself at the time.”
“If you hadn’t sent your help, sir,” Mrs. Harris continued, throwing up her hands, “Well! I don’t know what would have come of us.”
“Your servant, madame,” Captain Morton said, bowing once more.
“I was wondering…” Mrs. Harris began.
“Madame?”
“Well, I do believe that my girls would benefit greatly if we could engage your girl sometimes,” Mrs. Harris said in a rush. Quickly, she added, “We could pay you for her time, of course.”
Captain Morton stood up straight and gave her a stiff look. “Madame Harris, I assure you that Claire’s time is all engaged at the moment and she will not be a servant to your girls.”
What? I thought, amazed. Was he defending me?
“If that is all,” he continued in a strained tone, “then I wish you good day, madame.”
Mrs. Harris looked gobsmacked, her jaw agape. “Well!” She twirled on her heel and stormed off, leaving the door still open.
Captain Morton gestured for me to close the door. I did, not looking at him.
“Claire…” he began. I looked up at him. He gestured me back to my seat. He examined the board for a moment and then sat in his own chair. “How many times?”
“Suh?”
Morton shook his head irritably. “Don’t play games, girl,” he said in a warning tone. “You can speak the King’s English well enough.”
“Sir?” the word was surprised out of me.
“You’re a spy, are you not?” He asked. He waited for me to nod before continuing, “And you’re supposed to be educated.”
I ducked my head.
“So what I want to know, missie,” he said, “is how come I’ve won against you two times out of three.”
“You’re good, sir,” I lied demurely.
“Psshaw!” he cried. He gave me a probing look. “Is that the truth?” I didn’t answer fast enough, for he continued, “I thought not.” He gestured to the board. “Show me.”
“Sir?”
“How many times could you have won?” he asked. “Show me.”
“I… you won’t get mad, sir?”
“Show me,” he demanded.
“As you wish, sir,” I said, moving pieces backwards. I stopped and then showed him a mate.
“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “And you remembered all the moves?”
“I’m trained as a spy, sir,” I told him. “Part of my training is in remembering, particularly this.”
“The next one,” he ordered. I moved the pieces back more and stopped, showing him the next move to mate. He gave me a look. “And the next.”
I moved the pieces again and stopped. “Can you see it, sir?”
“No,” he said in a diffuse tone. “Show me.” I did. “Are there more?”
“Only two, sir,” I told him. “But I think —”
He held up a hand to silence me. “Show me.” So I did. When I was done he slumped back in his chair and gave me a long look. “Could you teach me, Claire?”
“Sir?”
“I said, could you teach me?” Captain Morton repeated.
“I’d be happy to, sir,” I said honestly.
“And is there any reason we can’t start now?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I replied. He moved his pieces back and I moved mine back to their starting position. “Do you wish white, sir?”
“No,” he said with a smile, “I think I prefer black this time. It lets me go second.” He tapped the table. “Your move, Claire.”
Of course, I moved my queen’s pawn up two. He matched my move. We played in silence for a while until he made a move which caught my eye.
“Sir, mate in two,” I warned him. He looked at the board for a long while, then said, “Show me.” I did. “Would you like to reconsider?”
“I’ve played my piece,” he objected.
“Sir, you’re learning,” I reminded him. I had a thought. “If you’d like, sir, we could switch sides.”
“Wouldn’t you be the loser, then?”
“Not if you let me retract your last move, sir,” I told him.
“Very well, as you wish,” he said, moving his piece back and turning the board to place the black pieces in front of me.
