Blaine was a good host as far as fresh-faced young constables went. He didn’t talk much, but he checked in regularly from whatever he was up to in the back. He brought Susan a mug of coffee at her request. Nothing else was to be done, really, in the waiting room of a guardhouse.
Every time someone came through the front door, left open for the breeze, Adam and Susan looked up. Mostly patrolmen coming on or off duty. A mailman. A courier. A cheeky bird looking for crumbs.
After a long hour of this slow come-and-go, the two men they had been waiting for finally returned. Susan stood up half out of her chair; Adam grabbed her and urged her back down. Edison continued on past them without a glance, notebook in hand. He sat down at the front desk, and began to copy out of it onto a fresh pad of paper.
Dunwhaite removed his cloak and hung it by the door. He came and sat next to Susan, putting her between he and Adam in the row of chairs. He looked her directly in the eye, leaning forward attentively. She had seen the moment he had walked in that he was not holding Damian. She hadn’t been expecting it, exactly, but the distant hope of it had been glowing the whole time he was gone. When it faded, she realized it had been brighter than it looked.
“We found no sign of your son, ma’am.”
She sighed, suddenly tired. Adam touched her hand.
“That does not mean we’ll stop looking,” said Dunwhaite. “Smugglers are very good at hiding things, naturally. We’ll need to carry on with the warrant for a proper search of Captain Weatherdecker’s property. I’m sorry we couldn’t end it here and now.”
“That’s alright,” said Susan quietly. “It’s been this long. What’s a few more weeks?”
Dunwhaite’s expression softened as he heard the sad break in her voice.
“You have helped us immensely, Miss Carruthers. We obtained certain details about the registry of Weatherdecker’s ship, certain details that look a bit strange to the law-abiding citizen. There will be telegrams sent, and with some carefully coordinated ’luck’, a patrol might happen across a few more certain details that look incriminating.”
Susan tried to smile at him, sadly. Dunwhaite touched a quick finger to his lips.
“Of course, none of that is true. We are simply concerned for the safety or your son and will act accordingly.” He paid Adam a quick glance, looking back and forth between he and Susan. “Now, speaking of acting accordingly…I am required to tell you not to follow Captain Weatherdecker or his vessel any further. I am obliged to suggest that you return to Port Victor and leave the investigation to us.”
He shifted forward in his seat slightly, getting ready to be on his way.
“Though, as I’m sure you’re aware, the Guard is not able to dictate the movements or actions of the innocent citizenry. I suspect I will not be able to stop you should you choose to continue.”
He stood; Adam rose to meet him, and encouraged Susan to do the same with a supporting arm. Dunwhaite shook both of their hands.
“Take care,” he said. “The both of you. Wherever you go.”
Adam returned his knowing smile. Susan tried to, though the sudden darkness from her faded glow was overwhelming. Her smile was a shrunken, feeble little thing. Dunwhaite tipped his hat to them as Adam led Susan from the guardhouse, one arm around her shoulders.
Adam and Susan took a break from talking to guardsmen for a while. They had spent a few days at sea on the journey to Port Angel, and they had become accustomed to the silence. The solitude. The intimacy. They allowed themselves a moment to wait. While they waited, they fished.
Adam anchored the tug out in the harbour, away from the main crush of traffic. Still in view of The Ship, of course. He and Susan stood at the bow, arms on the railing, each with fishing rod in hand. The sun had the sky all to itself, though it held back its baking heat.
Susan tipped the end of her rod up and down restlessly. Adam stood like a statue, his eyes only on the water.
“What is it?” he asked, after a half hour of this. Susan glanced at him.
“What’s what?”
“You’re thinking about something. What is it?”
She kept staring. He didn’t look at her. His eyes didn’t even move on the water. She sighed, and looked back out over the harbour.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what you’re thinking about, or you don’t know if you should say it out loud?”
“Neither, it’s just…” she paused. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“You won’t know that until you say it.” He gave a little shrug, his idea of encouragement.
“Look,” said Susan. “The Guard are doing all they can for Damian. I just don’t feel like I’m doing everything I can. Out of all the people on this planet, his own mother be doing the most and working the hardest to get him back.”
“Nothing too stupid about that,” said Adam. “Unfortunately, we’re in a position where there isn’t much to do, even if we wanted to.”
“That’s what I mean. Why don’t we make something for ourselves to do?”
“Like?” said Adam, after it became clear that she was waiting for him to say it. She lowered her voice, as if a merperson might be listening in.
“What if we were to sneak onboard? We could disguise ourselves, find Damian, and get him home without them even knowing we were there!”
Adam was silent. He continued not looking at her.
“You think it’s stupid,” she sighed.
“No,” insisted Adam, “no, I don’t. I think…it’s probably pretty dangerous. I think neither of us have any experience going undercover. I think we’d be outnumbered if something went wrong - and I think I wouldn’t be able to pull it off anyway. Weatherdecker and Vesco both know me, and some of the crew do too.”
“Do you think I could?” asked Susan. “As a man?”
“Man or not, Susan, you would still be outnumbered. In fact, you’d be twice as outnumbered without me.”
“So, it is stupid.”
“It’s risky, and it requires skills that we don’t have. It’s not stupid. But, that doesn’t mean we should do it.”
Susan fell silent. She began to reel in her line. A few nibbles, but nothing had bitten. The sun was starting to ease down into late afternoon.
“You ready to go in?” asked Adam.
“Yeah,” said Susan. “Let’s get some food. And I want to stop by an apothecary before they all close.”
“What for?” Adam was distracted by his reeling rod. Susan gave him a wry smile that he did not see.
“Things that ladies don’t discuss in public,” she said, tying the hook around the line.
“Oh. Sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”
In truth, Susan was not having her period, but there was no reason for Adam to know that. If it didn’t come within the next week or so, well, maybe she would need to tell him then. In the meantime it made a good excuse.
The Benefactor had dozens of meeting points across the Moonfall Islands. Most of the time they served as a place for the crew to pick up new orders. Postboxes, in a way, without a pesky postman to witness who had dropped off what or who had signed for that strange parcel.
The Mermaid’s Corset in Port Angel was one such postbox. It was a bar. It was a bar that Mr. Airedale did not like very much, but he didn’t have to stay long, so there was no reason to complain. All he had to do was say the magic words, trade parcels, and be gone.
Mr. Airedale stepped up to the gaudy turquoise bar and deposited the strange, hideous-lamp shaped parcel onto its surface. The barman looked at him; Mr. Airedale looked back, both stone-faced. There were mostly alone at this time of day. Mr. Airedale moved to lean his elbow against the bar, thought better of it as his coat stuck gently to it, and told the barman:
“I am here on business.”
The barman did not ask which business. He knew whose parcel was whose when he heard those words. He reached under the counter and withdrew another brown-wrapped package, the size of either a large brick or a small dictionary. He handed this across the bar to Mr. Airedale, who took it and tucked it under his arm. He waited until the barman had safely stowed the hideously shaped thing away to turn and leave. They did not exchange more than those five words. Not even a nod. Mr. Airedale stepped back into the sunshine, carefully avoiding drifts of sawdust on the floor.
He examined the parcel as he walked. Turning it over in his hands, he found a letter tucked into the string that bound the brown paper. There was one word written on the envelope, and nothing else. The word was Richard.
The hand that had written it had been careful, and graceful, and ever so gentle. It may as well have been written backwards in blood. Airedale knew immediately that Weatherdecker was in the trouble of his life. And that meant that they were all heading to Crownsmouth.
On his return to the ship, Airedale gave the letter to Weatherdecker, in person, at his desk. Then he went to the aft deck above, where his midmorning tea was waiting. He sipped it, watched the harbour, and waited.
After a few minutes’ silence, he heard the captain’s door open. Weatherdecker knew where he’d be. Airedale turned at the sound of him coming up the ladder.
“Goin’ to Crownsmouth,” said the captain, his head poking above the deck. He didn’t bother to complete the trip up the ladder.
“Very well,” said Airedale. “Was any reason given?”
“No,” said Weatherdecker. “Just said Crownsmouth.” He shrugged, genuinely baffled. “I dunno,” he continued. “No point askin’ questions. We’ll get on our way first thing in the morning.”
As the captain descended the ladder, Airedale turned back to the sea. He allowed himself the tiniest, most innocent, trace of a smile.
Susan awoke in the wee hours of the morning. Truth be told, she had hardly slept.
Adam owned two pairs of trousers. She stole one of them. His legs were weirdly long, and he was taller than her anyway. She had to roll up the cuffs quite a ways.
The hardest part was the roll of linen. Not only because she’d had to buy several metres of it, leading to questions from the apothecary, but because she could not bind herself and hold her arms out at the same time. In the end, it wasn’t as tight as she’d have liked, but underneath one of Adam’s shirts it wasn’t immediately obvious.
She surprised herself with the ease with which she cut her hair. It was not hair that would launch a thousand ships, but she was still fond of it. It came off quickly. She did not hesitate.
In the end, she did not look a man. No hair on her face, not even stubble. A dainty chin. Wide, bright eyes. If she kept her head down, she did look a boy. A young man run away. A child wanting to sail the seas and see the world. That was good enough to get on board.
She wrote a note, folded it into a little tent and pitched it next to Adam’s head on his pillow. Then, she was gone.
The early morning mist on the docks was thick with sea salt and herbal smells; Susan could have tossed a cucumber in the air and had it come down as a dill pickle. She didn’t notice the smells, however, or the men shouting from dock and deck or the huge barrels rolling past her, making the boards shudder. All her focus was on The Ship.
There were dozens of men loading crates and kegs across the flat planks to a lower deck. She thought briefly about jumping in and joining them, slipping onboard when she had a chance…but they were moving in practiced rhythm, a well-oiled machine of seasoned sailors. She felt she would be as much help to them as a wrench in their gears. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention, especially by tripping over her own feet. She tucked herself out of their way, and studied the main plank.
Two men at the top, chatting quietly. Both had arm muscles the size of piglets, crossed over chests nearly as large as the ones being loaded onto the ship below. One slightly less sizeable man stood at the bottom of the plank, watching the activity on the docks with a sharp eye. His head scanned back and forth slowly, alert to any malfeasance. Susan watched him for a few minutes, observing the observer. A few men, he waved on with neither a word nor a glance; some he stopped, checking for a password.
Susan rightfully doubted she would be able to get through with only a wave of a hand. So, she’d have to be the new boy after all. She steeled herself and wove through the crowd towards the vigilant doorman. He watched her as she approached, mildly curious but mostly disinterested.
“Hey, uh,” said Susan in her best growl, “who do I talk to, uh, if’n I wanna join up with you guys?”
The man’s curiosity dialled up a notch, raising an eyebrow.
“You lookin’a sail, son?”
“Yessir,” she assured gruffly.
“You real sure ‘bout that?”
“Yessir. I am.”
A sly smile overtook his features. Susan’s heart throbbed in a panic, unable to bear the silence. But, the man shrugged, and indicated the dock to his left with a jerk of his head.
“Best talk to Mr. Airedale, then. Tall guy in the green with all them buttons. He’ll sort y’out.”
“Thank you. I mean…thanks. Yeah.”
She hurried away before she could be examined too closely.
Mr. Airedale was not hard to find. Among the grease and dirt and drab colours of the sailors, he stuck out like a well-dressed lighthouse. His coat was dyed seagreen, and as the doorman had said, resplendent with polished badges. He seemed to be supervising the rabble from his quiet corner of the dock. He held a small flat book that he occasionally wrote something in, after comparing notes to a stack of paper in his hands. A fine teacup and saucer with an elaborate rose motif was balanced masterfully on top of a piling next to him.
Chills ran up Susan’s spine as he looked at her. His gaze was polite, and stony, and unreadable; that was not what spooked her. He had looked up from his receipts, to her. She was one person among dozens, dressed in the same drab colours, and was still a good thirty feet away. His eyes locked onto her and remained there as she approached him. She had to force her own eyes not to water as she met his gaze.
“Uh, mornin’,” she said quietly, trying not to squeak. “I’m lookin’ for a spot on the high seas.”
Mr. Airedale closed his book, folding the papers up inside it.
“Good morning to you, young man. By ‘looking for a spot’, am I to understand you wish to join the crew?”
“Uh, yes. Sir,” she added quickly, suddenly remembering her manners through her nerves. “Yes, sir. I wish to be a sailor.”
Mr. Airedale looked up suddenly. Slowly, carefully, his eyes traced around the dock. Up the side of The Ship. Then, he looked back at Susan, and smiled politely.
“A fine wish to have, young man. I would be happy to have you join us.” He looked around again. Behind. Up. Forward. Across the mob of sailors. His smile stayed firmly in place. When he spoke, his voice was low, audible only to her.
“As a man of morals,” he sighed, “I have to warn you against this.”
Susan cleared her throat, and stood tall, her shoulders thrown back.
“Sir,” she said bravely, “I’m as ready as the nautical life as any.”
“Forgive me - it is ‘Miss’ Carruthers, is it not?”
Her throbbing heart sped up to the point of being painful. Blood rushed through her ears, loud as the ocean breaking under a hull.
“I, uh, I…”
She thought to deny it. Then, she looked deep into those emerald eyes. They saw all. They knew all. Lying to him would just be childish.
“H-how did you know?” she muttered sadly.
“Boys with an eagerness to join a crew are not nearly so eloquent as to use the phrase ‘I wish to be a sailor’. Nor do they use words such as ‘nautical’. Nor, usually, do they have a complete set of both teeth and fingers; I am often forced to choose one.”
Rage flooded her. She had to fight to keep from shaking.
“You listen to me,” she snapped, blinking back tears of anger, “I’m getting my son back, no matter what. You may have caught me this time, but I’m going to follow you bastards to the ends of the earth until I see my baby again!”
She turned to storm off, but Airedale caught her lightning-quick by the arm.
“I am sure you are,” he said calmly. “That is why I was not going to stop you, Miss Carruthers. I simply wish you to be fully prepared for that which you may encounter.”
She tried to glare at him, but it was hard through the hope in her eyes.
“I apologize for my presumption,” continued Airedale. “I am sure you do not need a knight in shining armour. From what I have heard, you are as tough as any man - but the crew on this vessel are not any men. I am the only conscience they have, and I cannot be with them all the time.”
He let go of her arm, stood straight, and smoothed down his jacket. She turned back to face him head-on, listening intently to every word.
“I will not keep you from your son. I am not personally involved in this business, though, naturally, I did not approve of the captain’s actions. I do not want to keep the boy from you, though I cannot be seen aiding those whom my captain sees as enemies. Take the chance, if you wish, as long as you take it forewarned.”
She stared up at him, silently, the hope glowing on her face. Mr. Airedale found himself made a bit uncomfortable by the constant wide-eyed admiration.
“If you have changed your mind,” he said, to break the silence, “I would be pleased to escort you to your vessel and see you on your way.”
“And if I haven’t?” asked Susan quietly.
“Then, I take tea at six, noon, four, and eight. I will introduce you to the galley staff and they will show you the proper methods for a cuppa. I will not help, for my own benefit, nor will I hinder, for yours. I do not know you, nor you I, you are one deck rat among many and will do anything asked of you lest you raise suspicion among the crew. Do we have an understanding?”
“Y-yes,” said Susan. “Yes, we do.”
He offered his hand to be shaken.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Carruthers.”
Adam rolled over in his bunk; there was a tiny crinkly noise as his face crushed the little tent of paper. He snorted indignantly and opened his eyes, still heavy with sleep. The crumpled paper stuck to his face for a moment before he lifted his head, letting it flop onto the pillow.
With his awake hand, he grabbed it, slid it open between thumb and fingers, and read. He only got a few sentences in before he leapt out of bed. He didn’t bother to finish the rest.
He burst onto the deck to face a foggy dawn. He could not see the sun. He could not even see the town. The world seemed to end at the boat across the planks.
Adam leapt over the railing of the SS Cartleblat and pounded down the dock, to where The Ship had been anchored last night. He nearly ran over the edge before he finally admitted he could not have passed it. It was already gone.
“Goddamnit, Susan,” he panted. “Goddamnit!”
