Susan had known there would be a lot of men aboard. Exclusively men, as a matter of fact. She had prepared herself for the amounts - the amount of odours, the amount of cussing, the amount of spitting, growling, and wrestling - but she hadn’t prepared for the density of these things. When the order came down that the deck needed swabbing, she leapt at the chance; though tedious and largely redundant what with all the spitting, it meant a modicum of fresh air and space to stretch out. Below decks, the ceilings were low, and the odours plentiful. The decks contained more men than air, by volume.
She and a few of her low-ranking fellows filled buckets from the sea, dredging them up on ropes and pulleys from the lower portholes, and hauled them upstairs into the blazing sunshine. They gave eachother a wide radius to scrub, Susan even more so, being the odd one out. Some talked between eachother, but not to Susan. She was perfectly happy with that. The fewer chances her voice had to betray her, the better.
She splashed a bit of water from her bucket onto the deck, and knelt down to get to work. The huge wire brush she’d chosen was as long as her arm. She leaned hard into it, pulled it back, strangely enjoying the faint sea salt smell on the sun-toasted wood. She thought of Adam. Then she thought of Damian, and her smile faded.
Where? That was the most important question right now. ‘How’ could come later. Where? She hadn’t seen him at all. Not even a sign. She imagined she would have heard him, at least. Either he had gotten over the crying phase already, which she doubted…he couldn’t have been taken off the ship, could he? Was it a mistake to be here?
She scrubbed, lost in her thoughts, keeping one ear open for the sounds of her son. She paid no mind to the sounds of a group of crewmen at the railing, watching her. Evidently they were not on duty, as they stood talking, and laughing at what was said.
Susan only looked up when a gob of chewed tobacco splattered on the board she’d been scrubbing. She jolted away from it, sitting back in surprise. She looked up to see four mangy crewmen chuckling to eachother, leaning casually on the railing. They all had dark stains on their teeth.
She stared back at them, staring at her. Her brow furrowed only slightly. With care, she tipped some more water out of her bucket, diluting the mangled nicotine, and scrubbed at it. It was disgusting. Putrid, even. But she was damned if she was going to pick a fight in a place like this. She wouldn’t survive six seconds, and so, ignored the men and their tobacco.
She was well aware of the footsteps, but she ignored them too. She tried to scrub the nervousness away as they gathered around her.
“Awful eager to scrub the deck, you are,” said the one in front of her. She paused, and looked up at him, as blank as she could. He was bald in front, with a truly terrible party happening in the back.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.” She left it at that, hoping to look simple. The man laughed lowly.
“You like bein’ on your knees, eh?”
Susan jolted and scrambled to her feet as someone brushed against her from behind. She whirled to see one of the other tobacco-stained crewmen crouching down where she had just been. She couldn’t help glaring at him as he laughed along with his fellows.
“Oh, he’s a spirited one, this boy,” said the balding one. “Come on now, lad. We been a long time without a proper woman. Soft little cherub like you might do in the meantime.”
“You’ll wanna watch your back below decks,” said a third, quietly. Susan look at him sharply…and forced herself to relax.
“I will,” she said curtly. “Thank you.” She looked back at the first. “May I get back to work?”
The balding one gave her a quizzical look.
“May you?” he sneered. He reached down for his fly, making her infinitely nervous, though she stood her ground. “Poncy little fag. Here’s some fuckin’ work for ya.”
He slipped his penis from his drawers and immediately got to work dousing the deck. He was careful to spread the piss far and wide across the freshly scrubbed wood. Susan looked on in distaste while the others guffawed.
“BENNIGAN!”
The shout shook the air around them. The ringleader froze, his stream drying up in an instant. He scrambled to tuck his member away.
Susan wasn’t sure where Mr. Vesco had come from. He appeared like a flash of lightning beside Bennigan, fingers reaching out to grab an ear. He twisted, making the sailor yowl.
“BILGE.” commanded Vesco. “RIGHT NOW. If I come down there and you aren’t running the pump it’s a KEELHAULING first!” He yanked the sailor around by his ear and let go, shoving him in the direction of the hatch. “You can PISS down there all you like you fuckin’ savage!”
Bennigan glared at the quartermaster, but, Susan saw, he was also trembling. With uneasy steps, he slunk off towards the hatch. The others tensed as Vesco turned his eye on them. With a snap of his fingers, he pointed at the bucket and brush Susan had been using.
“Clean this the fuck up,” he barked. “You scrub ’til I tell you to stop. If I happen to forget about you lot, so be it.”
One got to his knees immediately, the others disappeared to get more brushes. Mr. Vesco looked to Susan last of all. It was obvious around whom the group had gathered.
He held her eyes for a long time. Her own watered; his glimmered. It was a good few seconds before she looked away. She thought briefly of thanking him, but there were some waters she wasn’t eager to test. She started to kneel down, keen to return to swabbing so she could gather her rattling nerves.
“Nah, son, you an’ I aren’t done here.” said Vesco. “Stand up.”
She did, looking him in those glimmering black eyes once more. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her together.
“New boy, eh?” said the quartermaster.
“Yes, sir,” said Susan quietly.
“Old boys thought they’d give y’some trouble?
“I-I suppose so, sir. Thank you, for—“
“Don’ thank me,” cut in Vesco. “Son, I’d like to see y’in my quarters. Got a special job for you. This way, if you don’ mind.”
She was hesitant to follow, hanging back as much as she could, but she had no choice. She couldn’t NOT go. The last things she needed right now were questions. There were eyes on her, the eyes of the other deck rats that had seen the altercation. She was suddenly the centre of quite a few attentions, and every single one put her at more risk. Head down, stay quiet, she thought. Follow the leader. Make them forget you even exist.
Mr. Vesco held the door to the quartermaster’s office for her. She moved from blazing sunshine to a brightly lit room. Most of one wall was a window, many panes overlooking the sea. Mr. Vesco skirted around the desk in the centre of the office, to another door set in the wall behind. He held this one for her as well. It was slightly smaller, slightly gloomier, though palatial compared to the claustrophobic maze of sailor’s bunks below decks. There was room enough for a cot, and a smaller desk, a bookshelf, a trunk, and even a basin next to a private garderobe. Room enough for clothes and books to be all over the place, she noticed.
Behind her, Mr. Vesco closed the door to his quarters, and locked it. Susan tensed at the sound.
She turned just as something whizzed past her head, nearly nicking the end of her nose and leaving a tiny cut in the shoulder of her shirt. It hit the wall behind her, buzzing as it stuck in the wood. She froze, not daring to look at Mr. Vesco, settling for the corner of the room instead.
“You still ain’t made me bleed, miss. Oh, but you’re hurtin’ me somethin’ bad. You just made my life aboard real fuckin’ hard.”
He came forward to retrieve his knife, brushing past her without a glance. He pulled it out of the wall and slipped it back home up his sleeve. That’s when he looked at her, and sighed, more tired than angry.
“Does Mr. Airedale know you’re here? Or did you sneak aboard?”
She finally met his eyes, trying to keep the fear from her own. She knew by his stare there was no sense denying him. This was no bluff. He knew, sure as sunrise.
“H-he knows,” she murmured. “He warned me against it. Against thugs like you,” she added sharply. Vesco grinned, of all things, and leaned back against the wall.
“I’m not the kind you have to worry about, miss. There’s much worse than me below decks. Now, now,” he added softly, as nausea crossed her face, “I’m not gonna let ‘em touch you. Don’t fret. Just be thankful I’m the one that got you alone first.”
He stood, straight and tall. Susan instinctively shuffled a step back.
“What we’re gonna do here,” said Vesco, “is confine you to this cabin. You don’t leave. You don’t make a sound. You don’t so much as poke your nose out the door. Next port o’call you’re off this boat to get home how you may.”
Susan’s fear gave way to her anger in an instant.
“I’m not leaving this ship without my son!” she snapped.
In another instant, her anger had relented to a hot primal fear as Vesco closed the distance between them.
“Keep. Your voice. Down,” he said lowly. “There’s worse than me above decks, too. Cap’n still believes that tripe about women at sea givin’ bad luck. Only reason you’re safe right now is he doesn’t know you’re here. If he finds you, he won’t bother to keep the crew away. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tossed you overboard to keep a curse from the ship. Yeah,” he sighed, when he saw the look on her face, “he’s that stupid. Best not risk it.”
She was still angry, he could see that much, but she had understood. Fiery, this one, but not irrational. She stared at him silently, processing his words.
“Now, I have things to see to,” said Mr. Vesco. “Busy ship at the moment. I’d be much obliged if you could stay here and make as little noise as possible ’til I get back.”
Susan looked up at the tiny mantel clock on the bookshelf over the bed.
“I have to take Mr. Airedale his tea this afternoon,” was her only response.
“Don’t worry,” said Vesco. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”
Mr. Airedale had allowed himself a brief moment without paperwork, or letters, or accounts. He stood at the grand window wall of his office, watching the waves flutter and spout beneath his feet. According to the clock, it was almost teatime. They would be at Crownsmouth tomorrow. Everything was looking lovely, from his perspective.
He heard the door open, and turned with a smile to greet his newest tea-monkey. He inhaled…paused. His smile flattened out again. Mr. Vesco shut the door, tea platter balanced on his hand.
“Afternoon, Tim,” he said politely. “Howzit today?”
“Er…very well, Mr. Vesco. Er…”
The quartermaster set down the fine porcelain on the desk with barely a rattle.
“You alone in here, Tim? Expecting a visit any time soon?”
“Er, not that I am aware, no.” He came forward from the window. “What happened to the new boy? I understood that he was to be in charge of tea.”
“Funny you bring him up, Tim.” Mr. Vesco set his fists on the desk. “Are you talkin’ about the lady you let on board, you moron?”
Mr. Airedale gave him a thin-lipped squint.
“I do not appreciate being called a ‘moron’, Mr. Vesco.”
“You shouldn’a been one, then. What were you thinkin’?” he demanded. “Do you know what kinda hell would get loose if the cap’n found her out? Gods forbid, if the crew got there first? Who knows what coulda happened?”
“She did, Mr. Vesco. She understood her situation. It is not my place to tell her which risks she may or may not take.”
Vesco slumped back a bit, rolling his eyes. He sighed, but stayed otherwise silent.
“If I may be so bold,” continued Airedale, “where is she?”
“I got ‘er safe,” said Vesco. “Confined to my cabin ’til we reach port.”
“She may stay with me, if that is easier for you. I would not want to—“
“No, Tim, she can’t.”
The first mate’s brow creased.
“Why not?”
“You’ll let ‘er free again in a fit o’chivalry. You did well, but I’ll take it from here.” He stood, and tossed a hand in the air, waving Mr. Airedale away as he headed for the door. “Thanks for your help,” he said to the wall. “Enjoy your tea, you moron.”
