“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
The two men stood and looked out at the grey sky, watching as the sun peeked hesitantly over the horizon.
“Tough watch,” Marius said, and Spone nodded in quiet acknowledgment.
“Makes you captain, in the end.”
“Is that the plan?”
“Eventually.”
Marius nodded. “A good place to learn, then?”
“I’ve served under worse,” Spone said, and Marius nodded in agreement.
“I’ve seen worse, for certain. So…” he let the thought hang for a moment, “He’s a fair man, this Captain Bomthe?”
They stood, side by side, and Spone talked about his captain, and Marius listened, as the sun rose and the new watch arrived to take up their posts. When they parted, with a handshake and a firm wish for a good morning, Marius returned to his cabin, to think upon what he had learned, and to lay some plans for his future.
He stayed in his cabin for five days, during which time the Minerva made fair progress. The weather was temperate, and fresh winds propelled them across the open ocean with no need to tack or bring the massive mainsails into play. Figgis visited three times a day, bringing bowls of the increasingly thin soup and leaving with the empty vessels and a smear of broth around his cheeks. Marius listened to the gossip-filled reports he delivered, filtering out the important tidbits as they rose to the surface: Captain Bomthe wished to avoid the coast and head straight out into deep waters; Mister Spone was worried about several items of cargo that had come loose in the aft hold; Captain Bomthe and Mister Spone had gone down to the hold personally to secure the cargo; nobody knew what was down there; rumours assigned it to everything from gold bullion, to magical arms to be traded to the Taran heathens, to women set aside solely for the officers’ use; Mister Spone was angry about something, but would discuss it with nobody; Captain Bomthe kept drinking, and sending Figgis out to refill his brandy skein. Marius simply nodded and kept his head against his chest, telling the young lad to eat up.
At dinner on the fifth day, he interrupted his visitor’s monologue with a short cough, and a raised hand.
“The aft hold you mentioned.” Figgis looked up from his bowl, a dribble of broth wending its way down his chin. “Could you show me where it is?”
Figgis looked uncertain. “I’m not allowed down there, Mister Spone says. Nobody is, just him and the captain.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them.” Marius leaned back on his nest of blankets, and folded his hands across his chest. “You don’t need to take me all the way there. Just far enough so that I can find my own way. If the captain or Mister Spone find me after that, your name will never occur to me.”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Does he beat you, this captain of yours?”
“No… I… well, yes… but only when I deserve it,” Figgis corrected himself quickly. Marius nodded. Shipboard discipline was no mystery to him. It was a hard life, and it took hard men. The cabin boy’s definition of “deserving it”, and by extension the captain’s, might not accord with Marius’ feelings on the subject. But then, Marius was in their world. One of the first things he had learned whilst travelling – learn the rules of your destination, so that they do not surprise you.
“I give you my word,” he said. “I’ll not ask you to do anything to make you deserve it. Perhaps…” he paused, as if considering his options. “What if you came to me between the third and fourth watches? Would the captain know?”
Spone would not be on deck until a full watch later, and like all good sailors, would sleep right up until the bell sounded. And Bomthe would have fallen into a drunken stupor long before, if Figgis was even remotely accurate regarding the number of visits he was making to the brandy cask. The young boy frowned for a moment, considering Marius’ proposal. Marius sat still, projecting innocence with every fibre.
“I suppose…” Figgis said. “Just as far as I want?”
“Not a step further,” Marius said. “All I want is to see this hold. After all,” he held his arms wide. “What else can I do?”
“But why?”
“I’m nobody’s agent, if that’s what’s worrying you.” Marius leaned forward, and teased at the fingers of one glove. “I want to show you something, but I need your promise before I do.”
“My promise?”
“That you won’t fear what you see.”
“Okay.” Figgis shrugged. “You have it.”
“Are you sure?” Marius stopped worrying at the glove. “I don’t ask this lightly, boy. I need your promise to be a man’s promise, you understand? Unbreakable, inviolate. Nobody knows about this but you and I. Not the captain, not Mister Spone. Nobody.”
Figgis looked solemn, his face a child’s play-act of seriousness. “I promise.”
“Okay.” Marius grasped the glove’s fingers and pulled, sliding it off in one swift movement. He held his hand before Figgis’ face. “You see?”
“It’s a hand.”
“Yes. And?”
Figgis looked at it, then back at the shadow of Marius’ hood. “It’s a hand.”
Marius looked at his hand. The boy was right. It was just a hand. His hand. Browned by the sun, the fingernails slightly ragged from too much time without attention, a maze of tiny scars and flaws from twenty years of living amongst the lower ends of society. His hand. He stared at it, and Figgis stared at him, a look of increasing worry on his young face.
“Are you all right?”
Slowly, Marius reached up and pulled back his hood. “What do you see?”
Figgis shrugged. “I don’t know. You? Listen,” he shifted impatiently. “What’s any of this got to do with me taking you below decks?”
“I…” Marius thought furiously, “I… do you know what fear of spaces is?”
“What? Like, being outside and all?”
“Yes, exactly.” Marius nodded. “I… I have it.”
“But I seen you walking along the wharf, and about topside with Mister Spone and all.”
“It’s… it’s difficult.” Marius lowered his eyes, as if staring at the floor, taking care to make sure his hand stayed within his line of vision. If he only had a glass, or something in which to see his reflection. “I can do it, but it… exhausts me. I… if I could spend some time, in that room, away from the outside…” He flicked his hand towards the open window. “I feel it, all the time, all around me…” He peeked up at Figgis. “Even if I could spend just a short time in this hidden store, away from people, away from…” he shuddered, “The sky. It would help me. You could help me.” He looked straight at the young boy. “I need a friend here, Figgis. Have I not been your friend?”
His eyes slid to the empty bowl at Figgis’ feet. The cabin boy followed his gaze, and coloured .
“Between third and fourth watch,” he said, scrambling to his feet and gathering up the bowl. “But only for a few minutes, mind?”
“You have my word.”
“And Mister Spone and the captain never hear of it?”
“Never.”
“And if you’re caught…”
“On my own head be it.”
“Okay, then.” He opened the door, and half slid out. “Shouldn’t we… have some sort of secret knock or something?”
“Don’t worry,” Marius smiled. “I’ll know it’s you.”
“Okay.” Figgis left without another word. Marius lay back on his makeshift nest and stared out at the sliver of sky visible through the window. After all, he thought, who else would come and visit? He held his hand up. As he watched, the skin dried out, grew pale, then grey. His nails darkened. Cracks appeared in their surface. Small flakes dropped from his skin, and the fingers withered until they were little more than desiccated claws. He stifled a cry of alarm, and scrambled in his lap for the discarded glove, pulling it back on with a shaking hand. He curled into a foetal ball, and slowly reached up to pull the hood down over his face.