Remy’s head bobs up next to me. “What are you doing her—” he starts to say.
“Shhh!” I hiss, as the two Soakers change course before they get to the water. They move down the beach, away from us. One small boat remains, manned by a dozen oarsmen. A tallish man wearing a black cap and a blue officer’s uniform stands waiting.
“Is that a…” My voice fades away as Gruff-voice hands something to the tall man. A thin tube.
“A captain’s hat,” Remy finishes for me. “That man is the captain of one of the ships.”
His tone is almost reverent, and I glance at him. His eyes serious, he appears enthralled by the scene unfolding before us: a captain greeting a new lieutenant who looks more like a boy.
“I could have killed him,” I say, standing, watching as the small boat leaves the shore, riding the waves along a sunlit path of sparkling ocean, all the way to a ship that looks strangely as if it’s been left for decades to rot and weather away.
My father’s words ring in my ears:
Sometimes the more important choice is not when to take a life, but when to spare one.
But this wasn’t my choice—it was Remy’s. I hope it was the right one.
~~~
“We have to tell someone,” Remy says for the fourteenth time.
I shake my head. “Who? Your father?”
“My father, your father, one of the other Riders…anyone.” The more worked up Remy gets, the more his hands do the talking along with his mouth.
We’ve been walking for an hour, slowly working our way back to the camp.
“And what will you tell them?” I ask.
“That we saw the Soakers and…” His voice drops away sharply, like a knife blade disappearing into the sand.
“And what?” I prod.
“And nothing,” he says, stopping. “You’re right. There’s nothing to tell. When the ships left, they sailed away from us, which the Riders already know. We’d just get in trouble for being this far south.”
I stop too. “My mother lets me run as far afield as I want,” I say, pride pulling at the corners of my lips.
“And look where that got you. You almost got yourself killed today.”
Anger rises in my chest. “You don’t know anything,” I say. “I swear to Mother Earth I’d have killed that boy.” I push Remy away because he’s gotten too close.
“Maybe,” he says, laughing. He sits in the sand, looks out to sea. “But that man would’ve killed you for sure. I saved your life.”
“You did not,” I say, every muscle in my body going tight. “I can handle myself. I’ll be a Rider before you.”
Remy laughs again, and this time it sounds so good I can’t help but relax the tension in my body. I slump down next to him. “What the hell’s so funny?”
“You are already a Rider,” he says, mimicking my tone from earlier, when I’d said the same thing to him. He looks right at me, and the sun, which is arcing back toward the horizon, lights up his brown eyes.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile that forms on my lips. Turning away to hide it, I say, “You followed me like you were hunting a jackrabbit. Why?”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
He grabs my arm and I feel the same warmth, the same breathlessness that I felt before, when we were close together atop the mound. It’s like when the sun breaks through the clouds on a warm summer’s day, and you feel it on your skin, melting together with the breeze and becoming a part of you. I grimace, as if a nest of biting ants have slipped into my pants.
I look at him and my breath catches in my throat. The intensity in his expression takes me by surprise. “You seemed upset when you left the stables. I wanted to make sure nothing happened to you.”
Although I feel a flutter in my chest, I scowl at him, shake off his hand, stand. “I don’t need you looking out for me,” I say. “Don’t follow me ever again.”
I run, refusing to look behind, although I can feel Remy’s grin on my back.
I run the entire way back to the camp.
Chapter Nine
Huck
The captain of the Mayhem is a big man, broad-shouldered and bearded, not unlike my father.
The similarities end there.
His silver medals are smudged and rusty, the exact opposite of my father’s, which are polished every morning before he pins them to his shirt. His uniform is wrinkled, faded and dusty, like he’s been keeping it in a corner of his cabin, only bringing it out when absolutely necessary. He blinks twice too often, like he can barely keep his eyes open.
“Is this my new lieutenant?” he asks in a booming voice as we approach.
Hobbs strides forward, pushing a scroll forward toward the captain. “Here are the boy’s orders,” he says.
Ignoring Hobbs’ verbal jab, I hurry to catch up and step past him and his scroll. “Lieutenant Jones, at your service,” I say, extending a hand, trying to look confident, although my legs are shaking. I lock my knees and look the captain in the eye, like my father taught me to do. Always look a man in the eye when you meet him. Not only will it prove your strength, but you’ll discover much about theirs.
The captain locks on my gaze, his blue eyes red and swollen. I’m not sure about this man’s strength, but he didn’t get much sleep last night. But neither did I, so I guess that makes us even. The thought brings a smile to my lips.
“Captain Jebediah L. Montgomery, the Third,” the captain says. “But everyone just calls me Jeb,” he adds with a red-eyed wink. Turning to Hobbs, he snatches the scroll and says, “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
I expect Hobbs to leave, but he stands there, unblinking, his usual scowl blanketing his face. I think Captain Montgomery expects him to leave, too, because he says, “Thank you, Mr. Hobbs,” again.
“Read the orders, Captain,” Hobbs says, looking out to sea absently.
“Are you giving me a direct order, Lieutenant?” the captain says, his voice taking on the shape of anger, but not quite reaching the thickness of it.
“Just read them,” Hobbs says, still staring at the ocean, ignoring the captain’s question. A show of disrespect like that to my father would earn him a week in the brig, or worse. I’ve seen my father send a man into the sharp-tooth infested drink for looking at him the wrong way. A ship is only as strong as the men that occupy it, he used to tell me. And the admiral must be the strongest of all.
This’ll be good, I think. I wait for it, for the explosion, for Captain Montgomery to order his oarsmen, who are waiting to launch the landing boat into the water, to bind Hobbs, to send him back to The Merman’s Daughter to be dealt with by my father.
His eyes narrow and his nose turns up, but he doesn’t say anything, just calmly unties the blue ribbon from the scroll, unfurls the brittle pages, and reads the long, elegant script that I recognize as my father’s handwriting. I try to read along, but the tall captain is holding it too high for me to see much more than a few words.
Thankfully, he mutters parts of it as he reads: “Captain Montgomery…I hereby present my son…a lieutenant on The Sailors’ Mayhem…improve efficiency, morale, order…” He looks up at me at that part, chewing on his chapped lips. Before I can stop myself, I look down at my feet, trying to count the grains of sand on the toe of one of my boots. I’m not sure what that says about my strength, but it can’t be good.
Only when the captain continues reading do I look up. “Lieutenant Hobbs is ordered to oversee Lieutenant Jones as he becomes acclimated to life on a new ship.”
“What?” I say at the same time as the captain. Both of us turn to look at Hobbs, who ignores us.
“There’s no room for another lieutenant on my ship,” the captain says.