She swallows hard and I see I’ve upset her. Her fingers squeeze the wooden railing. “It has something to do with seaweed,” she says.
Ready to laugh, I look for the joke on her face, but her expression’s as flat as the deck planks below. “Seaweed?” I say. “You mean the stuff we’re forced to eat almost every day?”
“Yeah, but not the weeds we pull from the ocean, the stuff that washes up on shore and gets all dried out in the sun.”
“They make tea from that, don’t they?”
“Some of it,” she says. “But the rest they put in huge bags. There’s a lot more than what they need for tea.”
I scratch my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what that has to do with bilge rats.”
“Why do you call us that?” she asks sharply, pain apparent in her eyes. “We’re humans, you know. Not searin’ rats.”
I feel a flush on my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“You didn’t think, did you?” she snaps, and the old Jade is back, the one who throws scrub brushes as well as she throws glares.
“I didn’t. It’s just what we’ve always called…”—I pause, struggling to find a way of saying what I mean without being offensive—“your kind of brown-skinned people from fire country,” I spew out in an avalanche of verbal diarrhea. I freeze, hold my breath, watching her glare from the corner of my eye.
Then, to my absolute shock, she laughs. “You can just call us Heaters from now on. But you better not do so in front of your father or he’ll know you know the truth. And if I ever find out who came up with the name bilge rats, watch out.” I picture a hailstorm of brushes raining down from above.
“So back to the seaweed…” I say. “How is it linked to…the Heaters?”
She squints, although there’s no sun left to be in her eyes. “I’m not sure exactly. All I know is that sometimes when we’re anchored, a few men leave with the big bags of dried seaweed and then come back with a new lot of children.”
“And the seaweed?”
“They never come back with that.”
~~~
We make it down from the crow’s nest just before we lay anchor. Jade goes first, sliding all the way to the bottom in a show of remarkable grace and agility, striding off in search of food from the ship’s stores as if a day spent with me was nothing to her.
(Was it nothing?)
I climb down more carefully, using the ladder, happy when my feet are back on solid wood, relishing the gentle rock of the moored ship beneath me. We’re the second ship to arrive, and a plank has already been secured between us and The Merman’s Daughter. My father wastes no time crossing it. Hobbs is waiting for him, but to my surprise, he greets me first. “Lieutenant Jones. Son. What do you have to report?”
I’m taken aback by his sudden show of respect. Hobbs steps forward. “Sir, if I may, we’ve made significant prog—”
“Let me be clear, Hobbs, you’re here to observe. Any progress made is the result of the leadership of the captain and his lieutenant, my son. Understand?”
Hobbs nods, but then glares at me when my father turns away from him. I almost laugh. “Admiral, as you can see, the ship is performing better than it ever has before. The men and women are working hard, doing their duty, and should be rewarded accordingly. Under my supervision, the sail repair work is moving forward rapidly, which has greatly increased the ship’s speed.”
“You and the bilge rat seem to be getting on rather well,” Hobbs says.
“Bilge rat?” my father says, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve trained one of the…a girl…to repair the sails. She’s a good climber and a quick learner. Much of the credit goes to her.”
“There seems to be more talking than repairing going on up there,” Hobbs sneers.
Ignoring his comment, my father says, “Credit? To a rat? Surely the credit is yours, Son. The…girl you speak of wouldn’t know a patch from her ass if it wasn’t for your leadership.”
Something flashes in my chest. I’ve got several less diplomatic responses available, but all I say is, “Thank you, sir. We’ll continue with the effort until every sail is in pristine condition.”
“Very good. Hobbs,” he says, turning to the fuming lieutenant. “Are you still needed here? Do you have more to report or can I safely assume that the transition of Lieutenant Jones to the Mayhem has been an outright success?”
His words are the ones I’ve been waiting for my whole life. I should be proud. I should be swelling with happiness and confidence right now. But instead I feel sick, as if his words are sour, full of bitterness, because…well, because, as Jade said, “…your father brought us here against our will from fire country.”
“I should give you my full report in private,” Hobbs says. “Then you can decide whether I should stay on.” There’s a glint in his eye.
“No,” I say, balling my fists. “You can say whatever you need to in front of me, Lieutenant. I’m here to learn.”
“I don’t think—” Hobbs starts to say, but my father raises an arm to stop him.
“No, my son’s right. Say what you will,” the admiral says.
Hobbs closes one eye, his other never leaving mine, as if calculating something. What is he going to say? How can he possibly shed a negative light on what I’ve accomplished on the Mayhem?
“I fear your son is falling in love with a bilge rat,” he says.
~~~
The fallout ain’t pretty. “Follow us,” my father says to Hobbs. Then he grabs my arm, drags me up the steps to the quarterdeck, and shoves me down the steps to the officers’ cabins. We nearly crash into Captain Montgomery, who has just exited his own cabin, looking exceedingly groggy.
“Admiral, I wasn’t aware you were here. I was just getting some shut eye after a long, hard day.” Of sleeping and drinking and smoking, I think.
“Come with us,” my father orders.
He jostles me into my cabin, where a very surprised Barney is just finishing making up my bed. “Hullo, Admiral,” he says.
“Out,” is all my father replies. Barney scurries on out of there, leaving me in a very crowded cabin with my father (red-faced and rock-jawed), Hobbs (smiling cruelly), and Captain Montgomery (still blinking away a long nap).
“Speak, Hobbs,” my father commands when the door is shut.
Hobbs cracks his knuckles, as if he’d rather punch me than talk about me. “Well, Admiral, your son”—he points at me as if no one in the room knows who I am—“has been spending a significant portion of his time with a bloody bilge rat girl.”
“And?” my father says.
“And…I think that shows there’s something going on between them,” Hobbs adds.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Huck…Lieutenant Jones admitted himself that he’s training her to repair the sails. That would require time, would it not, Lieutenant?”
Hobbs shifts from foot to foot, his toothy smile wiped away by the strength of my father’s words. “Well, aye, but—”
“So you have no further evidence?”
“Well, no, but surely Captain Montgomery has noticed too,” Hobbs says, trying to direct my father’s heavy stare to the captain, who looks like he’d much rather be in his hammock than here.
“Captain?” my father says.
“Aye, sir?”
“What do you have to say?”
“About what, sir?”
Admiral Jones lets out a seething breath. “Has water country gone half crazy?” he asks the room. I stay silent. So far it’s worked pretty well for me.
“Sir?” the captain says.
“Have you, or have you not noticed any inappropriate behavior from my son?” my father asks.
I hold my breath.
The captain looks from my father to me to Hobbs, and then says, “No, sir. As far as I can tell, your son’s done an exemplary job since his arrival. One that should be commended.”
My father fires a dagger-filled look at Hobbs, who says, “Sir, if I may, give me one more week. This is a crucial time for the Mayhem, and I want to stay on, if only to help maintain its performance.”