Wormwood Mutiny

Chapter 10: Threads and Fiddlesticks

The dawn bell tolled and called the crew up to greet the clouded but rainless skies over the main deck. Being assigned as the day's runner came as a surprise to Ana, but the needlessly long and exhausting relays did not. She sweated through her clothes before midday, victim of a second, more sweltering downpour. Though Mr. Plugg's mirthless black eyes took in slumped and dripping state without a flicker of emotion, she would've bet her supper bowl that it amused him.

"Go find Officer Quarne," said the first mate. "Tell him I've sent you."

Ana straightened to attention in an instant. "Yes, sir." She spun on her heel and walked as fast as casually possible across the dock and down the stairs. She nodded at Owlbear where he sat chained to the middle deck's foremast. He returned a gap-toothed grin.

The samsaran weaved through the cargo hold's pockets of dust-filled light and shadow. She only stopped to peer around the piles of crates and barrels, searching the darkness for the dark-clothed, night-skinned drow. He and his workbench had apparently changed location.

A silver glint gave him away, a strand of hair escaped from under his black bandana. Officer Quarne bent over his workbench now tucked away behind a partition made of crate tops and walls, a false pile but unquestionable privacy screen. A raw, unvarnished plank laid across his bench. The drow gave the future floorboard one final sweep with a sandpapered brick. He straightened and stretched at her approach. Wood dust drifted off him in a cloud that caught and danced in the light.

Ana gave him a mock salute. "Sorry to interrupt, Officer Quarne. Mr. Plugg sent me."

"And he's tasked you to work on your subservience, has he?" asked the drow, cracking a half-smile.

She lowered her arm. And folded both across her chest. "Only when he and Master Scourge get word of my sex life."

Officer Quarne shook his head. "Neither I nor Grok said anything. Our cook, however, has a penchant for getting drunk and loose-lipped."

She couldn't argue with that. Ambrose Kroop radiated the stench of rum from ten paces. "I believe you."

Both of his silver eyebrows raised, but he left the matter with a wave of his night-skinned hand. With the other, Officer Quarne retrieved a ring of keys from an apron pocket. He turned back to the workbench and crouched over a small chest beneath it. The keys jangled.

Ana stepped forward curiously, but Officer Quarne held up a hand by his pointed ear. She stepped back, grinning at the corners of her mouth despite the forced retreat. She'd never worn anything new, much less made for her. At her college in Zi Ha, the samsarans only passed down garments until the multiple uses finally caused a garment to disintegrate into nothingness. She'd been assigned additional mantra-guided meditations when she'd asked where the garments had come from.

Officer Quarne stood with a small, ribbon-tied bundle in his hands. Ana effectively leapt the distance between them. Though his mouth only spread in half a smile, it reached his silver eyes. He placed the bundle in her waiting, trembling hands.

"Oh!" she gasped. It was light, unexpectedly light despite this climate's heat. She tugged the silvery gray ribbon loose and let it hang around her neck.

Ana sank to her knees and unfurled the clothes in her lap. The first was a light but fitted shirt in pale, smoke gray. The second were light, fitted pants in a matching hue. Below them was a rich blue jacket cut high to stop at her waist and let flow its twin blue tails. At the bottom of the pile was a set of underwear in the jacket's rich blue.

The samsaran stared up at the Stichman, mouth agape. "I can't wear any of these. They're too beautiful and I have to work-I've sweat like a dog." She dragged a hand across her collarbone and opened it toward him. The new skin of sweat on her splayed fingers drew the dust from the air.

Officer Quarne's shoulders shook with a dry laugh. "A pirate has to upkeep their look on the job." He knelt down across from her. "That said, these were made function first. They're tight enough not to snag but loose enough to let you move. What's more, they'll wick the sweat off so you don't end up," one hand gestured at her present state, "looking like a drowned rat-that won't instill fear in your enemies."

True. She glanced down at the clothes and back at the drow, smiling helpless. "Thank you, Officer Quarne."

He grinned back crookedly. "If you'd really like to thank me, you could try them on."

Ana shrugged, and in the same motion she peeled the thread-trailing jacket off her shoulders. It landed on the sawdusted floor with a wet thump. She drew the ribbon off her neck by one end and placed it on the clothes on her lap. She handed the whole stack to the drow.

Ana straightened up on her legs but kept her upper body bent toward Officer Quarne in front of her. The neck of her shirt swung loose, all but opening around the swell of her moon blue cleavage. She grabbed the tucked ends with arms crossed and flipped the shirt off her body onto her arms. The wet fabric clung to her skin. She shimmied and struggled the shirt down off her arms with playful little grunts. It landed just in front of the drow's knees.

He leaned forward toward her chest and its flimsy, teasing breastband. She pushed up to her full height at the same time, leaving his mouth nothing but air. Ana chuckled softly, stepping out of her boots. She unbuckled her belt and slid her pants halfway down the curve of her moon blue hips. She rocked her hips from side to side to slide them the rest of the way down.

She hooked one finger under the hem of her breastband and the other under the hem of her underwear but didn't tug at either. "Do you want to help me with these?"

Officer Quarne placed the stack of clothes on the small chest behind him. He stood and took her hips in his night-skinned hands. Ana walked forward into his kiss. The drow helped her for twenty minutes against the wall and floor of the cargo hold.

Ana returned to the first mate in her new clothes, the old left with Officer Quarne for 'redistribution,' as he put it. Mr. Plugg's gaze narrowed at the the silver gray ribbon tying back her black hair. The samsaran clenched her sweating palms, bracing for another charge of 'impertinence,' but she kept her head up and shoulders square.

Mr. Plugg's black eyes slid down to the clear line of her neck. "Go back to Officer Quarne. Tell him he did well."

Her pearl white eyes blinked. Unexpected. A purple blush crept into her cheeks as she returned to the first mate's endless relays.

Sandara, Crimson, and even Cusswell joined Ana and her friends at the railing for the evening meal. At the very least, none of them had anything negative to say about Officer Quarne's handiwork. Only Sandara took the samsaran aside for a warning. "Be careful, Ana. You've seen how Mr. Plugg treats his pets."

The words sapped the dinner of all its flavor. She ate what she could but ended up passing the rest to Pluck, the moulting parrot.

Ana remained restless for the rest of the evening. She eventually made her way up to the main deck as darkness fell over the Wormwood. She spotted Crimson, Cusswell, and Essig at the railing from the top of the stairwell.

The halfling drank from a half-empty bottle of spicy rum. The Varisian exhaled two plumes of curling smoke and passed his lit cigarette to Essig. The pale Chelaxian, tawny eyes shining in its red glow, took a long drag. Crimson rolled himself a new cigarette.

Ana tugged the edge of Essig's cloak. He turned to face her with a fluid languor. She retreated a half-step at the unfamiliar movement.

Essig exhaled out to the side and held the cigarette out to her. "Did you want a smoke?"

She shook her head. "No. Can we talk?"

He nodded and followed her away from the others. She leaned on the railing, looking out over the sea. "I'd like some of your gold to get Cusswell's fiddle back from the quartermaster."

Essig laughed and dropped his forearms down on the rail beside her. He looked her way, mouth twisted wryly. "No."

"Why not?"

He sighed a mouthful of smoke and ran a hand through his prematurely grayed hair. "I'm saving it for a buy or die situation. We're on a pirate ship. I don't know about you, but I'm not a pirate and I don't want to die like one. I'd rather deal in gold."

Ana had nothing to say about that. She couldn't even say why she wanted to help Cusswell. As much as she'd like to imagine it was as a favor to a friend, the possibility that she only wanted to strengthen an alliance remained. The samsaran shuddered at the sudden chill.

Essig draped his cloak over her shoulders without draping his arm. They stayed at the rail of the Wormwood in silence, watching the dark and endless waves.