By the time I'd left the captain's cabin, it was dark. I'd finished writing down everything that happened during III. I'd gone straight to my room and dropped on the cot. It was a while before I slept.
When I awakened the next morning, I was already tired. It was early, the sun not quite over the horizon yet. The creak of the door as I ventured out made me cringe, and I hoped I hadn't woken anyone else. The kitchen wasn't yet handing out food, and Bruce was still sleeping. His snores permeated the walls of his room, so I didn't bother knocking. With nothing else to do, I decided to go above deck.
The morning was quiet. My thoughts, not so much. I still felt guilt over having informed Shay of Charles. At least I'd made a decision; whatever happened, I would deal with. I looked towards the wheel. Alfonso stood there, the bright red of his waistcoat stark against the dark wood and light grey skies. My eyes narrowed. I still disliked the man. Something about him set me on edge more than anyone else on this ship. It was probably how holier-than-thou he'd seemed.
The morning passed uneventfully, save for the skies above us growing angrier with the hour. By the time Shay emerged from his cabin, the sky was nearly as dark as it had been before sunrise, and rumbling was heard in the distance.
I'd already snatched a loaf of bread and some meat from the cooks, who had tossed them at me as a bribe to stop questioning them about their cooking methods. I made a mental note of that for a rainy day. At the moment, I sat on the railing, and my legs kicked out at open air. I wasn't quite satisfied, and started to head down to the kitchen to try to get my hands on coffee or tea. I hadn't had any since I'd first arrived in this time, and I was craving it once more.
Alfonso was dismissed at the same moment, sort of. I heard Shay tell him to go grab some breakfast for the both of them, so that later they could start plotting the next course on full stomachs. We traded sour looks as we descended the stairs. I was glad to know the feeling was mutual. When we walked into the kitchen together, I slinked over to a particularly weak-willed and lanky cook stationed near a wall.
"Hi again." I said, smiling at him. He turned, flashed a smile, and turned back to whatever it was he was doing. Probably something to do with food.
"What do you want this time?" He asked.
"Could I trouble you for some coffee? Tea, even?" I asked it in the most sickeningly sweet tone I could. I needed something to keep me on my feet.
He sized me up for a moment. "Coffee ain't cheap."
I shrugged. "Well, a lot of things aren't. Doesn't mean people don't use 'em."
He continued to look at me critically for a moment, then shook his head. "Fine, fine, plenty of people are wanting it now, anyways. You only get one cup, though." He held up a finger as he said that, then walked off. He was surprisingly agile, his gangly limbs considered.
I leaned against the wall and waited for him to come back. As I did so, I let my eyes wander the room. Men were cooking, eating, cleaning-all of them were clad in whites, greys, browns, washed out blues. Except for one. That irritatingly bright red waistcoat caught my eye every few seconds. Eventually I let my gaze settle on the first mate himself. He was chatting with several men, laughter at jokes they made drifting over to me. A man near me called out to Alfonso, and the latter came over to him.
For whatever reason, he didn't notice me. I decided staying hidden from him might be wise, so I did my best to hide behind the make-shift counters between us. I hoped he wouldn't notice my eyes hovering above the top of them. There was too much noise for me to clearly hear the conversation between the two of them, but I watched as Alfonso took two plates, which were nearly identical. He made a joke to the other man, and the latter howled with laughter and clapped Alfonso on the back before walking away.
Simple enough, until Alfonso set the plates down on one of the counters between us. I willed myself to become invisible if possible. He cast shifty looks around, and pulled something from the pocket of his waistcoat. It was dark in the kitchen, but it looked like a small bottle with something light-colored inside it. He unscrewed the bottle and lightly shook it over the left plate. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone called for him. He hastily screwed the bottle shut and shoved it back in his pocket. He plastered a fake smile on his face as he wandered off to talk to them. His back was to the plates.
I moved to the plates as quickly as I could, and inspected them. They looked exactly the same at first glance-salted beef, oatmeal, bread, and dried vegetables. On closer inspection of the plate he'd shook the bottle over, small grains of something light-colored were slowly sinking into the oatmeal. Why would he add salt to a meal? He already had enough from the beef.
Something wasn't right here, and I glanced to where he was still talking with another crew member. I made the split-second decision to switch the plates, and arranged them to look as similar as possible. Hopefully he wouldn't notice. I scurried off, and barely grabbed a cup of coffee as I was heading up.
I went back to my perch on the railing, sipping my coffee and ignoring the jittery feeling that was definitely not caffeine.
A red waistcoat walked up the stairs to the wheel, and I watched the captain and first mate eat their breakfast. They talked animatedly, apparently on a heated topic. After roughly half an hour, Alfonso started clutching at his stomach, and fighting to swallow.
He'd thrown up and was gurgling and thrashing by the time I followed a couple of men up. I stepped up to Shay and murmured something about Alfonso's pockets. He searched them, and after checking the second, pulled out a small bottle. White grains filled it halfway. Shay looked between Alfonso, the bottle, and me. He stood up and ordered one of the men to stop from getting Bruce.
Shay held up the bottle. The men around us stared for a second, then realization dawned on them.
"Damn…"
"So that's the bastard that killed James…"
"I knew Alfonso could be a prick, but this…"
The body of the man I'd just killed was tossed overboard, annoyingly red waistcoat with him.
I didn't look away when his body hit the water.
Alternate names for this chapter included: "Fortunate Fatality", "Helpful Hit", "What an Arse-nic", "Accidental Assassination", "Beardy-Bye-Bye," "Killer Cuisine", and several others. Kinda sad I couldn't use them all, honestly.