The boisterous voice scraped down Hillary's back like a set of very sharp fingernails. He leaned his arms on the railing and glowered at the water. He did not have to look up. He knew what was coming next. Lara would turn, a gentle smile on her face, and Captain Smith would kiss her hand, a smug grin on his self-satisfied face. Hillary thought it was courting disaster for a captain to have a name like that, especially considering his irritating personality, but the man had merely laughed when Hillary had brought it up at their first meeting. "Ar, alla the bad luck is outta that name by now! Squeezed dry, my boy!" Hillary would wager large sums that he was older than the Captain, but the man still called him "my boy."
Captain Smith, whose first name was an unpronounceable Finnish muddle of consonants, seemed to be laboring under the misapprehension that he was a pirate, rather than a dry goods trader and glorified ferry service. He dressed and talked flamboyantly, had a sharp, nearly trimmed beard, and seemed to take every opportunity to let his loose-fitting shirt fall open and show his muscular chest whenever women were around. Women like Lara, who looked on in appreciation when he did. If there were any constants in this world, Hillary mused, one of them was that Lara, all other considerations being equal, would always find the best-looking man available for any job. Unfortunately, another constant was that not one of them that Hillary had met had been worthy of licking the soles of her boots clean. Captain Smith was no exception.
Hillary bit his lip as Captain Smith whacked him heartily on the shoulder. "Feelin' a little seasick, my boy? Lubbers do; nothin' to be ashamed of!" Hillary counted to a sufficiently high number as the Captain swaggered off, then took a deep breath.
Lara leaned on the railing next to Hillary and chuckled. "Oh, let him have his fun." Hillary glanced over; she was grinning at him. "This passage would be far duller without him."
"I would be just fine with that," Hillary replied, looking out over the cold, deep blue waves. Grey sky met cobalt water without a sign of land.
"You would, wouldn't you?" Lara's tone was resigned. "I'm about ready to... jump out of my skin. Do something drastic. A ship belonging to Eric the Red! Never before explored! Can you imagine what would be in there?"
Hillary put his back to the monotonous seascape, and watched the sailors scurry about, doing their jobs. "After all of this time in salt water? Corrosion and rot."
Lara crossed her arms and leaned her back on the railing. "Stop being such a cynic. I might get lucky. It's worth a look. And I'm going mad with the anticipation! Captain Smith, much as he annoys you, makes this passage a great deal more fun for me."
"I'm sure he does." Hillary bit his tongue a split-second too late.
Lara snorted, an odd noise to come out of her ladylike face. "Hillary. I'm going to start to think you're jealous." She stretched, her back popping slightly, then trotted across the deck to one of the masts. She leapt up with catlike grace and snagged a rope, scurrying up hand-over-hand and leaping into the crow's nest. The crew had quickly learned to let her do as she pleased, and not worry about her hurting herself or getting in their way.
Hillary walked back down to the small cabin they had been allotted. He should learn from the crew's example. Lara was more than capable of taking care of herself, and this trip would pass much more quickly if he read in the relatively quiet cabin, rather than standing out on the deck, watching Lara leap around, and being irritated by their pompous captain. He pulled up his knees as he lay on the cot that was too short for him, and started to read.
Twenty minutes later, he was back on the deck, anxiety tugging at his viscera as Lara leapt about or danced along the railing of the ship as she did what she called 'stretching her legs.'
------
Hillary could not help but sleep lightly on board ship; in addition to the odd sounds and swaying motion, he was not used to sleeping doubled-up; his legs would slowly straighten as he slept, leaving them dangling uncomfortably off of the edge of the cot. He therefore woke as soon as Lara laid a hand gently on his shoulder. He should have woken far sooner, however, as he could immediately hear the shuffling and lowered voices that must have woken Lara.
She put one finger over his lips, then slunk over to her bags, making less noise than a cat. She carefully pulled up her gun belt, holding the catch down with one finger to allow the belt to fasten noiselessly. She fastened the thigh straps over her pajama bottoms just as silently, then pulled out the guns and faced the door.
Hillary had pulled out his hunting knife; his gun was packed away, and he could not pull it out as noiselessly as Lara had readied hers. She nodded, slid back the door latch slowly, then stepped back and kicked the door open.
Hillary caught a glimpse of a face and a flash of white teeth as a muffled curse drifted into the room. Lara ghosted over the floorboards in her bare feet, leaping gracefully into the air as soon as she cleared the doorway. Hillary did not wait for the dull thud and cry of pain before rushing out after her.
Five sailors stood in the cramped corridor, three on one side and two on the other. A sixth lay on the ground, moaning. Lara rushed the three shell-shocked sailors on the one side, kicking one in the face as she pistol-whipped the second. The third collected himself and launched himself at Lara - just in time to get a knee in the solar plexus that dropped him like a vended candy bar.
Hillary noted this out of the corner of his eye as he launched himself at the other two. Surprise was on his side, and he was able to break the nose of one with the handle of his knife and slam the other's head into the wall with impunity. Broken-nose regained his composure with admirable speed, jumping onto Hillary's back and trying to strangle him with one elbow. Hillary bent and flipped the man over one shoulder, then kicked his stomach to ensure that he would stay down for a while.
Lara was already pelting her way down the corridor; Hillary caught the barest glimpse of black hair whipping around a corner at the far end of the narrow hallway. He sheathed his knife and ran after her, pounding up the stairway that lead to the main deck.
The cold night air hit his bare torso like a punch, leaving him breathless. He sucked in a lungful of air that was like a handful of cold razor blades as he turned, looking for Lara. Her dark clothes and dark hair blended with the shadows, making her an apparition in arm and glances of face as she ran along the deck, taking out the few sleepy sailors on duty with well-placed kicks and punches. She had sheathed her guns. Hillary tried to run after her, but his bare feet had no traction on the wet wooden planking, and he made lousy progress. He had barely covered half of the distance between them when something heavy fell onto his back, taking him to the decking with a loud roar and a dose of whiskey-laced breath over his face.
The same spray that made the planking slippery fortunately also made Hillary slippery; he slithered around to come nose-to-nose with a bearded sailor. He jabbed at the man's eyes, kicking him off when he jerked back. Hillary scrambled to his feet as the man lunged at him again, pushing him towards the ship's railing. Hillary swept the sailor's legs, and he fell to the deck with a heavy thud. Another bulky sailor who had been hovering behind charged as the first man fell, and Hillary could not keep his footing; he slid, the railing hit him in the small of the back, and he flipped over it, aided by the sailor. Hillary grasped at the railing as he went over; his right hand slipped off of the wet rail, and his left slipped off of the wet wooden ship's side, but his fall was slowed enough for him to grab a rope that hung down the side of the ship.
Ice-cold salt water lashed at him, and his hand started to go numb. He wrapped the rope around his forearm, then swung over to a rope net that hung on the side of the ship. He started to climb; twice, his numb hands slipped off of the netting, and he had to swing back to it via the rope wrapped around his arm. On the third attempt, his hands so numb that he had to watch his fingers to know when to open them and when to close them, he scrambled onto the deck, breathing a grateful sigh. His legs were as numb as his arms; his limbs were four blocks of wood.
Lara stood a few paces to the side, surrounded by a group of about seven sailors. They stood back warily, looking at the two guns Lara held and her alert stance. The men glanced at each other and at her, as she gazed levelly at them; the scene had the static look of a standoff. A few of the men glanced over at Hillary, but appeared to correctly dismiss him as not enough of a threat to risk being shot.
Hillary rose jerkily to his knees, and tried to shake the rope off of his arm. It would not come off, and he looked more closely. The rough hemp had sawed through his skin and started in on the muscle, and Hillary had to peel it off with care. If one of the sailors rushed him now, he thought irately, he would be finished.
But the standoff was broken by the appearance of the captain whose popularity, as far as Hillary was concerned, had hit subterranean levels. He swaggered into the light of the lamps that illuminated the circle of sailors. His beard and his hair was as neat as they had been to greet Lara when coming aboard.
"We can't keep a good lass down, can we?" he boomed with a grin. "Lads... stand down a bit, will yeh? You're making the lady nervous." The sailors only partially complied, glancing at the captain with suspicion.
"Not this one, captain," Lara said, coolly. "We're not as easily gotten rid of as your usual rich guests who want a little adventure, are we?"
Captain Smith shook his head. "Oh, you misjudge me, m'dear! I didn't jest toss away my passengers!" He threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Someone surely woulda noticed, don't you think? No, I just ripped 'em off. But you slept too lightly, and I'm afraid me men took it into their heads to dispose of you, when caught in the act." He shook his head and muttered to Lara, still loudly enough for Hillary to hear, "Good workers, but they can be stupid sometimes."
"I trust you will send your men back to their comfortable beds?" Lara asked, her guns steady.
"You lugs! Back to yer beds or yer stations!" Captain Smith barked, his voice commanding. With the air of men used to being ordered around, the men dispersed with alacrity.
Lara slid her guns gracefully back into their holsters. "You have given us lovely quarters, Captain, but I think we will stay awake until landfall. Qaqortoq is the closest port, isn't it? That will be just fine." Her voice was polite, but icy.
The captain did not miss the change. He sighed, then gave a half-bow. "We'll do so, and in return, I can trust yer discretion in this matter?"
"Just drop us off and go your way, and we can pretend we never met," Lara replied, gazing steadily at the captain.
"Oh, I would never wish ta pretend I had never met you, gracious lady," the captain said, his voice ingenuous. He bowed again, then stomped off after his sailors.
Hillary had managed to regain his feet, and was testing them gingerly. He kept the other hand wrapped very firmly around his injured forearm, which was starting to regain feeling and was not enjoying it. Lara put one arm around his waist and helped him towards the stairway.
"It's a long way from Qaqortoq to the site," Hillary mumbled, stumbling over the name. "How will we get there?"
"You know I always manage to figure something out," she said with a wink. "I think we have outlived our welcome on this ship in any case, however."
"I told you not to trust that captain," Hillary said as they started down the narrow stairway.
"Yes," Lara said, in a long-suffering voice, "you're very smart."
------
Bryce traced the winding silver scar on Hillary's forearm. "Yer lyin'."
"I what?" Hillary asked, irate. "Of course I'm not! How else do you think I would have gotten that?"
"Kitchen accident," Bryce said, with certainty.
Hillary snorted. "Fine. Go ask Lara."
Bryce shook his head. "Nah, I wouldn't want to wake her up. It's late, ya know. I trust you." He gave Hillary a wide-eyed, innocent look, and Hillary flopped back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling.
"Right, then, now that you believe my story, I'll finish it. The idiot of a captain dropped us off at the port, and we..."
"Hil'ry..." Bryce muttered, leaning in and licking Hillary's ear.
"What?"
"I don't care," Bryce said, as he started to do something that made Hillary not care, either.