9 - A Little Bit Irresistible
The next few days went smoothly enough, Van considered, for all they were harboring a bunch of enemies. He had his hands full quelling the crew's concerns about it ... and when he wasn't doing that, he had to escort Lady Kirke around the ship like a governess.
Neither had mentioned the subject of her fate since that first instance when he envisioned the ax suspended quite literally over her head. He knew nothing else about it, just that gleaming steel, and she, somehow unable to escape it. The visions were like that—disjointed and without explanation, uncontrollable and unbidden. An unfortunate occasional side effect of his heritage.
But sometimes it stood him in good stead. When he met the captain, he'd seen piles of gold. Sure enough, his time aboard The Phoenix had brought him wealth as well as danger. Soon, he'd have enough to withdraw from the whole mess of this war. One of the smaller, unnamed islands past Selbaran, maybe. A suitable enough location for someone who wanted to be left to himself.
But Lady Kirke presented a new problem. Try as he might, he couldn't stop wondering about her. The very fact that he did so frustrated him. He had spent his life not looking into other people's business, and expecting that they not look into his own. He didn't want to wonder about her ... but the idea of her being marked to die, when he'd seen her so fiercely protective of creatures not even her own kind—that sat like spoiled food in his belly. Yet another unwanted reaction.
Much like his grudging admiration of her. She was as useful as she was ... decorative. Once she was freed of that outlandish wearable tapestry and put in proper sailor's clothing, she roamed about the ship like one of the crew, unafraid of heights or loss of balance. She knew how to gauge the wind, how to tie ropes, and could answer to within a knot or two how fast they sailed without needing to measure. Matter of fact, the only points at which she hesitated were in her concerns about her charges—the Narnians—or when he questioned her about her knowledge of the captain. She still avoided response, but Van, seeing her with the Narnians, now believed them both to be allied at one time (if not now) to that country. And if he believed that, the crew must be guessing it as well.
Then what in the watery Underland were they doing shipping weapons for the White Witch?
No one came to him about any suspicions regarding the captain's loyalties. His word was as good as the captain's when handing orders to the crew, and they followed it as a crew should. Without question or contest, and to the letter. But he wondered too, how long that would hold.
He looked up from the sea chart in his hands. He sat on the aft deck, his eyes shaded from the glare by the wide brim of his hat. Lady Kirke stood across the deck with the dryad, bareheaded, her hair tied into a long tail down her back and gone a bit reddish under the sun. He shifted his attention with some effort to the dryad, who (even to his untrained eye) looked much the worse for wear.
Lady Kirke hurried to him. "She's worse. I don't think she'll make it to Selbaran. Is there even a handful of soil aboard? Anything from sweeping the decks or cabins?"
"We toss dirt overboard, leddy," he said. But the distress in her eyes tugged at his conscience—or what passed for one, when he bothered to employ it. He laid his chart down and stood. "You there!" he called to a hag scrubbing the deck. "Go down to the hold and sweep. Whatever dirt you find, bring it up. Quickly." The hag gave a disgruntled hiss, but she rushed off. Feeling disgruntled himself, Van said, "Much good may it do you."
Lady Kirke's hands closed over his, surprising him into stillness. He met her gaze to find her eyes shining. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
A glance around the aft deck confirmed that the hag's retreat had left them quite alone (except for the dryad, who appeared to be lost in her own miseries). Their near-solitude somehow made the happiness in Lady Kirke's eyes even more uncomfortable. Backed into a corner by her gratitude, he retreated further into surliness. He gripped her hands and turned them over in his. "These aren't the hands of a courtier."
Her expression changed to wariness. "And they never will be. I like to work."
"A woman doesn't belong aboard a ship, much less this one."
"What about her?" the lady demanded, pointing in the direction the hag had gone.
"She's not human," he blurted. And not attractive. And didn't have eyes like agate stones. And didn't have hair like dark teakwood, with a spirit just as resolute against the elements. And didn't distract him when he ought to be going about his work. And didn't ...
"So what if she isn't human? Neither are you."
His frustration and temper flared. For an instant, he almost shoved her hard enough to make her fall, but the look in her eyes froze him in place. She wasn't hostile. Her tone hadn't been accusing, either—merely as matter-of-fact as she did everything else. He jerked his hands away from her. "What do you know about it?"
"I'm not stupid," she said. "You might be part human, or mostly. But no human's got eyes like yours." She angled her head in a curious attitude that had him focusing on her mouth. "You act like I should care."
"Never mind what I am," he snarled, backing away. "It's what you are I'm worried about."
"Speaking of worries," interrupted the captain in a tone that said shut it, "we've got a few of our own."
Van looked up. The captain stood (How had he appeared that fast?) at the port rail with a spyglass at his eye. A second later, the sailor in the crow's nest called, "Sail ho!"
Van hurried to the rail with the lady two steps after.
"A Selbarani ship," the captain said. His mouth set in a grim line. "She's headed hard this way, and her guns are out."