Chasing the Lantern(24)

The gust pulled at his hat. Fengel paused to consider the force of the wind. Was it a threat? A real danger? No. Its strength was insufficient. His hat was secure and his hair was safe from being mussed. He returned his attention to the deck. Fengel clasped his hands behind his back and waited to be noticed.

Two minutes passed.

Fengel frowned. He thought about saying something, clearing his throat maybe. But no, that would ruin the effect. Also, the shift watch moved busily. He was loathe to distract them; it was good that they were so focused. The Dawnhawk was a new vessel, and not just to them. It had its own kinks and unique that would need to be identified, and compensated for.

Still, this was vexing. Maybe I can go down and come back up?

"Captain on deck!" bellowed the acting mate. Fengel breathed a small sigh of relief. His faithful steward had saved him once again.

The crew dropped their tasks at the cry and turned to face him in attention. They didn't salute, that would have been far too much to ask of the men, most of whom had served under a Perinese lash. But acknowledge him they did, and it brought him warmth. It was good to be noticed when one wanted to.

Fengel gave a nod, and the men and women of his crew returned to their tasks. He walked a wide circuit through them, pretending to inspect the work as he made his way back to the helm. His crew knew their duties well. Still though, it was good to show a watchful eye.

Maxim stood with Henry Smalls at the ship's helm, expending just enough effort with the wheel to keep them straight to their course. Fengel took in the navigator's sullen glare and decided not to press it. All aetherites were a little erratic, and their unique skills called for a lighter touch than most crewmen. As well, most crewman couldn't hex a man to misfortune, or light him aflame like a candle wick with just a thought. Fengel had little fear of dark and dour Maxim, though. The man was an experienced hand and could be counted on when necessary.

"Morning, sir," said Henry Smalls. His stout steward was again acting first mate in Lucian's absence, a role Fengel knew he did not enjoy. "Did you rest well?"

"Well enough," Fengel answered. Truthfully, he felt better than that, almost ebullient. Good food, plenty of rest, and a ship of his own again beneath his feet. The fact that the latter had been stolen, from under the besotted nose of his erstwhile spouse, why, that was just icing on the cake. And there was more than that. He had a plan, a heading, and a fantastic treasure awaiting them at the other end of what promised to be a quiet shakedown cruise.

What could possibly go wrong?

"Excellent to hear, sir," said Henry, ever dutiful.

"Of course it is, Mister Smalls. Of course it is. But first things first. My shave?"

"Ready and waiting for you, sir." Henry produced a stool and a bucket of soapy water. Fengel sat and removed his hat, presenting his chin so that Henry could go to work. The little steward did so with razor and scissors.

"Anything on the log?" asked Fengel while his steward groomed him. He had rested well, but there were gaps that needed filling. Aside from a small, necessary appearance the morning before, he'd spent all of the previous day and evening holed up in the captain's quarters, recuperating.

"I am happy to say that all's quiet," replied Henry. "We're two nights out of Haventown. Hugged the coastline south. Currently on course for Breakneck Bay to pick up Lucian. No sign of pursuit, so Natasha hasn't been able to convince anyone else to fly out after us."

Fengel permitted himself a small smile, pleased that his expectations had borne out. Natasha didn't have another ship, and would have been forced to begging another captain to help. That wasn't likely to happen. People obeyed old Euron, not his daughter. And for all her beauty, she really wasn't that well loved. Some tried to curry favor with her, but that last encounter at the Bleeding Teeth had produced one nugget of important information: all her real allies were away from port at the moment.

"Yesterday was quiet enough," continued Henry. "Crew are getting a hand on things. The Mechanist here is a surly sort, but seems to have taken a shine to the new girl. Lift your chin, sir."

Fengel thought back. "Miss Stone?"

"That's her. He seems to like how she respects the mechanisms on board."

"A typical Mechanist." Fengel mused to himself as his steward pulled out the little scissors for his beard. "How is Miss Stone doing?" The less he thought about their ill-fated trip to Triskelion, the better. Their flight from the city had been hurried and desperate. When Miss Stone had begged to come along, he hadn't really been thinking about his reply. He'd figured that he would simply deposit her in Haventown. Not much chance of that happening now.