“Good morning, Sentinel Saint-Cloud.”
I turned and just managed to stop myself from bowing. Silently cursing persistent old habits, I turned my aborted movement into a crisp salute.
“Good morning, Captain Tancrède.”
“Mister Clyve tells me you’re on the road to recovery.” Captain Benedict Tancrède gave me a cool, evaluating look. “You seem much improved.”
“Thank you, sir.” I’d spent several depressing minutes that morning inspecting myself in the cabin’s small mirror, and I was all too aware of the greyish pallor of my skin. “I’m sure I can thank his good care for my recovery.”
It was a bald-faced lie. As far as I could tell, Sheldon Clyve’s pharmaceutical draughts and boluses had done nothing but turn my stomach, but I wasn’t about to criticize one of my peers to the captain.
“Yes, he’s had quite a bit of experience with fevers, for which we can all be grateful. Nothing more devastating. I’ve seen entire ships laid low.” Tancrède glanced away, as if preferring to avoid further discussion of such ill-omened events. “You’ve chosen a fine day to recover.”
“Might I ask where we are?” I saw a flicker in his expression and quickly added, “If you’d be so kind, sir?”
“We were becalmed on the edge of the Chevachèche Archipelago,” he said, a bit distantly. Had I offended him? I was still trying to figure out where I stood in the ship’s social hierarchy. “With this wind and Kyrchye’s blessing, we should reach Adrahan in a few more days.”
“I’m relieved to hear it, Captain.”
Tancrède gave a polite nod and strode on. I sighed. I wasn’t accustomed to feeling awkward in a conversation. I wasn’t accustomed to being anything less than superbly competent at my job.
Under other circumstances, I might have been more comfortable in the captain’s company. He was a distinguished man in his fifties, with close-cropped black hair starting to recede over a high forehead and dark, piercing eyes set in a sun-darkened, prematurely weathered face. He wore his Imperial Navy uniform well, and from what I’d gleaned from wardroom gossip, he came from a well-to-do Candorian family. Outside of the ship, we might have spoken together as peers, but here … well. I’d joined the Chaser just under a month ago as newly warranted sentinel, replacing the ship’s previous “beck on deck,” who’d died of infection after taking a foot-long splinter of oak in her leg after a lucky salvo from the 14-carronade brig Damme Boy. It was fair to say that I was still very much untried and unskilled when it came to my naval duties. The captain was never rude to me, but it was clear he held reservations.
I ran my hands over my face, feeling the salt spray on my skin, and returned to my study of the horizon.
To be sure, I held my own reservations. I hadn’t exactly planned to pursue a career in the Imperial Navy. But one afternoon, after a few drinks too many, I’d found myself exiting my company warehouse and walking across the dockyard to the Imperial Navy’s recruiting office. I’d asked the man at the desk whether the Navy’s need for sentinels was so great that it might consider hiring someone of my own forty-nine years of age and utter lack of prior military or naval experience.
The Navy’s need was that great, it seemed. The clerk eyed my silver Cislunar Vigilance pin, swept me into a waiting room, pressed a cup of hot, sweet tea into my hands, and asked if I’d mind waiting to speak to the Commissioner of the Board of Sentinels and Security as soon as she came out of her meeting. Silently sitting around nursing a drink didn’t bother me at all, I assured him. After all, I had been doing just that, more or less, for the last two months. Tea had been a nice change of pace, though.
“Good morning, Sentinel.” Cadet Cutter stepped up to me, looking enviably well-rested despite what couldn’t have been more than four hours’ sleep.
“Good morning, Cadet,” I replied. I couldn’t remember what it had been like to be so young and to wake up so refreshed, but I hope I’d appreciated it.
The young man turned his back to the rest of the ship, standing side-by-side with me, gazing out at the water.
“You’re the subject of some whispering among the hands today,” he confided. I cast him a sidelong look, immediately imagining a half-dozen embarrassing things I might have done during my bout of fever.
“…Is there a problem?” I asked, with apprehension.
“Not as such. It seems the crew noticed that the Chaser was becalmed shortly after you fell ill and was freed from the doldrums immediately upon your recovery. There are rumors you’re a weather worker — in these waters, at least.”
“Why in these —” I stopped. “Nonsense. I’m four generations away from my Chevachèchen namesakes, whereas Master Caraby was born in the islands. Besides, at least a quarter of the crew must have some Chevachèchen ancestry.”
“But none of them are sentinels.” With his back turned to the crew, Cutter seemed to feel it safe to flash me a mischievous grin. “Sailors are superstitious. When you fell sick and the ship stopped, they called you a jinx. Now that you’re awake and the ship’s moving again, they’re decidedly more interested in keeping you on board.”
“Good to know.” I kept my eyes on the horizon, aware of how many sailors were working around us. Had they really considered throwing me overboard? Nothing in the Imperial Navy’s recruitment spiels had mentioned that. “But I assure you, Mister Cutter, I have no control over the weather.”
“As may be,” Cutter allowed, “but it might be wise to let the crew believe otherwise.”
“…I understand.” If nothing else, his words brought home to me how much I still had to learn about negotiating this strange little social setting in which I’d found myself. “Thank you. I’d be grateful for any other observations or clarifications of my role you might offer in the future.” Did that sound sarcastic? I hastened to add: “I do mean that, sir. I know that I am well out of my depth.”
Cutter nodded, stepping back from the rail.
“You’ll be fine, especially if the hands favor you,” he said before leaving. His gait and posture were much like his uncle’s, I thought, watching him walk away. Children must mature quickly in the service. He seemed much older than the fourteen-year-olds I knew in Cislunar, either still attending school or working as a hall boy or gardener’s assistant. Still, young as he was, he seemed clever, and I was glad to have at least one ally on the ship. I might need one, I thought wryly, if the winds died down again and my newfound reputation as a weather-worker was debunked.
Fortunately, the winds held, and I soon stopped worrying about the matter. Every day I spent several hours tutoring the ships’ youngsters in reading, writing, and mathematics, and several more pacing the ship’s upper and lower decks or studying its masts and lines, striving to memorize the Chaser as thoroughly as I’d memorized my own home and the Vigilance Orderhouse in Cislunar. I would need an intimate knowledge of the ship to protect it during battle; in many ways, my job on board was not dissimilar to the job I’d once held in the Vigilance. I simply hoped I’d do better protecting the Chaser from enemy vessels than I had protecting the Orderhouse from religious terrorists … but those were thoughts I couldn’t allow myself to entertain for any length of time. Not without a bottle in hand.
The ship’s crew tolerated my intrusions into their domain with commendable patience, a few generous souls going out of their way to point me toward less-trafficked sections of the ship that I might not have thought to explore, and others taking the time to explain the mysteries of the rigging and its ever-shifting patterns. I treasured such small kindnesses. I’d brought with me several books recommended for new naval officers, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that their well-ordered lists and theories bore little relation to the day-to-day hustle of actual shipboard life … and none at all to my new role as ship’s sentinel. Accustomed to deftly managing my own household, the Orderhouse’s defenses, and much of the Cloud Trading Company’s business operations all at once, it was most unpleasant to find myself constantly stymied by the impenetrable arcana of naval seamanship.
I was returning from one of my evening perambulations through the lower decks when I found the ship’s master standing by the door to my cabin. He started as I walked into the wardroom, closing his large hand around something as he turned.
“Saint-Cloud.” Gustave Caraby was a stout man, Chevachèchen, his strong features lined and weathered. “Will you join me in a drink?”
I glanced from Caraby’s face to his closed fist, wondering what he was hiding, and nodded. He disappeared into his cabin a moment before returning with a half-empty bottle of port and a glass. I retrieved my own glass and he poured. Then, without a word, he handed the bottle to Mister Clyve and the purser Charles Tio, who were engaged in a game of chess. They politely thanked him as they filled their glasses.
Caraby and I settled on the other side of the wardroom table. I tossed back the port with a shiver, enjoying its welcome burn all the way down.
“Thank you, Mister Caraby,” I said, setting the glass down. “That’s very kind.”
“My pleasure, Sentinel — please feel free to call me Gustave, at least when we’re away from the hands.”
“Thank you.” I hesitated, but this was not the Vigilance, where I’d been highly ranked and could remain aloof from my peers. “I am Mazarin.”
“I wonder,” he asked, hesitating. “Would this … happen to belong to you?” Keeping his hand below the level of the tabletop, he opened it. I studied the small, oddly carved piece of wood wrapped with thread and bits of copper wire that sat in his palm.
“I’ve never seen it before. What is it?”
“It was hanging from your door.” His solemn eyes studied my face.
“I see. Is this yet another naval tradition of which I’m unaware?”
“No. Just garbage, I suppose.” He closed his fist over the object. “If you will excuse my asking a forward question, Saint-Cloud … why did you decide to sign aboard the Chaser?”
I cocked my head at the odd question.
“The Navy ordered me here. I believe the Chaser was the closest ship to Cislunar that needed a sentinel.”
“You didn’t ask for this assignment in particular? Did you know we were being sent south to Chevachèche?”
“I didn’t, but I was pleased to hear it. My great-grandmother came from Chevachèche four generations ago, and I’m—” I stopped, finding it difficult to speak around the lump that had risen in my throat. I cleared it and forced myself to continue. “I’m hoping to find some family there.”
Caraby’s breath escaped him in a low hiss.
“Why? What do you intend to do if you find them?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Why do you ask?” I made a point of glancing at his closed fist. “Is there something I should know?”
The chess game on the other end of the table had stopped, Clyve and Tio giving up any pretense of not listening. Caraby’s answer was slow in coming.
“You are, I believe, related to the owners of the Cloud Trading Company?”
“I am….” I couldn’t tell from the ship master’s expression whether he knew that I owned the Cloud Trading Company. I hadn’t advertised the fact — to do so would be crass — but the Navy had known, and therefore I assumed Captain Tancrède knew.
“There have been … labor disputes on the islands with the company, and violence has been threatened. I would not recommend going ashore using the name ‘Saint-Cloud.’ It might cause … difficulties.”
“I appreciate your concern,” I replied, meeting his eyes, “but looking for any relations I might still have in Chevachèche is extremely important to me, and I fail to see how I can do that without using my name.”
“Besides, Gustave,” Tio interjected, “I can’t imagine some disgruntled porter having it out with a Navy sentinel no matter how bad the labor disputes are going.”
“I understand Adrahan better than you, Charles,” Caraby retorted with a frown, “and a sight better than our new sentinel, as well … no offense.”
“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself from annoyed labor activists, should it come to that,” I said, letting my tone grow a few degrees colder. I might know nothing about the navy, but I was still a rank-four sentinel.
“No doubt, but Captain Tancrède frowns on his Chasers getting into brawls while ashore.” Mister Clyve forced a laugh in an obvious attempt to ease the tension. “Besides, I’d rather not be called to patch up wounds while I’m on shore leave.”
I released my irritation with an effort. This wasn’t the Vigilance, and these were people I was going to be living with in close quarters for quite some time to come.
“I will take your concern under advisement,” I said, tersely.
“All I ask is a day or two of caution, no more, until I can be certain you won’t run into any difficulties.” Caraby refilled all four glasses. With polite murmurs, we all saluted each other.
“We shall see, Mister Caraby.” I tossed back the second glass as quickly as I had the first and cast a hopeful glance at the bottle, but it was almost empty. “I may be able to give you your day or two. But perhaps you would do me a favor in return?”
“If I’m able,” the ship’s master said with caution.
“I would like to learn Chevachèchen, if you would be willing to teach me,” I said. “My family has retained a few words and phrases over the generations, but it won’t be enough on the islands, and I expect my pronunciation is dismally incorrect.”
“I’m surprised the Saint-Clouds would let their heritage slip away like that.” He gave me another long look. “But yes, I can teach you.”
The next day the Chaser entered a chain of islands, so that the ship was seldom out of sight of a shore. Fishers waved and cried out as we passed, and I waved back, storing away their half-heard words to ask about later.
“Ever been here before, Sentinel?” asked Lieutenant Ruth Guerin, commander of the ship’s complement of marines. She was a tall, rail-thin woman who shared our officer’s wardroom but spent most of her time with her marines.
“I haven’t, Lieutenant. My maternal great-grandmother was born in Chevachèche, and my paternal grandfather was Chevachèchen, but for the most part my family’s heritage is Empyrian.”
“I heard that you’re looking for some of your Chevachèchen relatives?”
“I hope I might find a few.” I looked down and smoothed the sleeve of my blue coat to hide my frown. Somebody from the wardroom had gossiped, of course. I wondered what else they’d gossiped about. How much they knew about what had brought me here. “Perhaps I can bring the branches of our family back together again.”
“I wish you luck. I expect we’ll be stationed in these waters a while, so you should have plenty of time to investigate.”
“Have you been to the archipelago before?” I thought of Caraby’s warning. “Perhaps you have advice for a first-time visitor?”
The corner of Guerin’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t underestimate the kleren.”
“Who are they?”
“It’s the local liquor. If you aren’t careful, you’ll find yourself dancing on the tables after your third glass.”
“Do you speak from experience?” I ventured, encouraged by her nascent smile.
“Damn near broke my leg. Hell of a hangover, too.” She shifted the rifle on her shoulder and stepped back. “We’ll likely reach Adrahan before nightfall. Maybe I’ll meet you in port? We should take some time to discuss signals and strategies, and we can do that in a bar as easily as a wardroom.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan,” I said with feeling. Anything that would help me do my job better would be welcome.
“Look for me in the Seahorse, then.” Guerin lifted a hand, striding onward toward her marines. I smiled, feeling like I’d achieved some sort of personal victory. Guerin seemed like much more amiable company than Caraby, at least.
By early evening, just as the lieutenant had predicted, we put into port alongside a number of other, much larger ships that formed the Auster Ocean Fleet. Captain Tancrède disembarked at once to report to his superiors, but, to my disappointment, I was left aboard. The next morning he informed us that the Chaser would remain in port a few days longer, and I was given permission to take the jolly boat to shore, along with several other officers granted leave.
Walking on land was an unexpected challenge after spending weeks adapting my stride to the ship’s constant roll. Obscurely ashamed of my unsteady gait — if I were going to stagger around like a fool, I should at least have a few drinks under my belt — I made my way through the narrow streets around the waterfront.
Even this early in the day, Adrahan’s lanes were crowded with touts bellowing the merits of the nearest taverns and boarding houses and vendors carrying goods to the bumboats. Screaming gulls added to the cacophony, and I wondered if any of the birds had flown all the way here from my own home. Could gulls fly that far? It was a curious thing not to know, I mused, sidestepping a puddle. I used to consider myself well-educated, but the past few weeks had made me painfully aware of how much I didn’t know.
After surveying the boarding options by the docks, I decided that I wasn’t interested in being robbed in my sleep and ventured deeper into town. Eventually I found a respectable-looking hotel where the staff spoke excellent Empyrian, and after a moment’s hesitation, I decided to give shipmaster Caraby’s concerns at least a minimum amount of attention and signed the ledger as Mazar Rin. I sighed as I set down the pen. My childhood nickname had been Rin-rin, although none but my oldest and dearest friends dared use it anymore. Which reminded me … I needed to write to them before the Chaser left port, to let them know I was alive and well.
“I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Sentinel Rin,” the desk clerk said deferentially, her eyes flickering from the ledger to the silver Vigilance badge I wore on the lapel of my warrant officer’s coat. “Please let us know if there’s anything you need.”
I nodded, thinking how odd it was to be anonymous. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome. I supposed by rights I should stop by the trading company offices, but … I shook my head sharply before any thoughts could settle.
After I’d tipped the bellboy and closed the door behind him, I walked to the small mirror over the gilt-edged commode. The face that looked back at me seemed like a stranger’s. I touched the fine lines around my eyes and mouth, made more apparent by my frown, and the grey starting to show in my dark hair. For years I’d quietly prided myself on looking younger than my friends, but ever since my brother and his family had been killed, little signs of age had started to accumulate like cracks in a foundation.
“You’re fine,” I promised my reflection. “You may be a dreadful naval officer, but you’re still a sentinel and a Saint-Cloud.” The grief rose again and I abruptly turned away from the mirror, rubbing my hand over my face. “The Saint-Cloud.”