30. The Return of the Civilians

31st of Uirra

Arramy came into the council room after breakfast this morning. He must have been standing the dawn watch; a thick, fluffy layer of fresh snow lay on his shoulders and the top of his hat, proof of the last-of-winter storm that had come skulking up on us in the night.

He stopped short in the doorway, his eyes widening as if he were surprised to find NaVarre and I sitting across from each other at the table, where we were going over all the documents again with a magnifying lens, on the hunt for any other hidden messages we might have missed.

Arramy's brows lowered into a frown. "I want the civilians brought over to the Stryka," he announced, then came all the way in and shut the door behind him, stomping slush from his boots and undoing the togs of his heavy winter longcoat. 

NaVarre looked up from my father's letters.

I put down the magnifying lens. 

"The women are tired of living in a floating tent." Arramy peeled off his coat and his soaking wet gloves and tossed them over the back of the chair at the other end of the table. "The children need proper shelter. Seas are quiet now, but this storm is going to get worse before it gets better... And having them gone will allow your crew to work on repairs without threat of mutiny. Or haven't you noticed the glares your men are getting?" 

NaVarre pursed his lips, then nodded. "Alright. Miss Warring can come over to the Ang with me."

Arramy gave him an unimpressed stare. "That's for Miss Warring to decide."

"I'm sure she'll agree —" NaVarre began, but I cut him off. 

"I'd much rather stay here."

Arramy smirked. It was barely a twitch of his lips, but I caught it. I almost informed him that I wasn't staying because of him, but because I didn't feel like being dangled over the ocean in that swing again. That, and I wanted to see the other survivors again, but mostly the dangling.

NaVarre sighed and sat back hard in his chair. He glanced over at me, then relented. "Fine. For now, but you'll have to stay on the quarterdeck. No mingling."

Perplexed, I turned to look at him. "You're asking me to stay separated from the other women, either in my own cabin, or on a ship full of pirates? Do you know what they're going to say? They're going to say, 'Oy! There is that girl that gets all the special favors! She doesn't have to stay in the hold with the rest of us. And why did the captain take her over all by herself and set her up so nicely in a cabin of her very own?' That's what they're going to say. What do you think the answer will be?"

I fixed him with a falsely sweet grin. "I can promise you, it won't be, 'She has taken up knitting.'" I shook my head, grin fading. "Angry tongues can sink a ship. I've already caused enough trouble."

NaVarre's lips actually curled into a wry smile, but then he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I know what it'll look like," he acknowledged. "But we don't know who sabotaged the Galvania. Until we do, I don't want you anywhere near the other civilians. If they're coming over here, and you refuse to go over to the Ang, you'll have to stay on the quarterdeck."

My jaw went slack. That thought had never crossed my mind. Not once. I was about to object, to say that I had survived alongside those people and I was sure none of them could possibly have done such a thing, but my objection fell flat. He was right, blast him. There wasn't actually any way I could be completely sure.

Teeth pressed tight together, I braced my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my palms, pressing my thumbs into the ache burgeoning behind my temples. I had been looking forward to seeing the women again. I wanted to make sure Laffa was getting decent food to eat, and that she had a comfortable place to sleep. Now they were finally coming over, and I wouldn't be able to see her anyway. Still. At least she'd be on the same ship.

"Fine," I muttered. "I'll stay on the quarterdeck. If that's alright with the captain."

Arramy nodded. Once.

"Apparently I am over-ruled." NaVarre got to his feet. He picked up his hunting jacket and pulled it on, careful of the blades in his gauntlets. "But while we're on the subject of what to do with the civilians, how are we on supplies?"

The captain's lips thinned to a grim line. "Kyro was supposed to restock in Porte D'Exalle. That didn't happen. As it stands, we're low on potable water and vittles. But... If we go to light rations and set up the filters, we can stretch what we've got to four weeks. We should make Nimkoruguithu." The tension in his shoulders said what he wasn't voicing aloud: we would only make land if we didn't run into any trouble between here and there. At all. 

NaVarre absorbed that piece of information, regarding the captain through a thoughtful squint. "Right. Well. I'll check with my Bossun to see what we can spare. Now, if we really are bringing everyone over, there are things I need to do. Good day, Miss Westerby," he added, giving me a courteous bow. With that, he was gone, taking all the sound and energy out of the room with him. 

Silence fell, thick and heavy as the damp wool of Arramy's Navy coat.

I shuffled my father's papers, a blush rising in my ears. 

Arramy took a step toward the door. 

"Thank you," I blurted. 

He went still, his hand on the door pull. 

"For allowing me to have an opinion." I looked up at him. "That was... unexpected. And appreciated."

The captain frowned slightly. He didn't say anything. He just stood there, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Then he inclined his head, opened the door, and strode through the map room, making for his own cabin. 

No bow, no 'you're welcome.' I blinked, then let out my breath on a short, unsurprised laugh, picked up the magnifying lens again and went back to work. 

~~~

The Glorious Arrival of the Civilians was even worse than I imagined. I thought maybe there would be some raised eyebrows, perhaps a question as to why I wasn't coming down to greet them. Maybe a bit of bristle from some over my 'elevated' station. I wasn't exactly everyone's favorite on the Ang, but at least the women had been civil.

It was clear they didn't feel the need anymore.

When the Angpixen came alongside and the transfer of civilians began, even Lorren, who had joked with me while we did laundry only a few days ago, stepped down onto the main deck from the cargo swing and refused to acknowledge that I was right there, standing in plain view, waving at her from the top of the quarterdeck stairs.

I knew she could see me. Her eyes barely flicked over me before she ducked her chin to her chest and made a beeline for the main hatch, as if she couldn't get away fast enough.

She wasn't alone. One by one, all of the women who survived the Galvania made it plain what they thought.

The message was loud for all its determined silence. Whatever I was, I was not one of them. After the fifth or sixth snubbed attempt at being friendly, I closed my mouth and stopped waving as the butcher's wife, and Lorren's sister, and Pellina, and all the rest of them paraded past, some giving me scathing looks askance, some ignoring me completely, some offering an apologetic little nod but avoiding eye contact and crossing the main deck as quickly as they could.

I couldn't blame them. I had kept them all at arm's length when I was on the Ang, partly out of fear of losing another person, partly out of fear of hurting them even more by association, but mostly out of guilt. It had turned out to be quite difficult to strike up a friendship with someone who lost their mother or their child or their husband because I happened to be on the same ship. 

That didn't make it hurt less when the butcher's wife spat a thick glob of saliva in my direction, or when Laffa cringed at the sight of me, yelling the word uinskyrra (soiled street woman) while making a crude sign with her fingers.

I flinched when she did it, and considered running away to find a hole to cry in. It seemed I hadn't been too far off in my predictions. A wall had gone up the minute Arramy brought me over to the Stryka alone.

In the same way someone can't help but watch a steam-engine wreck till the last cargo bin stops rolling, I didn't leave my spot by the railing. Not even when Arramy descended from the aft deck, coming to a halt beside me in time to see the last woman reach the main hatch. 

If her parting glare had been a dagger, I would have died with it buried in my forehead.

"Enjoying the show, Captain?" 

Arramy studied me until I gave in and looked up at him.

He wasn't gloating. He wasn't even smirking. He was regarding me calmly in that stern, steady way of his. Chastened, I offered a wan smile. "Sorry. That was unfair."

He held my gaze for a heartbeat. Then he squinted out at the chop of the broken-slate sea. "The wind is picking up." He continued past me down the stairs to the main deck. "Get inside."

How was it possible to make something that simple sound so much like a rebuke? He was right, though, blast him. Already, the waves were white-topped with spray, and the snow was whipping past at a severe angle. The survivors had been brought over not a moment too soon. 

With a sigh, I went back into the warmth of the Bridge.