Arabella of Mars(34)
The lid of the teapot also fastened with a twist, and the spout was plugged with a cork. “Get this up to the old man straight away,” the cook said, thrusting the pot at Arabella. “He don’t like it if’n it’s too strong.”
She drew in a sharp breath at the pot’s heat, and juggled it from hand to hand. Were the cook’s palms made of leather?
As she came up on deck with the teapot, Arabella held it to her chest with one arm—bunching up her shirt to keep the pot from burning her arm and side—so as to keep the other hand free. And she was most glad of that free hand as the wind assailed her, threatening to whip her away immediately; she clung to the guide ropes and shuffled along, not letting either foot leave the deck, for fear of being swept overboard.
Though there was no rain as such, the rapidly moving air was filled with stinging tiny drops of water, which half-blinded her eyes and made the footing treacherous. At least it was fresh, not salt.
At last she reached the quarterdeck, requested and received permission to ascend, and approached the captain with her steaming burden. But just as the captain was turning to face her, she felt a jerk on her ankle and fell forward.
The teapot flew from her hands, bounced once upon the deck, and sailed away into the roiling heavens. In moments it was lost to sight.
Furious and ashamed, Arabella looked behind herself to see what had tripped her. The young officer who’d led the crew that rowed her and the captain across from the dock to Diana—Binion, that was his name—stood nonchalantly by the rail, with his foot several inches from where her safety line snaked across the deck. But the line, she noted, extended dead straight from her to Binion, then curved away from his position, as though it had a moment ago been drawn taut by some force in his vicinity.
“Ashby,” the captain said, and she snapped her attention back to him.
“Sir?”
“I requested you bring my tea to me,” he remarked mildly, “not fling it over the side.” But his face was very serious.
Arabella took a breath to explain herself, but the captain interrupted her before she could speak.
“On this ship, Ashby, we do not lay blame or make excuses. Each man must perform his duty. Upon occasion, circumstances intervene; in such a situation, we are judged by our ability to do what is required despite any obstacles. Do you understand, Ashby?”
Arabella swallowed her excuse and her pride. “Yes, sir.”
“I am still waiting for my tea, Ashby.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” She turned, with as much dignity as she could muster in a state of free descent buffeted by winds from every direction, and hurried back to the galley.
As she passed Binion, he gave her a nasty, knowing smirk. “Captain’s boy, eh?” he muttered, so low that no one else could have heard it. “Captain’s bum-boy, more like it. It’s clear you’re no airman.”
She glared hard at him, but though he was her junior by several years, he did outrank her and she dared not raise her voice to him.
He met her gaze with a nasty, knowing smirk. “Don’t get above your station, bum-boy,” he whispered. “You’ll be smacked down, and don’t think you won’t. And don’t go running to the captain neither.”
She glanced quickly at the captain, who stood in conference with the other senior officers just as though they were not all floating in a near-weightless state. The captain’s eyes met hers, and he flicked one finger in a clear gesture: Go.
She went.
And she’d show that snotty little Binion that she was too good to rise to his bait.
*
Days passed. As Diana drew further round the Horn, the constant buffeting of the winds grew stronger and even more capricious. The captain kept the topmen busy watch after watch, constantly raising and striking and adjusting the sails to catch the favorable winds and coast through the unfavorable ones.
When the wind was in Diana’s favor and all sails were set, life was calm; the ship seemed to simply drift along, the sails billowing gently and a mild breeze blowing across the deck from astern. But this seeming tranquility belied the ship’s actual velocity, for she was embedded in a mass of moving air whose speed might exceed eight thousand knots.
But when the wind blew contrary, the captain struck all sails and Diana flew with bare poles, doing her best to glide through with the speed and heading she’d built up during the last favorable wind. Winds might come whipping in from any side, above, or below, and could shift dramatically at any moment. Even seasoned hands wore safety lines, and the men of the watch on duty scrubbed the deck or polished the brass with one eye on the weather. For at any moment a favorable breeze might pick up and the captain call all men aloft to set sail, or equally likely a new and even more inimical wind might suddenly begin to blow from another quarter, tumbling men set too firmly against the old wind over the side.
*
And then came the times when no wind blew at all.
These times were rare at the Horn. But when they did occur, Diana must needs move quickly and nimbly, lest she find herself becalmed in an atmospheric eddy, losing all the momentum she hoped to build up at the Horn for the long swing to Mars. Without that momentum, the voyage to Mars might take not just two months, but over a year.… a year for which the ship’s stores of food and water would be sadly inadequate.
Arabella was filling and winding the lamps in the captain’s cabin—a fascinating small clockwork mechanism advanced the wick and provided a draught to keep the flame alive—when the bosun’s pipe sounded, followed by a chorus of voices: “Idlers and waisters to the pedals!” Sighing, she carefully capped and stowed the oil canister before reporting to her duty station.