“Still, it…” Gwynn stammered. It really had been a long time since they had been shown kindness at all, let alone at this scale. “It means a lot.”
Mirage, whose snout and whiskers were now covered in broth by virtue of having stuck her face in it, meowed in agreement.
“Oh! London, please.” Gwynn smiled awkwardly. “I supposedly have an inheritance waiting for me there, though knowing my mother, it probably got blown on some unadvisable endeavour long ago. Still, as much as I dislike the city, it will be the easiest to find my footing there, either way.”
Lem takes another sip of tea, folding his gloved hands around the chipped porcelain cup. He pauses for a moment, thoughtfully. “Well, if you’ve not got any inheritance waiting for you, you’re welcome to stay with my crew until you’ve earned enough to get by,” he said, smiling. “Being penniless in London can be as bad as being stranded in a foreign port. It’s hard and dangerous work, as you well know, but I take care of my crew.”
Lem finished off his tea and stood, clasping his hands together. “Well, when you’ve had enough, come up on deck. The bosun should be able to find something for you to do.” He edges around the cramped galley towards the stairs back up to the deck, height somewhat awkward in the small room. “I’ll be taking my leave, as I need to discuss the route home with my navigator. Do try not to turn out to be a spy, will you? I do hate it when my officers give me that ‘I told you so’ look.” He grins and winks, a joking glint in his eye. “Terrible for morale.“
“I- thank you.” Once again in the short period of time (was it short? it was hard to know, here) , Gwynn found themself speechless.
They listened carefully to the instruction, nodding as Lem took his leave, and smiling softly at the topic. Joke or not, a captain that actually cared for morale was -
“EXCUSE ME?” A piercing meow tore them from their thoughts. “They’re not a-”
“Mirage,” Gwynn groaned, giving Lem their best I’m so sorry about my cat look, “Mirage, he’s joking. And don’t be rude, he’s doing us a huge favour.”
Sure, a favour to work for, but they would have insisted on doing so even if Lem hadn’t. After all, the favour consisted less in taking them aboard, and more in taking them aboard despite knowledge of their past. There were precious few sailors who wouldn’t go running at the sound of their surname, and Gwynn knew to appreciate that.
Gwynn wasn’t certain how to read Lem’s face - it had changed rapidly, as if something had occurred to him, and then the pause, the way he cleared his throat, and of course… the offer. While they couldn’t be certain of the truth, they suspected it: Lem had heard and remembered the stories of their mother.
“… That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.” Gwynn smiled in a slightly awkward manner and nodded, as the cook went about his business and emerged from the kitchen with the aformentioned broth. “Thank you, I - we really appreciate it.”
How did you even put that into words? Thanks for being accommodating to the child of a cannibal? This would have to do.
Mirage, meanwhile, had scrambled her way out of Gwynn’s pocket. They would have paid no heed to this, as it was a fairly regular occurrence, but she was moving faster, at a rather breakneck speed. She scrambled up onto her friend’s shoulder, and pounced onto the counter from there, before Gwynn could so much as move. She sniffed at the broth, and that was when Gwynn understood.
Mirage wanted to make sure.
She nodded, and Gwynn smiled, and reached for the food.
“Thanks again. I- I don’t really know what to say….” Well, might well admit it. They quickly dunked some hardtack into the broth, immediately stuffing it into their mouth - perhaps a little to fast, but it was an excuse not to talk. They reached for another, though once it was covered in the broth, instead of eating it, they held it out to Mirage. It was gone in an instant - their little companion was clearly hungry too.
“We just came from Mount Palmerston, so we’re flush with supplies. Don’t worry about it.” Lem made a placating gesture with one hand. Ordinarily, he might have patted them on the shoulder, but he realistically had no idea what they’d been through. It’d likely be presumptuous.
He sat down across from Gwynn, after fixing himself a small cup of weak tea, more for warmth than taste. “Forgive me if it’s slipped my mind, but I don’t believe you’ve told me which port you’d like to be dropped off at. London is the obvious choice, but it’s up to you. I can detour as long as it doesn’t take me too far from my route.” He sipped his tea, delicately.
“Still, it…” Gwynn stammered. It really had been a long time since they had been shown kindness at all, let alone at this scale. “It means a lot.”
Mirage, whose snout and whiskers were now covered in broth by virtue of having stuck her face in it, meowed in agreement.
“Oh! London, please.” Gwynn smiled awkwardly. “I supposedly have an inheritance waiting for me there, though knowing my mother, it probably got blown on some unadvisable endeavour long ago. Still, as much as I dislike the city, it will be the easiest to find my footing there, either way.”
Gwynn raised an eyebrow at the remark about the cook being green, since Lem seemed to find something vaguely funny about it. They didn’t quite understand the meaning of it until they actually me the man – the rubbery man.
A small “oh” sound escaped their lips as the chef waved his tentacles at them, amicably enough. Well, this was… interesting. Some might have minded this, as rubbery men weren’t the most popular species in the neath. Gwynn didn’t mind though – they’d seen weirder. However, they weren’t quite sure how to react, so they resorted to smiling softly and waving back.
For a moment, Lem wondered what Gwynn was waiting for – surely the poor thing must be starving, having been waiting at that lonely port for Gods-know how long, but the tales he’d heard of Wendy Nichols re-entered his mind, and his gut twisted slightly. Ah.
He couldn’t help the way his mouth watered. Thinking about it made it harder to determine if the reaction was due to appetite or nausea. He cleared his throat.
“”Ah, if you’d rather not leftovers, I’m sure our nacreous friend can scrounge some biscuits and broth?” He sidestepped the possible problem neatly, giving the Outcast a questioning glance, The rubbery man nodded, wobblingly, ambling around the kitchen and returning with a couple pieces of hardtack and a bowl of warm liquid to set on the counter. It smelled noticeably fishy, and salty, as much on the Zee does.
Gwynn wasn’t certain how to read Lem’s face - it had changed rapidly, as if something had occurred to him, and then the pause, the way he cleared his throat, and of course… the offer. While they couldn’t be certain of the truth, they suspected it: Lem had heard and remembered the stories of their mother.
“… That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.” Gwynn smiled in a slightly awkward manner and nodded, as the cook went about his business and emerged from the kitchen with the aformentioned broth. “Thank you, I - we really appreciate it.”
How did you even put that into words? Thanks for being accommodating to the child of a cannibal? This would have to do.
Mirage, meanwhile, had scrambled her way out of Gwynn’s pocket. They would have paid no heed to this, as it was a fairly regular occurrence, but she was moving faster, at a rather breakneck speed. She scrambled up onto her friend’s shoulder, and pounced onto the counter from there, before Gwynn could so much as move. She sniffed at the broth, and that was when Gwynn understood.
Mirage wanted to make sure.
She nodded, and Gwynn smiled, and reached for the food.
“Thanks again. I- I don’t really know what to say….” Well, might well admit it. They quickly dunked some hardtack into the broth, immediately stuffing it into their mouth - perhaps a little to fast, but it was an excuse not to talk. They reached for another, though once it was covered in the broth, instead of eating it, they held it out to Mirage. It was gone in an instant - their little companion was clearly hungry too.
“Yeah, I hope so.” Gwynn followed Lem aboard. They couldn’t really interpret the shrug well but, like the rest of the fellow, it seemed amicable enough. It was preferable to awkward questions, at any rate. And by far preferable to some extrapolation – they often worried that people might assume they were like their mother. Not Lem though. If he knew who she was, he certainly didn’t think Gwynn was like her. Surely he wouldn’t let them aboard if he did?
“… My condolences.” Gwynn briefly bowed their head at the mention of the casualty. There had been … a lot of those on the Midnight, and they weren’t sure if it was more that that haunted them to this day, or Wendy’s callous disregard and indifference towards them.
“True – I doubt I’ll be much use in this state.” A weak smile crossed their lips. Indeed, try as they might to deny it, they were weak now. Nothing a decent meal wouldn’t fix, though.
The ship was not a large one, and the smell of a fairly unremarkable but warm meal still wafted through the ship – apparently, mealtime had come and gone, but –
“There are leftovers with the cook,” Lem said as they squeezed through the tight corridors, the warmth of the ship almost overwhelming against the clammy calm of Irem’s misty docks. “I hope you won’t be alarmed – he appears a little… green, but I assure you his expertise is satisfactory.” Lem chuckled to himself quietly.
Gwynn raised an eyebrow at the remark about the cook being green, since Lem seemed to find something vaguely funny about it. They didn’t quite understand the meaning of it until they actually me the man – the rubbery man.
A small “oh” sound escaped their lips as the chef waved his tentacles at them, amicably enough. Well, this was… interesting. Some might have minded this, as rubbery men weren’t the most popular species in the neath. Gwynn didn’t mind though – they’d seen weirder. However, they weren’t quite sure how to react, so they resorted to smiling softly and waving back.
Wolfstack Docks, where the trading steamer fleets come in from the lands across the Unterzee, the sunless sea of the Bazaar…
“Gwynn Nichols.” Gwynn nodded. Might as well get that over with, they thought as they scowled slightly and continued. “If you’ve heard any stories attached to that surname, it was probably my mother. She was a bit… peculiar.”
“Extremely politely speaking, that is.” Mirage butted in. Gwynn nodded again. The less polite, more accurate version, involved a lot of swearing.
“Oh dear, sorry about that.” Gwynn ignored the ambiguous grumbling sound coming from their pocket as they apologized for the actions of its contents. “But… thank you so much for coming. I – I hardly know what to say. I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay passage until I can return to London – I supposedly have an inheritance waiting for me, but even if that goes as pearshaped as some final parting … gift from my mother, I have savings, which, quite honestly, I should have brought. However, I can and will work. It’s the least I can do.”
“… Yes. I would, in fact, highly appreciate that.” The prospect of food made Gwynn smile. They’d been trying not to think about how hungry they were, but it had been getting harder and harder, as… “I haven’t actually eaten since… uh…”
They had to pause and think. How long had they been here?“Well, whenever it was we arrived. One never fully appreciates the linear progression of time until one has to do without it.”
Lem chuckled, turning to lead Gwynn onto the steamer with a confident gait. “No need to think too hard about it. I’m sure a good meal will set things straight.”
The name is somewhat familiar – Lem had almost thought Wendy Nichols didn’t exist, early on, but soon learned how plausible the seemingly tall tales could, in fact, be true. He hadn’t thought of them in years, though. He shrugged – whatever Gwynn knew, it was in the past. Best not to pry.
“Helping out on the ship will be enough to pay your passage,” Lem reassured them over his shoulder, stepping onto the deck. “I mentioned this to Mirage, but we suffered a casualty on this voyage, so we’re somewhat shorthanded. Any help would be welcome – but first, you need to be fed, yes?”
“Yeah, I hope so.” Gwynn followed Lem aboard. They couldn’t really interpret the shrug well but, like the rest of the fellow, it seemed amicable enough. It was preferable to awkward questions, at any rate. And by far preferable to some extrapolation – they often worried that people might assume they were like their mother. Not Lem though. If he knew who she was, he certainly didn’t think Gwynn was like her. Surely he wouldn’t let them aboard if he did?
“… My condolences.” Gwynn briefly bowed their head at the mention of the casualty. There had been … a lot of those on the Midnight, and they weren’t sure if it was more that that haunted them to this day, or Wendy’s callous disregard and indifference towards them.
“True – I doubt I’ll be much use in this state.” A weak smile crossed their lips. Indeed, try as they might to deny it, they were weak now. Nothing a decent meal wouldn’t fix, though.
Mirage listened intently as Lem spoke. She heard enough of his hidden upset in his words to assume she was only seeing the tip of an iceberg. And she was … oddly pleased. He cared about his crew. That was a huge step up from Wendy already.
“Oh, they are.” She assured Lem on Gwynn’s ability to work. “They’ve spent all their life on their mothers ship, they’re used to it. And I think they prefer that to being a passenger anyway.”
Gwynn was the sort of person that easily got restless with nothing to do. It was part of what made Irem so unbearable for them.
“Yes, I can see why.” Mirage clambered onto Lem’s arm as it was offered to her. “Yes, everyone, we’re taking a detour to Irem because a cat that jumped out of my mirror while I was shaving asked us to is definitely the sort of thing that requires some evidence to back it up.”
-x-x-x-
Gwynn kicked a bunch of rose petals into the Zee. They’d seen more than enough of those damn things since Wendy had dropped them off. And now Mirage had run off to gods knew where, and left them alone. It had been weird going to sleep without her there. They missed her.
“Ugh.” They grumbled out loud, another kick, another bunch of petals drifting in the water. Gwynn watched them drift up, only managing to follow half of them, the other lost in the swirl of the general petal rain. But then something else caught their eye – a ship was approaching. It must have just passed the smaller island to the southwest of Irem, and it was now making steady course for Carlisle’s Haven.
This could be their chance to leave… but there was Mirage to consider. If she didn’t turn up soon… Well. It would be another few hours till the ship got here, at least. They could always cross that bridge when they came to it…
Those few hours and a lot of pacing back and forth later, Gwynn was watching the the ship dock, trying to make up their mind whether or not to leave without Mirage, when they heard her voice.
“GWYNN!” Mirage skittered and slid down the gangplank, making Gwynn gasp nervously despite the fact that someone was accompanying her.“MIRAGE?!” They called out, running towards the kitten. “Where have you BEEN!?”
“Getting help!” Mirage smirked as she allowed herself to be picked up by her friend. “Like I told you!”
“You didn’t tell me anything, you doofus!” Mirage couldn’t take this rebuttal all to seriously. Gwynn was grinning to widely, and obviously just too happy to have her back. A whispered “I missed you.” only served to cement this.
“I missed you too, sorry I didn’t come back sooner. Anyway, come on you’ve got to meet Lem!”
“And who is that?”
“The captain! He’s really nice!”“Well, if you say so…” Gwynn let Mirage snuggle into her usual spot in the chest pocket of their trench coat as they approached the ship.
“There he is!” Mirage, her head poking out of the pocket, smiled at the guy in the cassock that had disembarked with her. “Lem! Lem! Meet Gwynn!”
“Uh, hello!” Gwynn smiled awkwardly and offered their hand. “Nice to meet you?”
Lem followed the kitten down the gangplank as she skittered down, carefully watching that she didn’t fall off into the green-dark zee. It was wet and slippery, after all – but no such disaster occured, and the captain got to witness a truly heartfelt reunion by the docks – they must really love that cat.
The captain didn’t step forward until he was addressed, not wanting to intrude – but when he was, he smiled warmly.
“You must be Gwynn, then? My name is Captain Lem Crossgrove, and this is the Prudence.” He gestured to the well-loved Phorcyd-class steamer behind them with an affectionate glance. “Mirage gave me quite the fright – she came in through the mirror while I was shaving.” The anecdote was accompanied with a fond chuckle. “I should do some business here to cover the detour, but first, I can show you around and introduce you to the cook, if you wish – no doubt you need a meal. I doubt the petals are very good for eating.”
“Gwynn Nichols.” Gwynn nodded. Might as well get that over with, they thought as they scowled slightly and continued. “If you’ve heard any stories attached to that surname, it was probably my mother. She was a bit… peculiar.”
“Extremely politely speaking, that is.” Mirage butted in. Gwynn nodded again. The less polite, more accurate version, involved a lot of swearing.
“Oh dear, sorry about that.” Gwynn ignored the ambiguous grumbling sound coming from their pocket as they apologized for the actions of its contents. “But… thank you so much for coming. I – I hardly know what to say. I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay passage until I can return to London – I supposedly have an inheritance waiting for me, but even if that goes as pearshaped as some final parting … gift from my mother, I have savings, which, quite honestly, I should have brought. However, I can and will work. It’s the least I can do.”
“…
Yes. I would, in fact, highly appreciate that.” The prospect of
food made Gwynn smile. They’d been trying not to think about how
hungry they were, but it had been getting harder and harder, as… “I
haven’t actually eaten since… uh…”
They had to pause and
think. How long had they been here?
“Well, whenever it was we arrived. One never fully appreciates the linear progression of time until one has to do without it.”