That didn’t mean Nick couldn’t arm himself. Or, if he really wanted to inflict damage, he could bar the door and spill the contents of the stove fire out onto the wooden planks.
The thought soothed Nick, though he didn’t seriously consider it. There was little sense in burning down a ship he was currently standing on. After Nick changed, he lingered in the room, wandering it inch by inch, leaving Kit waiting. One shelf of the wardrobe had silky long-sleeved shirts and leather pants. The other drawers all held smaller items of clothing. Child-sized spares of shirts and pants and jackets. One drawer was stuffed with child-sized boots.
Finally there was a knock. Kit opened the door to glare in at Nick. “I will not wait all day.”
“Half a day?” Nick asked.
Kit’s tail slashed through the air, the sound of agitation pleasing to Nick’s ear.
“Now,” Kit insisted.
Nick waited. And Kit did too.
“Are you going to hit me if I don’t?” Nick asked.
Kit’s glare faltered. His tail twitched again before wrapping around his leg. “No. But I have duties to attend soon, my watch will begin within the hour. I cannot stand here all day. I am not making you go upstairs if you do not wish to.”
Nick’s heart kicked up a gear. Somehow, between one barely conscious moment to the next, this cramped little room had begun to feel safe. The unknown of the ship did not. But Nick recognised the danger in that feeling; this room was no safer than anywhere else. Getting accustomed to the ship and its layout would only help him.
Nick approached the door. “Lead the way.”
Kit didn’t immediately move. He met Nick’s eyes. “I am not forcing you to leave the room if you do not wish to,” he said.
Nick gestured behind Kit to the hallway. “Go.”
Kit went. Nick noted that he didn’t seem to get angry at all and filed that information away. He guessed that Kit would hurt him if he tried to escape, attacked someone, or was ordered to, but he wasn’t going to hit him for giving him attitude. For now, at least.
Kit led him down the hall, and Nick looked side to side as they went. A few open doors revealed small rooms crowded with hammocks and chests, most filled with sleeping men. Rather than portholes for light, there were lanterns in the hall whose light spilled through open doorways.
“These rooms belong to my men,” Kit explained. “Only a handful of my original crew are here. The rest of the rooms house Captain Hin’s men. Food is served three times a day in the dining hall. It’s the largest open room on board. On the wall there is the work rota –”
“Finally finding out what my job is, am I?” Nick asked.
Kit shot him an annoyed look. “I do not meanthatjob, I mean –”
“I know.”
A growl hummed from Kit’s throat, and his tail slashed through the air.
The dining hall was down a set of stairs and well-lit by several lanterns. Nick thought that was a lot of oil to keep on awooden ship. “Why not use those glowing stones that Vi has?” Nick asked. There was a lot of noise as sailors ate and drank together. A table at the far end had two people manning it, bringing out plate after plate of food. There had to be a few dozen men down here at least, and Nick wondered how many men it actually took to keep one of these ships going. A hundred? Two? It was certainly big enough to house that many.
“I can bring you stones, if you would like to cast the spell to light them,” Kit said.
Nick looked at Kit blankly. Kit read his look and turned from him. “The rota is here.” He brought Nick’s attention to a wall of slate, filled with scribbles.
Nick’s inner wrist itched as he focused on the writing. It was unfamiliar lettering, but he understood it regardless. It was a list of names and roles. There wascleaning, linesandlivestockin the section Kit indicated. As soon as he read, nausea crept up Nick’s stomach and into his throat. He ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Are you unwell again?” Kit noticed at once.
“Car sick.”
Nick knew immediately that he’d said it in English—he’d actually shaped the word ‘car’ with his mouth. Kit repeated the word to him.
“Motion sick,” Nick corrected, and that one came out right.
“Seasick,” Kit finally surmised. “Come. Being able to see the horizon will help.”
They began to move again, Nick fighting the urge to curl up. Something about nausea was so much worse than soreness. Soreness could be perversely pleasant, but that was never the case with feeling like you needed to throw up.
