Riven Isles

31 | Spiderwebbing Cracks

"Yes, sir."

"Good lad." He pats my back and sends me on my way.

I start, then stop and turn back. Swallowing, I lift my gaze to meet his. "Are you... Are you okay, Doctor?"

The lines over his brow lift in mild surprise, then fall with a gentle smile. His hand hovers over his chest, where a pendant of Laod's crest hangs. It is usually hidden, tucked away under his collar. I've rarely seen it. "I am working on it. Do not worry, Walter."

I offer a small smile in return and he nods to me.

We part. I push into the captain's quarters and enter a one-sided conversation within, and close the door behind myself.

The captain greets me from his bed, holding his pipe to one side. He takes a draw and then continues rambling to Professor Woods.

"We're outside of the laws, you know, Pansy. Imagine joining in holy matrimony without being hung for it, right?" He laughs at himself, but the professor acknowledges him with little more than a curl of his lip.

Simon, wearing his tweed coat against the chill, slides a string over his page and closes his book. He sniffs and stands and walks out without so much as a word. To which, the captain laughs only harder, falling back onto his pillows. He sits up again to draw on his pipe and eyes me in a way that makes me feel vulnerable. As if he's looking through me, not at me.

I sit in Simon's chair, far removed from the captain.

"How is my crutch?" he asks.

"Very well," I say stiffly. "I hope you don't plan to get up again."

He grimaces. "Once was enough. Fainted, split the sutures and the stitches, ruined my favorite coat. Sapped the livelihood right out of me, too."

"You seem lively enough."

"I've had a long sleep," he replies. "And I'll have another soon enough."

I nod and fold my arms, stretching my legs out. "Well, good."

He sighs and looks at the chair that I'd left near his bed on my last watch. Someone, presumably Simon, had left him a bottle and glass by its feet. He chews the end of his pipe and exhales a long blow of smoke. He puffs quietly to himself for a while, then picks up the bottle and swallows. The displeasure of the drink shows in his pinched brow, and I get the feeling immediately that it isn't his usual.

He sets it down again, unsatisfied, and clasps his hands on his lap. After a few moments, his fingers restlessly twiddle. His eyes roll to the window, to the ceiling, to his leg, to the ceiling.

"Come on, Walt," he mutters after a while. "Give me something to do. Woods was dull enough company. I can't stand all this stillness."

I shrug.

"Hmph, I see." He frowns, taking another long pull on the pipe. He rubs his temples and tries to catch my eye. "Whether you like it or not, there will be more blood spilled, you know. It's not bloodlust, it's just business."

"Yeah." Blood. I feel the nausea in my throat, itching beyond my reach.

"I've got to know you're still with me, Walter."

"Yeah." I swallow. "I am."

He raises his eyebrows expectantly. But, what am I to do? He scratches his whiskers and beckons me over. "Come. Bring me the safe under my desk. I want to show you something."

I slide from the chair, unfolding reluctantly to trudge to his desk. As I crouch beneath, my knees wrinkle the old rug. Awkwardly reaching my arms out in the cramped space, I get a grip on the great steel safe and heave it from its cramped hiding space. It resists, catching on the carpet, so I sit back and pull the whole rug out and lift the safe when it's out where I can stand. His eyes are on me, amused.