“Tell the cook that you have a delicate stomach. He will make a broth for you that will help you steady. If you need anything else, ask for Ibrahim.”
“Thank you.” Jane kept her gaze out at the horizon, grateful for Ibrahim’s advice. Perhaps the trouble had simply been that she could not see anything at all from their cabin. She resolved to spend more time on deck until she became used to the motion, though there was little to see but waves. England had vanished with more speed than she had expected.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Hamilton?” asked Ibrahim.
For a moment, Jane did not answer, before recalling that “Mrs. Hamilton” referred to her. “I was looking for my husband. Mr. Hamilton.”
He would, of course, know to whom she was married. It was more to accustom herself to using the name than anything else. For their entire marriage, they had lived with the surname Vincent. It had originally been her husband’s given name, as The Honourable Vincent Hamilton, third son of the Earl of Verbury, but he had taken the name David Vincent long before he had met her, so that he could pursue a career as a glamourist. Now, though, given the terms of the late earl’s will, it seemed best to be Hamiltons, at least briefly.
The sailor laughed. “Just look to the midship. I think you will spot him readily enough.”
Cautiously, Jane turned her gaze towards the front—no, towards the bow of the ship. Beyond the box of the skylight, a great, billowing opalescence of unformed glamour rose above the ship. A cheer went up from a crowd of sailors bunched around the rail. “What in heaven’s name?”
“Lightworks. It’s a game we play with glamour sometimes, since the use of fireworks is prohibited on ships.”
“I thought it was not possible to work glamour at sea.” Indeed, she and Vincent had made an effort last summer and had barely been able to catch hold of it. Why had no glamourists written about this habit of sailors?
“Oh, there is no managing it. All it does when you try to catch it is make fragments of rainbows, and you lose those pretty fast. It does serve some utility, if you need to communicate with another ship from a distance and have lost your signal flags.” He shook his head. “The game is to see how long a rainbow they can conjure before losing their grip.”
A ribbon of undulating light flowed back in the wake of the ship. The sailors counted, beating the deck with their heels. “One, two, three, four, five, six, sev—oh!”
The rainbow evaporated into a sparkling mist. Laughter rose from the group as the sailors shifted around to let someone else have a go. Vincent stood in the middle of the sailors, with his head cocked to one side in an attitude of concentration. He had lost his hat, although Jane hoped he had simply neglected to put it on, so he stood with his brown curls ruffled by the breeze. He nodded in response to something that a grizzled man said and reached into the ether.
A jumble of colours streamed from Vincent’s hand as he let the glamour fracture into a long banner made up of the spectrum. As one, the sailors started to count again. When they reached ten, the nature of the chanting changed a little. It took on a tone of disbelief and swelled as the men’s enthusiasm grew with each number.
At fifteen, Ibrahim grunted in surprise. “I have never seen anyone go past twelve.”
“My husband is—” She bit off “the Prince Regent’s glamourist” before she could say it aloud because, of course, Mr. Hamilton was not. That title belonged to Sir David Vincent, and even then it was questionable given the state of mourning in the royal court. “He is given to rivalrous competition.”
The glamour fractured amid shouts of, “Nineteen!”
Panting, Vincent leaned forward to brace himself with his hands upon his knees. Jane lost sight of him as the sailors clustered about him with congratulations. Well … at least she need not worry that he would go mad without being able to work glamour.
“If you will excuse me?”
“Of course. Don’t forget to talk to Cook.”
Jane thanked him and made her way forward to the cluster of sailors. Vincent straightened slowly, nodding his thanks at the cries of approbation. The moment he spotted her, his brow turned up in concern. Jane raised a hand to wave and reassure him that she was well. He relaxed, but he still made his way through the sailors to her.
“Feeling better?” Vincent put a hand to her cheek as if to check her temperature.
“Much, thank you. I think it just took me some time to acclimate to the ship’s motion.” She nodded to the group of sailors, who had resumed their game. “I feel that I should ask if you are well. That was quite the display.”