“You were ordered not to feed me.”
Hadrian shrugged. “I’ve also been ordered by the captain to see that the crew is fed and fit for duty. You’ve been up a long time. A man could fall asleep without something to help keep his eyes open.”
Wesley looked back down. “That’s coffee, isn’t it?” the young midshipman asked, astonished. “There’s not more than a few pounds of that on the entire ship, most of which is reserved for the captain.”
“I did a bit of trading this afternoon with the purser and managed to get a couple cups’ worth.”
“Why offer it to me?”
Hadrian looked up at the night sky. “It’s a cold night, and punishment for falling asleep can be severe.”
Wesley nodded gravely. “On this ship, a midshipman is flogged.”
“Do you think that’s Beryl’s plan, sir? For standing up to him this morning in front of the other officers, I mean.”
“Maybe. Beryl is a tyrant of the worst order, and a libertine who squandered his family’s fortune. I suspect Beryl would not even notice me, if it were not for my brother. By beating me he thinks he is superior to our family.”
“Your brother is Sir Breckton Belstrad?”
Wesley nodded. “But the joke is on him. I am nothing like my brother, so besting me is no great accomplishment. If I were like him, I would not allow myself to be bullied by a lout like Beryl.”
“Take the coffee and bread, sir,” Hadrian said. “I can’t say I care for Beryl, and if keeping you awake tonight gets under his skin, it’ll make tomorrow all the better in my book. The orders of the captain override a senior midshipman’s.”
“I’ll still have to put you on report for this morning. This kindness will not change that.”
“I didn’t expect it to, sir.”
The midshipman studied Hadrian, his face betraying a new curiosity. “In that case, thank you,” he said, taking the food.
Dovin Thranic walked through the waist hold. Dark and cramped, the ship’s bottom deck reeked of animal dung and salt water. A good four inches of liquid slime pooled along the centerline gutter, forcing him to walk up the sides, hurdling the futtock rider beams to keep his shoes dry. The next day he would order Lieutenant Bishop to direct the detail of men to work the bilge pump in the evening to ensure he did not need to go through this every night. He was a sentinel of the Nyphron Church, presently one of only two men allowed to speak personally with His Holiness the Patriarch, and yet here he was crawling through sewage.
His unsettled stomach made the ordeal even more miserable. After several days of sleeping on board the Emerald Storm while it was in dock, he thought he had gained his sea legs. The initial wretchedness had subsided only to return now that the ship was rolling at a different cadence on the open sea. While not nearly as bad as before, his nausea was still a nuisance and would make his work less enjoyable.
Thranic carried no light but did not need one. The sentry’s lanterns at the far end of the hold gave sufficient illumination for him to see. He passed several sentries, seret who stood rigidly at their stations, ignoring his approach.
“They seem quiet tonight. Have they been behaving?” Thranic asked as he approached the cages.
“Yes, sir,” the senior guard replied, breaking his statuesque facade only briefly. “Seasickness. They’re all under the weather.”
“Yes,” Thranic noted, not without a degree of revulsion. He watched them. “They can see me, you know, even in the dark. They have very good eyesight.”
Because a response was not required, the seret remained silent.
“I can see recognition on their faces, recognition and fear. This is my first trip to visit them, but already they know me. They can sense the power of Novron within me, and the evil in them instinctually cowers. It’s like I’m a candle, and the light I give off pushes back their darkness.”
Thranic stepped closer to the cages, each so densely packed the elves were forced to take turns standing and lying. Those standing pressed their filthy naked bodies against each other for support. Males, females, and children were jammed together tightly, creating a repugnant quivering mass of flesh. He watched with amusement as they whimpered and whined, struggling to move away from his approach.
“See? I am light, and the putrid blackness of their souls retreats before me.” Thranic studied their faces, each gaunt and hollow from starvation. “They’re disgusting creatures—unnatural abominations that never should have been. Their very existence is an insult. You feel it, don’t you? We need to purge the world of the stain they cause. We need to do our best to clear the offense. We need to prove ourselves worthy.”