Emma entered the engine room, closed her eyes, and listened to the Parson's engine. The boiler swooshed and hissed in an even rhythm as the pressure built up and overpowered the one-way safety valve in that last moment just before exploding and killing anyone in, on, and around the ship. The din and roaring sound would overwhelm visitors who had not earned a trade as an engineer. Engineers then trade their hearing and hearts for the skill to turn fire and water into the world's business.
Emma's attention had been caught by a small gauge positioned at the top of the massive iron cylinder, the ship boiler. The needle in the gauge was hovering near a red segment. Hopefully, that had been like that since early this morning, Emma thought. Through the night, the stokers and engineer would have been working to prepare the ship for sea, and the pressure would be needed to turn the engine over and drive the paddle wheel.
One of the stokers noticed Emma, and he reached over and poked one of the others in the butt with his shovel. Then, with a slight hop, that man looked up and approached Emma.
"Captain," he almost shouted, touching his hand to the brim of a hat he wasn't wearing, lowering a set of goggles to dangle around his neck. Now resting on a leather apron, the goggles revealed their shape in a mask of brilliant white around the man's eyes, compared to the smoke and coal that blackened his face.
"We got steam, Paddy?" Emma shouted in return as she tapped the gauge, which told her that the steam chamber was ready to feed the turbine, that would turn the propeller.
"Aye, aye, Cap'n. She will get us where we want to go. And we'll drag and haul Neptune's treasure and himself, if'n you need," Paddy said.
"Well, let this beast go within the hour, Paddy," Emma replied
"Good nuff, Captain. Else, I will have to bleed off a little pressure, or we may lose a few of these rivets if we wait too long, " Paddy said, tapping a heavy, leather-gloved hand on the wall of the steam boiler.
"Are we on the hunt? Are we?" asked Paddy, tapping his nose. "The hard sides are packed. And we have the gases for the cells. And, supplies enough," said Paddy.
"Very good, Paddy," replied Emma. She flicked the pressure gauge again, then left the engine room.
* * *
In the ships, mess men sat to eat, drink, and hope that would take away the pounding heads and poor stomachs earnt, in what had been one of the grand benders the sailor under the colors seeks and demands of the best and worst parts of the Pacific rim.
The smell of a roast cooking in the kitchen greeted Emma. She stopped, breathed deeply, and watched Mr. Wolf as he basted several birds resting in a pan with spuds, kumara, and yams. He stepped backward, then turned to a bench to the side. He fished in a wicker basket and pulled out two more large potatoes. Putting them on the cutting board, he cut them each in four with his cleaver, added them to the pot, and closed the oven.
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"I reiterate, for possibly the fiftieth time, please stop using your cooking implements in fights," gruffed Emma.
"Aww…I washed it, well i wiped on my fine covering," protested Mr. Wolf, putting into the cleaver in the bench with a good thud. Emma looked at the apron, what was once a British flag from Wood Rogers's ship, the Duke. Emma had often wondered if that had been truth or a story.
"I want a station report for the stores," said Emma.
"We got food and water, enough oranges and lemons, and enough for a good six at sea. And flour for a tasty pie or two. The boys all done well. All are stowed away. We have enough for the two ships." Mr. Wolf replied.
"Ahem, Captain. We got some people up on deck asking for you," a man interrupted. Half his hair looked like it had been burnt off, and the one-eyed five-foot-tall man looked just a little more strange than he had a few days hence.
"Who is it? Mike," asked Emma.
"A woman and a man," he replied.
Well, that is more of 'What' than 'Who", Emma thought but put aside the question for another, much better question.
"Mike, what happened to your hair?" Emma asked.
"I am not sure one minute I was drinking, nek minute a barmaid was a stride me pouring a bucket spit over my head. She claimed I fell drunk into the fire." Mike explained.
"Had you?" Emma replied
"Looks like it." He replied.
* * *
Striding on the deck of her ship, Emma met Amelia and Hutchens at the top of the gangplank. Emma lifted her hand to her forehead to block the brilliance of the morning sun day.
"And, pray, tell me what you two are doing on my ship?" she asked, scanning both their faces for a hint of misled courage she could quash like a candle flame.
"We are going with you to rescue Kincade," replied Amelia with a stern and somber look.
"And I am here to ensure my friend is not subjected to any horrible business. Like we witnessed last night," affirmed Hutchens.
Turning to Emma, he said, "Now, let's get on with this. Have your men bring our luggage to the staterooms. And this deck is very strange. Are you hiding something down there?" lifting his heal off and stamping it down twice, gently taking Amelia by the forearm and walked toward the wheelhouse. Emma opened and closed her mouth several times, watching them maneuver through the bulkhead.
"You look like a goldfish," said Reo Iti, chuckling. Emma looked at the man's laugh lines, at the corner of his eyes, obscured on one side by a Maori ta moko face tattoo.
"Aren't you? My first officer?" Emma asked the man.
"Responsibilities include, but are not limited to, keeping intruders off my deck!" she said
"True enough. But this is so much more fun," Reo iti said, continuing to laugh to himself, now almost doubled over.
"Get my boat out of this harbor," Emma directed, hitting him on the shoulder and rocking him back a step as she passed.
***
The evening meal was being shared by several of the crew. The chicken was going down a treat. And, a few had returned for seconds and thirds.
They shared stories of narrow escapes from chaps, villains, bobbies, and fathers with pretty daughters looking for romance with the sailors of dubious honor from exotic shores. The life of a sailor, with a girl in every port, was alive and well with Emma's crew. Mr. Wolf emerged from the kitchen, offering her a lit pipe. She thanked him and took several puffs off the long stem.
"What will we do with the passengers?" asked Mr. Wolf pot and spoon in hand.
"It's two days to Auckland. And I think you will find we will put those two on a train back to Wellington. With any luck, my brother will be in tow."
The rapping spoon against the cooking pot broke the moment, and all eyes turned to Mr. Wolf as he called out, "Spuds! Mashed spuds!" All eyes had turned to Mr. Wolf except Emma's. Her eyes remained watching Amelia and Hutchens sitting in a corner.