The following week passed quickly for Kincade. Several seagulls shadowed the ship, screaming their aggressive call into the night and through the day. Some may still be looking for the feed of chum, which was the remains of the crew sent to the sharks and the deep. It reminded him of a story he was told once. It seems the souls of the people who have died at sea. Traveled back to the land on the backs of sea birds. They had to return to the place of their people before they could start the journey to the land that came next. And as the flew, they would call out to let the living know they carried torment and regret for their life lost far from the land of their people.
Finally, Kincade was moved into the ship's engine room and mainly left alone. Given strict duties and functions, each with limits and controls. The outside remained off-limits to him, unable to see out a porthole or travel to the upper deck. The remnants of the ship's crew remained alive, if only just so. Their screams and denials of involvement with the death of Walters's brother could be heard as the hunt and interrogations continued. The only consistent companion was a bell that rang every hour on the hour. And a knife, one that Kincade had taken to wrapping his hand around as he slept, ready for that which was sure to come.
After a few days, the cabin door to the engine room swung open and slammed against a wicker basket, muffling the impact of the swing. It was not the first day the door had been opened with a hiss, roar, and a clang. But, in Kincade's mind, moving the basket to its location did two things. It removed the shocks, and near heart attacks, he received in the first few days on the ship as Wallace announced his presence by slamming the door against the wall. More importantly, the basket's location directly protests and thwarts any of Wallace's plans to announce his presence, as if he were the King and the slam of the door against the wall was a fan fair of trumpets.
The door opened, and Wallace stepped through and walked directly at Kincade, who stood back to the door in front of a workbench. The workbench was well provisioned; numerous small and large tools were hung on hooks or squirreled away in small draws, along with collections of small connectors and what, to the trained eye, was modified and specialist electrical conductors, in short, a playground for anyone who could tinker.
Kincade stood facing forward and listened to Wallace's footsteps as he approached, showing no sign that he knew of Wallace's approach. These small defiances were now part of how Kincade treated Wallace, taking back small portions of himself lost in the previous months and atrocities.
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A hand slapped down on Kincade's shoulder, spinning him to face the hairy neck of Wallace.
"Well, my lovely?" Wallace questioned with a smile that could charm the skirts of any barmaid so inclined to the attentions of an orangutang.
"Hello, Sir." Kincade quickly snapped back at him. At that, Wallace raised his hand, ready to slap Kincade with the back of his hand.
"What was that!" Wallace demanded. The smile dropped, and the face of Kincade's tormentor returned.
"Oh? Right, you are… Captain." Kincade responded.
"That right, Captain, to you and your kind. Now give me that lovely little bracelet." Wallace half held out his hand. Kincade did not immediately hold up his forearm for Wallace, forcing him to reach for Kincade wrist. Then, Wallace inserted a key into the underside of the brass ring. The key was on a chain that hung as a necklace would, and Wallace twisted it only once. He dropped Kincade's wrist and then wiped his hand on the front of Kincade's shirt.
"Grubby little servant, are you not." Wallace offered.
"Grubby engineer," Kincade responded.
"What! If you will. But not for long. Unless I sell you with this ship. Would you like that? Permanent furniture, body and bones." Wallace offered.
"No, Mr Wallace. I will serve my time with the company." Kincade offered. And in the moment of a blink. Wallace slammed his fist into Kincade's gut, doubling him over.
"No, Captain." Kincade coughed out.
"That is so much better. My lovely," Wallace said with a little shake of his head and a smile. He turned to walk out.
Kincade looked up, still bent over. He whispered, "Idiot says what." As Wallace reached the threshold.
"What was that?" Wallace responded.
"Nothing, Captain. Other than I could use the help of that boy… Err... John." Kincade continued.
"Hmm, I will see what I can do," Wallace said, calling back, moving out of sight. Kincade left his work on the bench and set regulating the ship's engine functions by spinning one of seven flywheels that regulated pressure to the paddle wheel and many other functions.
With each adjustment, the needle on the face of a gage would move in one direction or tother, triggering another or even the same wheel to be spun again or backed off, or in moments of pure excitement, Kincade, a switch would need to be pulled.
Enabling another in another part of the ship and in service of the vessel to pull a small or large leaver. Kincade knew they were there because of the absence of the engine exploding. The engineers' functions ranged from the simple to the complex, on one set of wheels and levers, a hot water regulator for bathing and cooking. On another, power to the rudder of the ship allowed only one sailer to turn the wheel, not two or three like the upright sailing ships.
Someone was stoking fires with coal and wood and taking other functions elsewhere on board the vessel. This ship's design was modular and had overlapping functions to provide redundancies. But that also worked in Wallace's favor because he did not allow the operations to intermingle. They were cut off from everyone else and could not plan or intermingle, except for little John, the ship cabin boy. A scamp who shared a secret washed in blood and held in body and bone. The boy would travel about the ship, giving orders, food, and gossip.
He was invaluable in planning and executing a mutiny.