Seeds of Doubt
The Wavechaver proved to be a sturdy vessel despite its modest size. Its wooden hull was weathered but well-maintained. The brass-clad steam chimney rising at an angle from the port side marked it as one of the newer hybrid vessels—not elegant but practical. Seraphina noted the steady thrum of machinery below decks, the rhythm indicating recent maintenance and skilled engineers.
"We need to inspect the hold," Captain Hawthorne said, that perfect smile still in place. "Though perhaps we should pause here first." He gestured to an open hatch where steam pipes disappeared into the depths. "Our engineering section might interest your alchemist."
The engine room's heat hit them first, along with the complex bouquet of coal smoke, marine oil, and hot metal. Then the sound - a mechanical symphony of hissing steam, rhythmic thumps, and the deeper resonance of the boiler. Brass pipes traced patterns across the ceiling, their surfaces catching lamplight in warm gleams.
Thristle's earlier nervousness vanished as she took in the gleaming machinery. "Oh! That's a compound... wait, those cylinder arrangements..." Her eyes widened as she traced the steam lines. "This is a triple-expansion system! Look at how the steam flows through progressively larger cylinders, each stage extracting more work from the same steam charge. The efficiency calculations must be fascinating." She caught herself, face coloring slightly at her own enthusiasm.
Seraphina hid a small smile at this glimpse of genuine passion, though her eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings. "I'm more concerned with its reliability. Especially given recent events." She gestured toward the harbor visible through the porthole window, where splintered dock remnants still jutted up like broken teeth.
"The engine's quite reliable," Hawthorne assured them, though something in his tone made Thristle glance up sharply. "After the storm took out half the deep-water moorings, getting in and out of port under sail alone became... challenging. Steam power gives us more control in tight spaces."
The engine's rhythmic pulse seemed to catch in Thristle's chest as they descended further into the ship's depths. Each cylinder contributed its own note to the mechanical harmony—the high-pressure stage's sharp beat, the intermediate's steady rhythm, and the low-pressure cylinder's deeper thrum. She recognized the careful tuning that spoke of an engineer's pride.
"Your men keep it in excellent condition," she commented, noting the polished brass and carefully maintained pressure gauges. A practiced eye caught other details - recent repairs, and modifications that weren't quite standard—the kind of changes that might let a ship squeeze out just a little more speed when needed.
"We believe in maintaining our advantages," Hawthorne replied smoothly. "Now, shall we see to your... companion's accommodations?"
The obsidian-lined hold gleamed wetly in the lantern light, its polished surfaces broken by brass reinforcement bands and monitoring gauges. Someone had taken great care in its construction - too much care for just a simple cargo hold. The air felt different here; it was heavy and had more than just engine heat and steam.
Vesper's was taking its confinement about as well as Rose's goose took to being told "no." His surface churned with dark patterns as it tested each corner of its "cabin", looking less like their playful companion and more like the monster from that first terrifying encounter. Its bear skull core rotated slowly, examining the seamless walls.
"It's just for a bit," Thristle whispered, trying to convince herself as much as Vesper. "Just til we get where we're going." The slime's response was a ripple pattern she'd never seen before - something between sulking and plotting revenge.
"Captain wants us topside." Seraphina appeared at the hatchway, her voice carrying that careful neutrality that usually meant trouble. "We're casting off."
The climb to the deck felt longer than it should have. Each step away from Vesper made Thristle's stomach twist a bit tighter. But what choice did they have? With Lord Blackbriar's mysterious task hanging over them like storm clouds and no other ships willing to take on passengers, they were stuck with Hawthorne's perfect smile and too-knowing eyes.
The Wavechaser slipped from its moorings as the sun began to set, steam hissing through carefully maintained pipes as the engine helped guide them through the harbor's cluttered waters. Above, sails caught the evening breeze, while below, the triple-expansion engine added its own force to their departure. The hybrid system working in perfect coordination, much like the crew's practiced movements.
"Your quarters," Hawthorne announced later, gesturing to two tiny but surprisingly clean cabins near the stern. His smile hadn't changed since they'd boarded, which was starting to seem less charming and more unnatural. The steady pulse of the engine transmitted through the deck planks.
"We'll be sharing," Seraphina cut in before Thristle could even look at the second cabin, her tone suggesting arguing would be unwise.
Hawthorne's eyebrows lifted just slightly. "I assure you, both rooms are quite-"
"Given our friend's recent adventure in early-morning wandering," Seraphina interrupted, giving Thristle a look that made her want to hide under the nearest blanket, "I believe closer supervision is warranted."
Thristle felt her face heat. "That was different," she muttered. "I wasn't thinking-"
"Precisely my point." Seraphina was already moving their things into the cabin with efficient precision. "This one will do nicely, Captain. Though we appreciate the thought."
"As you wish." There was something calculating in the way Hawthorne watched them, like a merchant totaling up unexpected profits. "You take your duties as a lady's maid quite... seriously."
"Lord Blackbriar's instructions were very specific about ensuring his ward's safety," Seraphina replied smoothly. "One can never be too careful at sea."
Once Hawthorne left, Thristle collapsed onto one of the narrow bunks. The engine's vibrations traveled through the frame, a constant reminder of their movement away from shore. Away from any chance of escape. Her hand reached unconsciously for her belt where the recipe remained hidden.
"You don't have to guard me like I'm five," she grumbled. "Where exactly would I run to on a ship?"
"No," Seraphina agreed, positioning her rifle where she could reach it easily from her bunk. "You'll just fret about Vesper, try sneaking down into the engine room at some ridiculous hour, and probably cause chaos in the process." She began unpacking with military precision, though her hands lingered a moment too long on Thristle's spare clothes. "Hence, shared quarters."
"I wasn't-" Thristle started, then caught Seraphina's knowing look. "Fine. But I still don't like leaving him down there alone."
Seraphina paused in her methodical unpacking, one hand half-reaching toward Thristle before pulling back sharply. "Neither do I," she said quietly. "But for now, we play along. Until we figure out what game our smiling captain is really playing."
Below them, through the ship's wooden bones and steam pipes, they could feel Vesper's restless movements. Its containment might hold, Thristle thought, but she had a feeling their problems were just beginning.
---
Night settled over the Wavechaser like a thick blanket, bringing with it the kind of quiet that made Thristle's thoughts too loud. The engine's rhythm had settled into a gentler pattern now they were clear of the harbor, its steady pulse counting the moments as port lights faded into darkness.
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A burst of activity broke through her brooding - sailors rushing about, arguing over a sail that had somehow worked loose in the gentle breeze. Seraphina, being Seraphina, went to investigate why it took six grown men to handle one bit of rigging.
"Can't sleep?" Hawthorne materialized beside Thristle, making her jump. How did someone with such perfect teeth move so quietly over creaking deck boards? "First night at sea often unsettles passengers."
"I'm fine," Thristle replied automatically, though her hands gripped the rail tighter.
"Hmm." He leaned against the rail, watching the chaos with that same practiced smile. "Curious thing about your maid - not many household staff handle weapons quite so... professionally."
Thristle's stomach twisted. She'd noticed too - the way Seraphina moved, how she always positioned herself with clear sightlines, that rifle that seemed more like part of her than any cleaning supplies.
"I've heard interesting rumors," Hawthorne continued softly, "about certain research facilities. Places where unique specimens prove quite valuable to the right people." He kept his voice casual, but each word settled like lead in Thristle's gut. "Makes one wonder why a nobleman would send such a well-trained guard to escort a simple alchemist."
"She's protecting us," Thristle said, but the words sounded hollow even to her.
"Is she?" Hawthorne's voice carried just enough concern to sting. "Or ensuring delivery?"
Before she could respond, footsteps approached. Seraphina emerged from the gathered crew looking irritated in that particular way she got when people were being incompetent at her.
"If you'll excuse me," Hawthorne said quietly, perfect smile back in place. "Need to check our heading before the watch changes."
"You should rest," Seraphina said as he left, her voice carrying its usual practical tone. "The first night at sea can be... unsettling."
The same words Hawthorne had used, Thristle realized. She followed Seraphina below deck, each creak of the ship now seeming to whisper questions she didn't want to answer.
---
Night settled into the hold, the lantern light catching obsidian's gleam. Vesper's surface rippled in slow, methodical patterns as it worked.
A copper hair ribbon - absorbed during that first chaotic meeting in Lord Blackbriar's garden.
Fragments of red clay from a broken pot.
Tiny bits of colored glass from who-knew-where, their edges worn smooth by its careful manipulation.
Even a few strands of thread from Thristle's torn clothes, though those had nearly dissolved before it learned to preserve them.
With delicate precision that would have shocked those who'd seen it devour the boar, Vesper began arranging these treasures on the hold's floor. The glass fragments caught the light like eyes. The clay formed curves of a face, slightly wrong but drawn from memory. The hair it crafted was longer, redder than reality - perhaps confusion, perhaps something else. Each piece moved with careful purpose, guided by tendrils thinner than a human finger.
The portrait that emerged was almost Thristle, but not quite. Like an artist working from a description rather than life. The smile was different - wider, with normal teeth. The eyes held none of that nervous energy. Even the posture was wrong, more confident than Thristle's habitual defensive slouch.
Vesper studied its creation, surface churning with deep blues and puzzled purples. A tendril reached out to adjust a piece of glass, then withdrew. The bear's skull tilted, considering. Something wasn't right, but it couldn't quite understand what.
Footsteps overhead made it pause. Quick and precise - Seraphina doing her rounds. Vesper's surface moved with something like resignation. With movements as careful as its assembly, it began gathering its treasures back into its mass. Each piece disappeared into carefully maintained pockets where they wouldn't dissolve, saved for the next attempt at understanding.
The portrait vanished piece by piece, like a dream fading at dawn. Only the bear skull's empty sockets seemed to remember, turned toward where the image had been as if trying to reconcile two different versions of the same person.
Above, the ship creaked onward through the dark, carrying its cargo of secrets and questions toward whatever waited ahead.
---
Sleep proved impossible in their shared cabin. Thristle lay in her bunk, listening to Seraphina's steady breathing and trying not to think about how the woman always slept between her and the door, one hand never far from that rifle. Guard or Gaoler? The line seemed thinner every day.
Through slitted eyes, she watched Seraphina's perfect stillness. Not the relaxed rest of a maid, but the alert quiet of someone who'd learned to sleep ready. Someone who knew about things that moved in the darkness. Seraphina's own eyes opened briefly, catching Thristle's gaze before both quickly looked away. They were both pretending to sleep, both watching, both wondering what the other was waiting for. Below, Vesper's restless movements echoed their unspoken questions.
---
The honey jar she'd smuggled from their supplies felt cold against her palm as she slipped from her bunk during a particularly loud groan of the hull. Just a quick visit, she told herself. Just to check.
The hold was too quiet, the obsidian walls casting weird shadows in her lantern light. The engine's rhythm felt different here, its vibrations creating strange patterns in Vesper's surface. The slime rippled at her approach, but the usual cheerful blue was gone, replaced by deeper, uncertain colors.
"Hey," she whispered, uncorking the honey. "Brought you a treat."
Vesper's response was oddly subdued. A tendril slowly extended for the offering but without its usual enthusiasm. More like it was accepting the honey just to make her feel better.
"I know," Thristle murmured, watching its muted response. "I don't like this either. But it's just until-"
"Until what?" Hawthorne's voice came softly from the shadows, making her nearly drop the jar. His smile looked different in the lantern light - less perfect, more genuine. "Until you reach wherever they're really taking you? Or until your friend's unique properties can be... documented?"
Thristle backed up until she hit the obsidian wall. Behind her, Vesper's surface churned with dark patterns but stayed contained. "I don't know what you mean."
"No?" Hawthorne stayed just at the edge of the lantern light as if he was having a casual chat about the weather instead of whatever this was. "Has your 'maid' explained exactly where you're heading? Why was Lord Blackbriar so specific about these walls?" He tapped the obsidian lightly. "Most cargo holds don't need quite such careful... containment."
Vesper went still behind her - that particular stillness that usually meant it was paying very close attention. She could feel its surface patterns shifting even without looking.
"Of course," Hawthorne's voice softened with what sounded like genuine concern, "there are other options. For those who prefer their friends free rather than... studied."
"And what would that cost?" Thristle asked, hating how her voice shook slightly.
"Nothing unreasonable. Just the chance to observe. Learn." His smile looked almost kind now. "No cages. No experiments. And certainly no armed guards making sure the specimen arrives intact."
A board creaked overhead. Thristle's heart jumped - how long before Seraphina noticed her empty bunk?
"Think about it," Hawthorne said, already fading back into the shadows. "But not too long. We'll be reaching certain... positions soon where choices become quite final." He paused. "Oh, and let's keep this between us? Your guardian might not appreciate such independent thoughts."
When he'd gone, Thristle turned to Vesper. The slime pressed against its barrier, forming patterns she'd never seen before.
"What do we do?" she whispered. Vesper's only answer was a small tendril that reached for her, stopping just short of the obsidian walls.
---
Dawn found Seraphina on the deck, the first hints of sunrise painting the steam clouds from the chimney in shades of gold and rose. The engine's rhythm had changed slightly - the subtle difference that meant they were making full speed now.
"Lovely morning." Hawthorne appeared beside her with that unnaturally perfect smile. How someone could look so polished before sunrise was probably suspicious in itself. "Though I confess, I've been meaning to discuss a... delicate matter."
Seraphina's hand stayed close to her rifle. "Captain?"
"I feel I should share certain... concerns," He leaned against the rail like they were discussing the weather. "About your charge's history. You're aware, I assume, of her previous activities in Port Sallow?"
Seraphina's expression remained carefully neutral. "Lord Blackbriar informed me of relevant details."
"Did those details include her connections to certain merchants? The ones specializing in moving unusual goods past customs?" When her eyes narrowed slightly, he continued, "Oh yes. She made quite a name for herself during her apprenticeship. In certain circles."
"Your point, Captain?"
"Simply that old habits tend to linger." He gestured vaguely toward the hold. "And that remarkable creature of hers... well, there are collectors who pay handsomely for such specimens. The kind of coin that might tempt someone with her particular skills."
"You seem well-informed about these collectors," Seraphina noted, her voice carrying a dangerous edge.
"One hears things, in my profession." His smile stayed perfect, though his eyes were calculating. "I noticed her visiting the hold last night. Rather late for a simple welfare check."
"I was aware," Seraphina replied, though something tightened around her eyes.
"Naturally." He straightened from the rail. "I just thought you should know - there have been... inquiries. About unusual creatures. Substantial rewards offered." He adjusted his perfectly pressed cuffs. "It would be unfortunate if old associations proved stronger than new loyalties."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and you might want to examine her belongings. Carefully. Professional advice, you understand."
Seraphina watched him go, her face set in its usual mask of calm efficiency. But her fingers drummed once against her rifle.
---