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Carissa hurried back downstairs, watched Frederic disappear down below and sighed. She could already imagine the next letter she would be writing back to Doctor Swafford as she passed by Cornelius putting the mess room back to rights under Neonna's supervision. The engineers, or engineer and pilot now, were in their bunk room, securing a heavy piece of equipment, and her sick room was crammed. She only had two beds, one with Dane in it, Bonnie perched on the corner, and the other full of Barristers. "Where's Otha?" She asked, remembering the man's bleeding forehead.

"He doesn't like doctors," Bonnie replied.

"Would it help if I took off the coat?" She asked, sobering instantly when the redhead didn't even smile. "You took a fall, Bonnie, do you know if you hit your head?" She shook her head in response, with enough vigor that Carissa was inclined to believe her. Not a moment later, however, and her expression fell again, eyes out of focus. In the short time that she'd known the navigator, she was certain that the lost look on her face was wrong, and her heart squeezed in response. Brow furrowed, she made an aborted move to grasp Bonnie's shoulder before alighting gently on her hand, tightening around her slack fingers.

"I killed somebody," Bonnie confessed.

She opened her mouth, and nothing came out. The redhead looked up, searched her eyes, and still, Carissa was speechless.

"You defended your people," Dane slurred from the bed, and both women turned to look at him. He flapped a hand at Bonnie's general direction. "You were strong, je magdzetln vanda prat."

"I don't know what that means." She replied bleakly.

"Have him translate it for you," Carissa said, hoping that the short conversation might finally get Dane to give in to the sleep web she'd cast, and glad that she hadn't needed to answer Bonnie. She was a doctor, her business was in saving life, and it was a small blessing that she was preparing stitches and not caskets. Their rescue was nothing short of miraculous, even if Carissa took little comfort from it. The Imperial Scouts might have been a welcome relief for most of the crew, but her stomach had turned at the sight of those navy blue uniforms. The fallout was still not something she could wrap her mind around, so she shifted her focus, thought, 'next patient'.

"Okay, who's bleeding, who's bruised, and who actually needs the bed?"

All three started talking at once, and Carissa grabbed Buck's hands as he waved them around, started cleaning off the blood from his fingers. "Did you have to punch everybody?" She asked, ignoring the bickering and glancing up just long enough to catch Buck's smirk. She understood why a moment later, finding no broken bones as she has expected to. Resisting rolling her eyes, she stepped over in front of Bassett. "Isn't this why we had shooting lessons?"

"Punching is easier."

"Those guns almost killed us," Bassett rasped, avoiding her eyes as she turned his head side to side.

"Some kind of magickin found us," Bohman explained without being asked. Carissa's brow furrowed, but she didn't look away from her examination. "Spelled Bassett and me, wouldn't have gotten far without Buck there to clock him."

"Spelled?" She asked, glancing at Bohman up and down, seeing nothing. "Do you know what kind of spell it was? What did this 'maji-ken' look like?" There were only physical marks on Bohman, nothing he wouldn't pick up in a scuffle, but they didn't match the ones on Bassett.

"I forget," Bohman replied quickly.

"And Bassett fainted, I think," Buck added.

"I did not!"

"Yeah, you did probably," the youngest Barrister patted his brother on the shoulder, ignoring the red-faced glare directed at him. "He just needs to sleep it off, Doc."

"Exactly," Bohman replied and motioned for his brothers to stand. They did, Bassett more slowly than Buck, both ignoring Carissa's protests. Bohman's eyes narrowed in an angry tick as he added, "If the captain even lets us stay that long. We check out?"

"You two, fine, get some ice for your hands, Buck," she said. "But Bassett, you have to stay."

"He's fine," Bohman said.

"No, he's not," she ground out and pushed Bassett back on the midsection. It was gentle, all things considered, but the man suddenly heaved, slapping a hand over his mouth and only Buck's quick reaction of turning his brother by the shoulders saved them from the second wave. The smell filled the sick room immediately, eliciting groans and sharp noises from the rest except for Dane who appeared to have passed out at last. He was lucky, she thought, because Carissa had to will herself not to gag. "Bassett, sit back down."

The man trembled so hard that Carissa reached out and tried to help him back to the bed but he resisted, his hand gripping hers like a vice. "No, please, I'm not—"

"You were hit by a foreign magic, and you're not well,” she said, slipping steel into her voice like Doctor Swafford had taught her. "Now sit down, so I can run a diagnostic pattern." Their brown eyes met, and Carissa felt struck by his look of fear. Speaking more softly, she nodded at him, "Bassett, I'm going to help, I promise."

There was a knocking on the doorway. Myka lowered his hand, looking between Julius who had his arm wrapped around Bonnie's shoulder and Carissa, his eyebrows raised. "Do you need any help in here?" He asked, carefully enough that a polite atmosphere might have overlooked the way his eyes flickered between the Barristers, but Bohman's mouth curled into a scowl and he stepped forward.

"Don't you think you've helped enough today, bourgee?" He said low. "We don't need your stink here."

"His name is Myka," Julius snarled, hands tightening reflexively around Bonnie's shoulders, "And he was there at the helm when we needed him, which is more than I can say for you. Be grateful, he probably saved our lives!"

His nostrils flared, Bohman inhaled sharply but it was Buck who spoke, chin jutting out. "Let the grown-ups hash it out, twink," Julius' eyes widened and Myka's face hardened. "Because as far as I can tell you're on board as the captain's cabin boy. I'm sure your mouth's got better tricks than jawing off." Several voices rose at once but the engineer had to let go of Bonnie to yank Myka back by his jacket, and Buck continued even behind Bohman's protective arm, "Oh, you have your boyfriend fight your battles for you?" Bonnie burst into tears, calling for them all to knock it off, and Bassett nearly wiped out as Carissa held him back, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and it all came to a stop when a shrill whistle pierced the air.

"Daruna crew, attention!"

The sick room couldn't be any more crowded but they all shifted a fraction to make space. Bassett stepped in closer to Carissa, smelling of sweat and bile as the crowd parted to allow Ruth inside the doorway. She looked them all in the eye, surveying the room as though she would put an arrow through them all with her mind if she could. "Doctor Sigg," she called out loudly. Carissa tried to stand up straight, remembered the vomit on the floor at the last moment, and made an awkward salute. Ruth raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. "Who exactly should be receiving treatment right now?"

"Dane and Bassett, sir, ma'am," she breathed in deeply, ignoring the rising heat to her face. "And Otha, if you can send him to me."

"Consider it done. The rest of you," her voice snapped whip-like. "Up on deck this instant, in formation, straight lines. And don't think," Ruth hissed and grabbed the front of Buck's shirt as he passed by, his eyes widening. "That I won't have you washing the deck on your hands and knees the minute those blue coats are off our ship." Her gaze flicked towards the elder Barrister, "Not a word, Bohman, because as of this moment, you still get a mop. Go!"

The crew filed through the hallway up to the deck, where Cornelius, Neonna, and Thomson already stood. Otha tried to duck behind the gunner for a moment but a glance from Ruth and he stood meekly as she ripped the bandana off of his head wound and ordered him downstairs to get his stitches. The only Imperial Scouts that remained on the Daruna were by the gangplank, and they didn't bat an eyelash at the display. They had no need to straighten as Ruth joined the head of her crew and called out, "Captain on deck!" Everyone saluted as Frederic ascended the stairs, and if he had gone to stand next to anyone but Ruth perhaps it would have gone unnoticed, but the first mate suddenly stood ramrod straight, mirroring her captain's stance. His shoulders back, the way he hadn't held them since Tierra Lue. She hazarded a look at his face and she couldn't help but continue staring because Frederic was almost smiling.

At the top of the stairs Geoffrey announced the prince yet again, and they all bowed together. Fist over the heart, bent at the waist, those same black boots walked through Frederic's gaze once more.

"I expect that I'll hear from you soon, Captain. Enjoy the apples," Prince Jovan III said softly, and the machinist man bowed a little farther as he murmured a low, 'your highness'. Both the prince and his manservant crossed over the gangplank to the HMS Celestiana. The two remaining Imperial Scouts stepped onto the ends of the plank and it began to retract automatically, the technology another hallmark of their powerful rank in the military. There was another wait as the Scouts united the ropes that moored the two ships together.

"Julius, get the engine ready. Myka, to the helm," Frederic clasped his hands behind his back, as the two left their line. Breaking away from the prince's ship was a slow process, but the transition was smooth, further evidence for Frederic that he'd made a good choice in asking Myka to step in as pilot. "Bonnie," he called out. "Adjust our heading to Tremont for the public docks on the Southside. We'll be expected." She went quickly to her duties and when Frederic glanced back at Thomson, the gunner saluted and hurried back downstairs. Neonna followed him with a frown, and Cornelius waved a sloppy salute at Frederic before he went too. The captain's smile widened with a soft chuckle, so he spoke good naturedly when he turned to the Barristers, "The deck needs to be washed off, gentlemen, thank you."

"You know where the mop is," Ruth added, eyeing Bohman for a moment as they both saluted in sullen silence and walked away. "Captain, a word in your cabin?" She glanced back up at him and he nodded, already gesturing for her to follow him. They walked passed Thomson disappearing into the hold with the cook on his heels and Carissa in the mess room holding a mop and a bucket in front of Bohman, explaining that she needed to borrow it for a quick moment, she'd have it right back. "The sick room first," Ruth paused long enough to see relief on the doctor's face before closing the distance to her captain who had held the door open for her, shutting it behind her with a small sigh.

"Should I ask?"

"No, my question first," she said, crossing her arms as he made his way to his desk.

"I thought it was just a word," he replied, pulling a leather scroll from his jacket before sitting down, a hand hovering above where the bulk of a bandage was obvious. Ruth glanced from his wound up to the pinched look on his face, and her scowl deepened.

"Several of them, possibly ending in a question mark," she said. "What was in the cargo?"

"Apples," he said with a groan, relaxing further into his chair, letting his head hang over the back. "Oranges, lemons, some strawberries. Neonna will be glad, she loves canning."

"Not after you give one of her pantries away." Frederic lifted his head far enough to look curiously and Ruth shrugged. "She pounced on Thomson as soon as we came upstairs."

"This ship was supposed to have an armory, not three different pantries," he murmured, his arm curling around his middle as he slumped further into his seat. "Reveries only know where all that fruit will go now. Maybe Nona will make pie."

"Frederic," Ruth snapped her fingers over the desk and caught his eyes. "Why were we just attacked? Why did the prince show up? And why in Une's name were we transporting fruit?"

The captain considered her silently, all manner of levity vanishing from his expression, while Ruth's gaze didn’t falter for a moment. Exhaling deeply, he sat up a little straighter in his chair. "That day on Tierra Lue, we rescued how many people on our ship?"

"I didn't count them,” she said softly.

"The Commission in Braxton did." Frederic rolled open the leather scroll, fingers sliding across columns of names, a scrap of paper coming loose from the sheaves. "And this one," he pointed at a name that had been circled, one 'Elliott Humes'. "Was found dead in the wreckage of the workshop, after having been evacuated on our ship."

Ruth's nose wrinkled as she rested her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "A clerical error?"

Frederic shook his head. "Someone used our ship to smuggle himself off the island and gave a dead man's name to the Imperial Commission so they could reach the mainland without suspicion, because the attack on Tierra Lue was deliberate. It wasn't a raid, it wasn't bad luck," his lips thinned and his jaw clenched, but Frederic took a deep breath and grabbed the scrap of paper and flipped it over. "The rebels attacked the town, destroyed the workshops, and stole away with this."

It was a simple drawing, a headless pair of shoulders and a thin chest sporting what at first looked like jewelry, two straps over the shoulders and another under the left arm, with crystals in the middle but the pattern was too organized, focused, almost like, "A cypher?" She asked, and Frederic nodded.

"A weapon," he said, and something in his tone made Ruth glance away from the drawing, to evaluate the intensity that her captain was looking at the scroll, at the circled name. "One that could change the direction of this war, break the stalemate forever the prince said."

"And he thought that we had it?"

Frederic looked up at her rising pitch, and he nodded, smiling humorlessly. "The prince thought he could follow us to a nest of rebels," he admitted slowly, head still reeling from the knowledge. "That if we hadn’t intentionally staged a rescue to smuggle the cypher off the island, then we could lead him to the person who did. He thought I was a traitor."

"You?" Maybe the surprise was uncalled for, the way Frederic's shoulders hunched as if accused, but Ruth gaped for a moment longer before scoffing. "Frederic, you're the most loyal Sahalyian I know." It felt wrong how he didn't smile, or meet her eyes, and Ruth's mouth went dry but she scowled harder in response. "He's wrong," she said firmly.

"Of course he's wrong," Frederic agreed, but when his hazel eyes flickered up at her, they looked away almost instantly. "But he had cause to believe it. Have you heard of a freelancer ship named the Raleigh? They're a well-known export crew with otherkind ties, captained by a man named Ethan... Lassiter." He snuck a look at her, but Ruth's face might as well have been marble. She didn't say a word so he carried on, "He's my brother. I haven't spoken to him in years, decades, not since—"

"Since your father's ship fell," she finished quietly. Since his father's death, since a trauma so fierce he lost most of his body to it, she thought, and Frederic nodded. A beat of silence, followed by Ruth's deadpan delivery of, "If he has anything to do with this, I will murder him."

He flashed a brief smile at her, but it was enough. Frederic tucked the scrap of paper into the scroll and rolled up the leather binding. Opening the top drawer of his deck, he slipped it inside and locked it away, slipping the key into his jacket pocket. "Prince Jovan has asked for our help in investigating the theft, in finding who ordered the attack on Tierra Lue, and if at all possible, bringing the murderers to justice." There was that fire back in his eyes, the same Ruth had seen on deck. "And if my brother does have anything to do with this, I'll take you up on that offer."

She nodded, knowing very well that 'killing' was one of the many things Ruth would do if Frederic demanded it. He never would; it's why she would do it gladly. "What do we tell the crew?"

"The truth," Frederic said instantly, then hesitated. "Most of it. We'll tell them that we're investigating the rebel attack with the intent of finding who ordered it done, the one responsible for the lives of our fallen crew." The names flitted through his thoughts, and the captain inhaled deeply. "Anyone that doesn't want to continue on this ship knows their way out." He made as if to rise, but Frederic suddenly slammed back into his seat, face white with pain. Ruth was around the desk before she knew it but he waved her off. He took small, short breaths, his tight muscles visibly uncoiling as he opened his eyes again, a tinge of red in his cheeks. "New legs. I'll be fine," he muttered.

"Sure it's not that hole in your stomach?" She replied, crossing her arms again to avoid the temptation of reaching out, offering her hand only to be rejected. Frederic smiled at that, though, gripped the arms of his chair before levering himself up. He took another moment on his feet before stiffly making his way to the door. He put one hand on the doorknob and paused, a deep breath shuddering through him.

"This feels right," he said, in a low but fervent tone. "It feels like, something I would've done before, when I—" Ruth said nothing, the silence like static around him, but when he turned to look behind him, she nodded.

"Lead on, Captain," she said. A small smile tugged stubbornly on his lips, and he huffed lightly as he opened the door.