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Frederic Lassiter closed the door quietly, but it did nothing to block out the loud sobbing from the room behind him. He turned as if to walk down the hallway but he stopped just beside the door, pressing his forehead against the wall and measuring out the exact length and depth of each breath he took. He had taken four before a shudder tore through him, rattling his bones down to the soles of his feet.

The captain continued breathing as though he hadn't paused at all.

When he'd returned to the ship, Georgia had been happy to see him. She had tried to pull him in for a hug, but when they both upset their respective injuries, they each laughed to cover up the pain. Her laughter became a harsh coughing fit, and Carissa warned her yet again not to push it. To her left, Dane handed her a glass of water and Georgia nodded her thanks, then begged the doctor for an indulgence. "You lot may have been looking at my mug for the last week," she said, voice still raspy from coughing. "But let my eyes get their fill before you have to kick them all out, yeah?" That was the moment that Frederic chose to explain that they would be leaving for Wheelis in the morning, bracing for resistance, but Georgia only clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "I didn't mean to go so far just to be a little bit more like you, Cap, but I hope you'll take it as a compliment," she said gently. The others laughed with the former deckhand and threw in their own remarks, gently ribbing at the captain with a familiar vigor. Frederic could only smile in relief. Their crew, as much as they had suffered, was just a little less broken than it had been before.

Then Georgia had asked where Uriah was.

The captain could see on her face the very moment her subconscious absorbed the truth from the way everyone fell quiet, and then the very next when she consciously rejected it. "Is he in his own room?" She asked, her voice like pins and needles. "He was fine. He had some cuts and bruises but he was fine. Is he- was he asleep like me?"

The crew traded glances, until almost all eyes fell on Frederic, and he froze.

To the right of the bed sat the redheaded navigator of their crew, and Bonnie gave one hiccupping sob before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Georgia, careful of her injuries. The deckhand was always fond of telling the girl how dramatic she was, but to her left, Dane placed one hand gently on her shoulder. Georgia began to tremble, and then she began to shake in earnest as her eyes welled with tears, her face quickly growing splotchy with red. "He saved my life, Cap," she moaned, staring at Frederic as if begging him to do something, take it back, fix it, anything. "He only came back to get me, he wasn’t supposed- he's not supposed to be- he came back to save me."

"There was an explosion," he tried to say, but the woman's plaintive cries suddenly uprooted his current reality, forcing Frederic to relive that day. He was drawn back to that moment they thought they had escaped the worst of it, right before they were proven wrong. Georgia began to cry in earnest, rocking back and forth in Bonnie's arms. Without another word, Frederic rose up on leaden feet and walked out of the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Then he leaned against the wall and started counting his breaths.

Damn it, she had been happy to see him.

The door opened again and the captain flinched, meeting Carissa's similarly startled face as the young doctor dashed out into the hallway, fumbling the door closed behind her. "Captain, I'm sorry, I should have warned her," she said hurriedly but Frederic was already waving it off.

"It wasn't your place," he said huskily then cleared his throat. After a moment, he nodded. "You've been nothing but professional through this whole ugly mess. And kind. Laurie would be proud."

"Thanks," she said quietly, and she gave him a quick but watery smile before it slipped away, brow scrunching in concentration. "Are you alright? Do you, I mean, would you like to talk about it?"

A laugh came unbidden from Frederic's mouth as he shook his head, unconsciously turning away and staring in the opposite direction. "Ruth is at the guild house ironing out the details, but we should have a ship ready to take us to Wheelis in the morning. I know it would be better to move her tonight, but I think we'll let Georgia rest easy in her room. I'll talk to Captain White, have her fly her Basket out to a dock nearby. I should go."

When he turned to leave, he was stopped by Carissa's hand on his shoulder. As soon as she had his attention, however, it was an act she corrected quickly. "I put some lunch aside for you," she squeaked, motioning to the opposite side of the hallway. When he shook his head again and took half a step away, she frowned and took a half step forward, insisting, "I thought it was irresponsible to make so much food, but there weren't any leftovers apart from what I saved. I had to fight carpenters for you, Captain." The humor fell a bit flat and Frederic made no motion of heading to the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry," he said gently, trying to leave again, but Carissa took yet another step forward, face set in determination.

"You didn't eat breakfast this morning," she said, trying to tread lightly and assert herself at the same time. It worked, for the most part. "And you barely touched your dinner last night before giving the rest of it to Otha. Don't think I didn’t see that." Then, in a voice that she had clearly practiced, she rattled off: "Common neuroglycopenic manifestations are fatigue, confusion, and incoordination, and it can be self-medicated orally by the ingestion of balanced meals."

Frederic blinked. "What?"

Carissa smiled, losing some of her nervous energy, as she said slowly, "It means you should really have a meal, maybe a bit of rest. As a member of this crew and this ship's doctor, I have a duty to look after everyone, including the captain." Then she frowned again, looking her age when she asked hesitantly, "You still want me to join the crew, right?"

The captain let his silence lengthen but when it seemed to make Carissa's panic visibly worse, he nodded. "If you'll have us, of course," he said and then immediately scowled as it occurred to him. "I should've done that while I was still at headquarters, damn."

"Did I mention that another symptom of low blood sugar is memory loss?" Carissa said, feeling brave and goodly when she managed to make the captain laugh. The noise came out strangled and stuttered to an end, but it was a laugh all the same. He sighed and wrapped his good arm around her shoulders.

"Let's go find that lunch then, before I forget my own name," he said, leading them both towards the kitchen when a sudden call came from above deck.

"Frederic, Frederic!"

The man stopped, looking pained for a moment as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He smiled at the look on Carissa's face and shrugged. "Then again, I have other people to remember my name for me." The man turned and began jogging back towards the stairs when Otha leapt down and landed crouched on the floor, rising to his feet with a fluid grace that spoke less of practice and more of instinct. The dark-skinned sailor snapped off a quick salute before he pointed back from where he'd come.

"Some men trying to board the ship with their cargo, claiming they're a part of the crew. Say their papers were sent on ahead so Culton told me to fetch you," he explained quickly but Frederic was already nodding.

"They must be the men that Essie promised me," he growled softly, covering his eyes before letting his hand slide off the bottom half of his face. "I forgot to let Cornelius know about it."

"Are you feeling well? Maybe you should eat something," the younger man teased. He glanced from the boatswain to the doctor and back, closing his mouth and furrowing his brow.

"Don't you start too," he grumbled, pushing past Otha who only chuckled as he turned to follow after him.

"Aye, aye, Captain. After you, Captain," he replied. Frederic had half a mind to say something more but he was already up the stairs and he took a moment to adjust to the sudden daylight of the afternoon sun. It was quickly picking up shades of red as it approached the western horizon, bathing the ship in a warm but brilliant light, illuminating far more than the three men that Essie had forced onto his crew.

A small cache of boxes was already sitting on the deck, locked, sealed, and neatly stacked in three rows. Like an afterthought were a few trunks that looked like they were for carrying clothes or personal items, their sides well-worn by age. It was normal, even if the cargo was a little earlier than he had anticipated, but what he hadn’t expected were the dockworkers coming up the gangplank carrying four boxes of freshly cut pine. There were five people for each box, muscles straining visibly against their skin, the weight clearly more than the boxes suggested. Strangest of all was the unknown man directing them as though he had the authority to do it.

"One box aft and another forward, and keep to the centerline as much as possible, gents," he said, waving one team to the stern of the ship, and another to the bow. "You lot, one port, one starboard– no, that way, amidships, lining up as evenly as possible. If the weight is off by even so much as a pound, I will have you moving these boxes inch by inch until we find the right balance." His voice was crisp and carried well across the ship and though he had the profile of a foreigner, his accent was virtually nonexistent. He had light brown hair that he wore trim and feathered around his face, with the olive skin and green eyes of a native-born Ceolan. Frederic must have made some kind of movement or noise, because he turned and glanced at the captain. The Ceolan man suddenly hesitated, eyelids flickering for a moment before he turned back to the dockworkers that were finishing the loading, adding, "And can I please have somebody take this luggage below decks?"

A couple of dockworkers drifted away from the starboard box towards the stacked boxes in the middle when they were ordered to stop by a gruff voice. Cornelius planted his feet squarely in front of the cargo, one hand outstretched towards the workers and his eyes fixed on the man giving them direction. "Mister Hess, I have already told you that your cargo must remain where it is for the moment."

Thomson Hess sighed, running his hand through his hair and making the brown locks stand more on end. "Master Culton, be reasonable," he started and Cornelius was already giving him a stink-eye that Frederic knew all too well. Clearly, the man was fearless because he carried on. "If I can't get these burly folk to take my things, I'll have to abuse of your new deckhands to carry all of these heavy boxes, not counting their own personal effects, and that's not the right way to make first impressions, is it?"

"For the last time," the quartermaster growled. "Not until the captain is on deck!"

"Well, isn't that him over there?" Thomson said, gesturing to Frederic who still stood at the top of the stairs and visibly startled at being addressed. With a cough and a subtle blush, the captain joined the quartermaster on deck, Otha trailing behind him and grinning widely. He nodded to Cornelius and looked over the three other men who gathered closer.

"Talk about first impressions," a young man with skin like caramel said quietly. It sounded like an underhanded comment, but when the captain looked at him, the man bowed his head in respect. Frederic would've pegged him for a Southerner offhand, but the captain had spent too much time south in the lands of Ban Urenli to not notice the Sahalyian ancestry of his features nor the red hairs that intermixed with the black of his short beard. There were tattoos on both his arms, the fine details of a wolf in blue and a stag in red on his right and left shoulder respectively, and he stood flanked by two others.

On his right stood a man who had the golden skin and almond-shaped eyes of the Yuleni in the northwest but his broad shoulders and strong jaw hinted at another mixed heritage. While being at least three inches shorter than the first one who spoke, he was also the most dangerous-looking one of the three of them. It wasn't anything that he was doing, precisely, but while the man looked at peace, he gave off a subtle menace from his presence alone.

The last of them shared Thomson's Ceolan features, though his skin was just a shade lighter and his hooded eyes were more brown than green. He was also the tallest, a clean six feet if Frederic was any judge, and he had a lean frame made of nothing but sinew and muscle. It was a fighter’s body and he wore the scars on his knuckles like rings. When he smiled, a thin, straight scar on his upper lip stretched and threw off the balance in his expression. For all of that, it was a friendly smile and the captain found himself smiling back.

Until Cornelius cleared his throat.

"Master Culton, Essie did give me their passports and work licenses when I was visiting with her at her office," Frederic said and the quartermaster held out his hand in expectation. "Ruth took it all with her when she went down to the guild house. She should back soon."

"You can't expect her to arrive before bell's end, not with the guild house up in the city. Your lack of attention means that I'll have to see the harbormaster tomorrow to change our ship's registry. You know how that miserly bear of a man can get. Darvy will have me run around from one of the docks to the next about it, just for his amusement," he sounded bitter but Frederic knew by the roll of his eyes that he was prepared to shift all of this over to the captain's hands and go back below decks. One of the new deckhands, the shortest one, seemed to take Culton's irritation seriously and furrowed his brow.

"The Guild Mistress already handed off our paperwork, it's not our fault if you've lost it," he said, and while Frederic felt mildly affronted, the deckhand standing in the middle heaved a long-suffering sigh at his companion and took half a step towards the captain.

"My apologies," he began. "We can retrieve it ourselves if it's too much trouble."

Frederic was already shaking his head. "My First Mate, Ruth, she'll be back from her errand as soon as she can, we can sort it out then. It was my fault for having it slip my mind this afternoon," he said, catching the wry look Otha gave him and pointedly ignoring it. "My name is Captain Frederic Lassiter. This is Cornelius Culton, our quartermaster, and his bos'un, Otha Rains."

"My name is Bohman Barrister," said the deckhand standing in the middle, saluting so crisply it was obvious he was still getting used to the motion. In that same spirit, the two behind him saluted just a moment later after Bohman's prompting. “These are my brothers, Bassett and Buck Barrister."

"Barristers?" Otha asked.

"Brothers?" Cornelius snorted lightly. Bassett, who seemed to dislike the quartermaster already, opened his mouth to speak again, his lips pulled back into a snarl, but he was cut off by a sharp elbow from Bohman. In that same spirit, Frederic reached up and gave Culton a small squeeze on the shoulder. After a shared look with the captain, the older man sighed and turned to go, muttering under his breath in a different language. Otha, who understood some of the Ar'taal dialect Cornelius was cursing in, only grinned and let the man pass him by. He knew he had to follow but he paused for a moment, eyeing the three brothers with interest.

"Do you play cards?" He asked and it was the tallest one, Buck, who answered.

"Like musicians," he boasted, and with a lazy salute, Otha followed nimbly after Cornelius. Buck glanced between Frederic and Thomson both, and shrugged lightly. "Well, I do, anyway,” he said, "Bassett's a decent hand when he’s not distracted, but Bohman gets fleeced if we don't look after him."

"Remind me to sit down with Bohman after payday," Thomson teased, and while the deckhands laughed good-naturedly, Frederic turned his attention to the Ceolan after his playful remark. He didn't miss it of course, turning his easy smile to the captain and holding out a hand.

"Thomson Hess, I'm your new gunnery chief," he said, and Frederic paused mid-shake, turning to look wide-eyed at the boxes now sitting suspiciously on the deck of his ship. The man laughed gently and pulled back, explaining, "There were some upgrades ordered for the Daruna along with your repairs and what we have these fine strapping specimens unloading on all four sides of the ship are Paixhans cannons, nine-pounders to the bow and stern, and sixteen-pounders on both port and starboard. There's that, and this is the bulk of your new armory." He motioned to the stacks of boxes sitting next to the luggage trunks. "There's me, of course, but they couldn't find a box in my colors," he paused, hesitant when the comment didn't earn so much as a smile. Looking at Frederic, it wasn't clear if the captain was angry or just confused. Thomson tilted his head and smiled wryly. "I'm guessing Mistress Gallimore didn’t warn you."

"So that's not our cargo?" Frederic asked and the gunner shook his head curtly.

"No, sir, the cargo is due for delivery the day after tomorrow. Perhaps the day after that, I forget what the listings said. These," he said, walking over to them and patting the wooden slats. There was a shine in his eyes that clearly said this was far more than a job to the man. "These are handguns, shotguns, and rifles, two boxes each. The aim is to arm every member of the Daruna crew."

"To the teeth, if possible," Frederic said flatly, repeating Guild Mistress Gallimore's words that she had spoken to him earlier that day. The woman hadn't been speaking lightly, it seemed. The captain pressed the heel of his palm to the side of his head and held back a sigh—or a scream. He honestly couldn't tell at this point. Frederic needed to talk to Essie about the lengths she was going in violating his rights as a captain. He needed Thomson to explain to him again why there were all of these guns on his ship. He needed the Barristers to go below decks and not witness their new captain's slow grasp on the whirling change around him. He needed the sound of Georgia's crying to stop haunting him.

Instead, Frederic took a deep breath and caught the gunner's gaze.

"None of my current crew is trained in these kinds of weapons, Mr. Hess," he said sternly, and the man straightened, standing at attention subconsciously. "They signed up with this guild, this crew, to be kept out of such violence."

"Sometimes, it finds you anyway," Thomson said flatly. Frederic looked suddenly livid and he turned away without a word. The gunner watched Frederic take a deep breath as he stared out across the dock, but Thomson stood calmly and in confidence, showing not one inch of remorse for his words. The captain turned back to him and closed the distance between them until there was only a foot of space between them.

"We may sometimes work with the imperial military, Mr. Hess, but we're a civilian branch of the Empire," Frederic spoke evenly. "We're couriers, messengers; at best, we are a glorified gharry service. These cannons will attract all manner of pirates, not deter them. This is not idle speculation on my part, I tell you this from experience. And these guns... Marlea ward us, are they all pattern magic?”

When the gunner nodded, Frederic felt his stomach turn uneasily. Each pattern magic weapon, developed with secrets closely and fiercely guarded by the Empire, had a price tag that the captain could barely look at much less stomach, so it was difficult to imagine that he suddenly had six boxes of them at his disposal. Thomson cleared his throat before speaking in a low tone: "The Imperial Prince Jovan paid for these personally, Captain. If you’ll pardon the indiscretion."

The silence that followed was thunderous.

The Prince. Again.

He had to remind himself, just for a second, that it wasn't only the prince's life that his crew saved that day. They had saved dozens of workers and civilians alike. There had been plenty of good to come out of that day in Tierra Lue, even if it didn't feel like it sometimes. The captain rolled his shoulders, embracing the pain he felt where flesh connected to metal, willing it to clear his head just long enough so he could sort things out and get back to his cabin—

"There are nine boxes," Buck's voice shot out. "You said two boxes each of three guns, but there's. Yeah."

Frederic turned to regard the Barrister brothers and the rigid mask that his face had locked into softened, amused by the fact that both Bohman and Bassett were glaring at their youngest sibling. His focus, however, turned right back to the Ceolan gunner when Thomson snapped his fingers and winked at the younger man. "Give the boy a prize, he can count," he grinned, ignoring the dirty look Buck sent his way. "I’ve been a gunnery chief for many different ships, Captain, and my private collection has grown fat from the bits and pieces I've picked up over the years here and there. The extra boxes are mine, and they'll be at your disposal once I'm sure the crew can all fire in the right direction."

"Here and there," Frederic repeated, raising an eyebrow in question, but Thomson didn’t elaborate. He merely nodded.

"Yes, sir, from my travels."

"So you are ex-military, then," he said and Thomson looked mildly impressed.

"Yes, sir, retired Ceolan Continental Forces, at your service," he said, a hint of pride clear in his tone as he saluted in the Ceolan fashion, arm across his chest and parallel to the floor. Frederic quickly glanced from bow to stern but no one was paying attention to them. When he looked back at Thomson, the man was smiling knowingly. "The war's been over for years, Captain, I doubt anyone will care. Ceola and Sahale are allies and business partners. It's almost civilized to be Ceolan these days."

"That's not what," Frederic stopped, thrown for a moment at the gunner's change in topics. He sighed, gathered his thoughts and said, "Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Mr. Hess."

"Captain, I go where Mistress Gallimore sends me," he said, shifting his weight to one foot and slipping his hands into his coat pockets. Thomson raised both eyebrows, gesturing behind him with a nod of his head. "Perhaps this discussion would be better continued in her office?"

"Excuse me," one of the dockworkers, a woman with shockingly blonde hair stepped toward their little enclave, becoming aware of the tensions between the men only after she spoke up. After a drawn-out moment of silence, Frederic looked away from Thomson, acknowledging the woman with a nod. "We're all done setting up the cannons. The carpenters will be able to finish the rest tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Yoakley," the captain said, receiving a smile from the woman when Frederic remembered her name. Yoakley glanced between the two men once more before making her farewells, but was stopped just a few steps away by the captain himself. He had a face like he was choking on a lemon, but his voice was cordial enough. "Could I borrow a couple of your people just a little longer? We need these boxes taken down to the hold."

Frederic didn't look back at the gunner as Yoakley grabbed a few volunteers in taking Thomson's boxes downstairs. In the end, both the Barristers and Thomson himself assisted in the undertaking while Frederic, with one arm, was delegated to directing them. He cautioned them where each step was and when they reached the bottom stair, decided what corner of the hold to stack everything in. Thomson asked that his luggage be placed in the same place, claiming he needed to sort through the inventory and that he could pull out a sleeping roll when he got tired.

"Fine," Frederic gave in quickly. "But tomorrow, crew sleeps in their quarters."

Thomson snapped off a crisp salute in the Sahalyian fashion this time, with his right hand over his heart, and the captain motioned for the others to follow him. The dock workers he waved upward, keeping goodbyes brief as he directed the Barristers to follow him down the hall. There were two empty rooms left, and he led the three men to the one at the very end of the small hallway. "The rooms only have two beds apiece, so one of you will have to share with Thomson."

"We can sleep three to a room," Bohman said, his voice agreeable as before but the look on his face said he wasn’t asking. Frederic raised an eyebrow, but the deckhand only shrugged. "We prefer it that way."

"I call top bunk!" Buck said, pushing his way into the empty room first and scampering up the short ladder to the freshly turned mattress. He laid down with a groan, heedless of the way his feet stuck out over the edge of the bed. Basset set down the bags they had brought with them, two of them carefully on the ground and the last he threw at the back of Buck's head. Bohman, who lingered by the doorway, folded his arms over his chest and cleared his throat, stopping the squabble that was about to erupt between the two brothers with just a look. The youngest sibling grumbled, rolled over and started muttering unintelligibly under his breath. Bassett went dutifully back to the bags, pulling out what looked like a long swathe of fabric with ropes knotted at each end. Frederic smiled when he realized what it was, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him.

"How can I say no when you came with your own hammock?" He asked, and Bohman chuckled.

"We thought there might be this kind of arrangement, given your ship's model. It’s as much for the crew's comfort as it is for us, Captain, trust me. No one else wants to share with either of these two," he explained. Frederic nodded, too tired to fight the man’s logic. If it saved him from future rooming disputes, all the better. He watched as the hammock was quickly but efficiently secured, and the transhuman found himself sighing.

"One of the men whose room this was, he preferred a hammock actually," he said quietly. "It's why the anchors are so scratched up." Instead of the polite attentiveness Frederic expected, Bohman frowned, troubled suddenly and scanning the room with a renewed interest.

"This man, was it Aron Lummel by any chance?" He asked, and Frederic turned wooden beside him. The deckhand ducked his head for a moment before glancing sideways at the tense captain. "I don't want to lie to you, Captain, so here it is: we knew Aron. He helped my family when no one else would take the chance. When we first applied, the SMS turned us down but he gave his good word to Essie that we would work hard if given the chance. So when we heard about Tierra Lue–"

"Don’t," the word fell out of Frederic's mouth before he realized he had said it. Bohman's eyes widened slightly, but he acquiesced and fell silent. The captain felt grateful that he saw no pity in his eyes, only patience. It was because of that the captain took a deep breath and nodded for the deckhand to continue. Bohman ran his bottom lip through his teeth before looking away and at his brothers who were now continuing the tussle he had put a stop to only a minute ago.

"Aron was a good man, and a stubborn fool. Whenever the ship would stop in Arrhen, he'd come to visit my brothers and me. Never had a bad word to say about you, Captain," he said vehemently, glancing at Frederic for a moment. "You should know that. I don't know what my family would've done if it wasn't for him, so when the job listings came up with the Daruna’s name on it, I knew that it was time to pay our debt. Speaking for my brothers and myself, we are looking forward to working with you, Captain." Frederic nodded, accepting Bohman's obvious attempt to reassure him, but there was something else that he picked out of the deckhand's explanation.

"I saw your roster when I was at headquarters," he said quietly, his voice roughened from emotion, so he cleared his throat. "Once you'd finished your pilot's program, you could have had a spot on any ship you wanted, even requested that your brothers serve with you. You're the kind of person Essie is always looking for, so why would she turn you away?"

His once gentle expression closed up and Bohman looked away. After a moment, he found his voice. "If I don't answer your question, does that mean you could kick us off the ship?"

"No," he answered truthfully, and the deckhand nodded.

"Then I'd prefer not to talk about it. Good night, Captain," he said, as clear a dismissal as Frederic had ever heard, made even more obvious when Bohman walked away and inside the room. He lay down in the bottom bunk to the sound of Bassett's protests, to which he replied, "If you wanted to sleep in an actual bed tonight, then you shouldn't have been fighting."

Frederic backed up a step, shook his head as if to clear it and didn't make it five feet down the hallway before Dane stepped down from the stairs. "Hey, Captain," he called, and the man only nodded in return. Dane furrowed his brow but he continued. "Ruth's just returned, and she had Captain White moor her Basket down the dock from us here. Should I have the doctor prepare Georgia to move ships?"

"I am not that cruel," he growled softly, oblivious to how Dane's eyebrows arched. "She can stay here tonight. Give her one last evening at hearth and home before we uproot her again tomorrow." He was grateful that Ruth had talked Treva into moving her ship closer. It was one less thing he had to do among the many and every ignored objective clamored for his attention, but his shoulder was aching fiercely. Was it the pain that was making him feel so light-headed, or was it the fact that he still hadn't eaten today?

Still on the stairs, Dane studied him, his brown eyes intent but not unkind.

"And the cannons on deck, Captain?" He asked, drawing the captain's gaze back from where it had wandered. "My birthday is coming, but I never imagined you liking me so much," he stepped sideways, allowing Frederic the room to navigate the stairs, but the man stepped back and shook his head.

"It's not important, Dane. I'll explain later," he said, thinking that he still hadn't explained how his meeting with Essie went. "There's new crew on board. Ask Cornelius to fill Ruth in."

"You should inform her, yourself," the second mate replied firmly. "She's only upstairs."

He hesitated, halfway between escaping to his room and being drawn back into the fray, but he didn't look back. "Just get it done. Please," Frederic added after a moment.

"Aye, aye, Captain," the Togule said quietly. When the captain decided he'd been too harsh and turned around, Dane was already gone. Rubbing the side of his face with his good hand, he cursed under his breath and followed his heavy heart back towards his cabin.

The room was blessedly quiet, cooled with the summer breeze drifting in from the open windows. That would've been someone on his crew; Ruth probably, though it could've easily been Neonna or even Dane. The idea stung him with guilt as he thought about the questions that would go unanswered above deck. All the same, he stumbled over to the window seat and felt only grateful for the wind on his brow. Frederic stared out at the view of the dockyard and the ocean beyond. He would go back upstairs and talk properly with his first mate, he'd make sure those rosters had found themselves in his quartermaster's hands, and he would let his cook coddle him and force-feed him a late night snack. He just wanted to rest for a moment, take a break from the swirling thoughts in his mind that gave him no comfort.

Just a moment, then he would go upstairs and settle accounts.

Within minutes, he was asleep in the window seat, face rested against the open window frame.

Frederic woke up a couple of hours later, a strong arm around his waist lifting him out of the window seat. They braced him across the five steps to his bed but instead of dropping him, they made sure he was seated before letting him fall gently the rest of the way. He made a noise when his elbow was jarred but a soft hand was instantly at his temples, brushing their fingers across his chilled skin. They draped a knit blanket across his frame and Frederic calmed enough that he didn't hear a door when it opened or shut behind them.

Sleep was insistent, and he dropped back into oblivion.