The Bright and Breaking Sea (A Captain Kit Brightling Novel Book 1)

Kit stayed on deck until the sails were no longer visible, until the topmast and rigging were cut away. And then she wiped her brow, looked down at the streak of soot on her shirt, and realized she was filthy from the explosions.

They’d been attacked—an Isles ship—during peacetime. She’d need to relay the entire tale to the queen. But since they had no way to get that message off the ship at present, there were more critical matters to see to.

“Jin, you have the helm,” she said, and didn’t wait for his response. She went below, wincing at the ache in her ribs as she climbed down, moved swiftly forward where the ball had struck. She needed to check her injured crew, but if the Diana’s wound wasn’t stanched first, none of them would make it home.

She made her way forward. By the time she reached the forecastle, she was sloshing in ankle-deep water.

The ship’s carpenter, a tall and thin man whose skin and hair were nearly the same ruddy shade, was nailing a barrel head atop the Diana’s hull. The sky shone through the splintered wood, and water dribbled through as the waves rushed by.

“How bad is it?” she asked as the others in the room came to attention.

“Captain,” Mr. Oglejack said. “The patch’ll keep most of the water out, but I can’t keep her entirely dry. Not at sea.”

“Because you’d have to pull out the entire plank.”

“That’s it exactly, Captain. We can fill in a bit more,” he said, and gestured to sailors near the bow who were unraveling old rope into thinner cords, which they’d drive into the gaps with a mallet.

“Hold’s still dry,” Oglejack continued, “and there’s more work to be done, including the topmast.”

“Do we have a spare yard?”

“Aye, several, and we can fix that right enough, but we’re tackling the structural problems first.”

“A good plan, and good work. Keep at it, and let Jin or one of the lieutenants know if you need more men or supplies.”

“Aye, Captain,” he said, and turned back to his people. “Wells, not like that! For gods’ sake, you’ve got to take to it like a lover. Gently, man. Gently.”

Good for Mrs. Oglejack, she thought, and headed aft.

Humans still had much to learn about the workings of the body. And Kit was never more certain of that proposition than when she stepped into an onboard surgery. But the mess was empty of people now but for March, who’d begun to clean up the detritus of healing.

“How many limbs did we lose in here?” Kit asked, swallowing down instinctual horror at the blood on the floor.

March glanced back. “Captain, sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” She still wore her canvas apron, and now it was smeared and streaked with soot and blood. And probably worse.

“No lost limbs,” she said as she scrubbed blood from beneath her short nails. “Lieutenant Phillips was struck in the head by a good chunk of the rail; he’s unconscious but resting. Ms. Teasdale took a pretty large splinter in her side. I was able to remove it, and she’s resting with a poultice. Most of this is hers,” she said, nose wrinkled. “Tamlin’s a bit dizzy yet, and Mr. Cordova’s got a fairly serious broken arm. They’re all in their respective berths. The other injuries are minor.” She held up a finger. “Oh, but for one human bite.”

Kit just stared at her. “I’m sorry. Did you say—”

March’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Aye, Captain. A human bite.”

“But we didn’t engage with the enemy that closely. They didn’t get near the Diana.”

“Oh, aye,” March said again with a widening grin. “But August got a bit excited running about during the chase, and he slipped on the deck. And when Ms. Fahri tried to help him up, August clamped right down on her ankle with what remains of his teeth.”

Kit looked skyward. “For gods’ sake.”

“August told me he had worked his family’s farm during the war,” March said. “Missed out on what he calls ‘the good fighting.’ So he takes every fight a bit more seriously than he ought.”

Given he would have been in his fifties during the war, Kit wondered what work he might have done, or what “good fighting” he’d have been allowed to do. She’d never assigned him to an away team, and they’d sailed together for nearly a year. Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe he needed a better outlet.

She shook her head to clear it. August was the least of her concerns right now.

“Let me know if anything changes,” Kit said, and felt suddenly tired. The adrenaline had drained away now, leaving her empty.

She walked out and moved down the corridor. She found Grant still in the small chair in Dunwood’s cabin. But instead of Dunwood’s pale but smiling face, she found an empty bed.

All the breath left her. “He’s gone.”

“It was the fever. It happened fast.”

That was something, at least. She’d seen her share of sailors who hadn’t had the luck to go quickly.

“I am so sorry,” she said, though those words seemed insufficient. “So very sorry.”

“I’m sick of war,” Grant said. “I was sick of it before. And sick of it more now.” He put his head in his hands, ran his fingers through his hair, and kept them there. “I didn’t want to be here, on this damned boat. I have other problems to solve, my own concerns. And I certainly didn’t want to have failed him. Damnation,” he said, and sat up again, rested his head against the wall behind him. “Damnation.”

Kit had been a sailor long enough to hear the sound of one near the end of his figurative rope—and that it was her job, her responsibility, to pull him back. She’d also learned enough about Grant in the last few days to figure how to do that.

“Self-pity won’t bring him back.”

“Leave me be.”

“I won’t. And as this is my ship, you’ve no authority to order me about.”

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. “Is this the time to flaunt your rank, Captain?”

“If the other option is you stewing in self-blame, then yes. Grieve for your friend, rage at the men who took his life. And then prepare for what’s next.”

“Is it easy to be so cold?”

She looked at him. “Never,” she said, her tone smooth. “But I’m the captain. I’m not allowed to stop, not allowed the luxury of dwelling on my failures, no matter how cruel they are.”

Grant dropped his head back again, squeezed his eyes closed.

“We left New London within hours of learning of his capture,” Kit said after a moment. “We sailed with all possible speed—and magic—to Finistère, and we got him out of that gods-forbidden fortress. He did not die in the hands of enemies in a stinking dungeon. If he was to go, I am glad he went here, in warmth and comfort, and in the company of a friend.”

After a moment, Grant opened his eyes. “Do you truly believe that?”

“I do,” Kit said. “But that I believe it doesn’t make me feel any less miserable for having been unsuccessful in saving him.”

Grant nodded, stared mournfully at the empty bed.

“We’ll meet in the officers’ mess to discuss our next steps,” Kit said, and turned for the door to give him time to find balance again.

“Brightling.”

Kit stopped, looked back.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, and left him to his grief.

Kit checked with Cook, learned Louisa had followed her promise and stayed in the hold until he’d fetched her again. Kit found her in a chair in Tamlin’s small quarters, both of them sitting cross-legged on the bed and looking at a book.

Although no sailor was expected to be on duty at all hours, Tamlin rarely left the top. Kit couldn’t recall a time she’d seen Tamlin in her room to do anything but sleep. And she’d never seen anyone in Tamlin’s quarters; companionship wasn’t something Tamlin often sought out.

But Tamlin read the pages aloud—a story about pirates, it seemed—and looked absolutely enthralled in the tale.

“Ladies,” Kit said, and they both looked up.

“Captain,” Louisa said gravely. “I’m working on my letters and learning about a pirate queen.”

“Is she?” Kit asked, glancing at Tamlin.

“Best to stay below until all business was done above,” Tamlin said.

“It’s always good to improve one’s mind,” Kit said. “I love to read, especially romances.”

Louisa’s nose wrinkled. “Stories with kissing are disgusting.”

“Hmm,” Kit said noncommittally. “I’m told you did very well during our battle.”

“You’re my captain now, so I have to do your orders.”

“Very well done,” Kit said. And now that their mission was done, and they’d be returning to New London, she thought she ought to talk to Louisa about her future.

“Louisa, I wanted to speak to you about where you’ll live when we return.”

She caught Tamlin’s raised brows, but kept her gaze on Louisa.

“I’ll live on board with you and Cook and Tamlin and Lieutenant Hobbes.”

“None of us will be staying on board. When we’re between missions, we go to our houses or our families. I know you told me you don’t have a family, but is there someone whom we should tell that you’ve made it safely home?”

Louisa’s expression shuttered. “I don’t have anyone.”

“No mother or father?”

“My mother is dead. My father ran away to hell and damnation. That’s what the nun said.”

“The nun?”

Louisa pressed her lips together, but that was enough information for Kit. She surmised Louisa had lived in a foundling house run by the Unified Church. She’d have been well cared for, and taught rudimentary reading and writing, but would have been subject to strict rules that Kit imagined didn’t sit well with Louisa. But still . . .

“When we get back to New London, shall we take you back there?”

“No.” Her answer was quick and hard. “They’re mean. And I have friends outside.”

Literally outside, Kit thought, where children huddled together in make-do shelters and searched the Saint James mud for bits of coin or things to sell.

“Hmm,” Kit said. “What if I knew of a different place that you could stay? A place where other girls without families lived.”

Louisa looked utterly suspicious. “Like where?”

“Like the Brightling house, where I live.”

“Where the wee fairy lives?”

“She’s not a fairy, just a bit more wee than you or I. And yes, she lives there with me and our housekeeper and my other sisters.” Kit leaned forward conspiratorially. “There are lots of us.”

“Would I get to go on the ship and still be a sailor?”

“We’d have to discuss that.”

Louisa looked away, blinked as she appeared to diligently concentrate. “Could I maybe meet them and decide?”

“I think that could be arranged.”

“All right, then.”

One question answered. Now, to speak to Hetta.

“He died,” Louisa said. “The man you tried to rescue.”

She didn’t want to have this discussion with a child, even as she suspected Louisa understood tragedy as well as any adult. But Kit thought everyone deserved honesty.

“Yes, he did,” Kit said. “He was hurt when we found him, and although we brought him back and took care of him, he didn’t survive. We’re going to have a memorial on board, and he’ll be given to the sea.”

Louisa looked toward the hull. “Isn’t it cold down there?”

“Deep down, it’s cold. But he won’t feel it, or any pain. Not anymore.”

That was for the rest of them to bear.

Dunwood was sewn into canvas; by Isles tradition, a small pocket had been sewn just above his heart for a golden coin to give him safe passage. Hats were held in hands, Jin said the necessary words, and when it was done, silence fell across the deck again.

Afterward, Kit made her way to the officers’ mess, sat down at the table. Jin joined her, took a seat in silence. Cook came in, gave them both a dour look, and put cups and a teapot on the table. With a curl of his lip, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Kit looked down at the pot, sniffed the air cautiously. The steam that wafted from it smelled of roadside weeds and shoe leather. “He’s angry we lost the tea.”

“He’s angry we lost the tea,” Jin agreed. But they both needed the boost, so by unspoken agreement, he poured “tea” into the cups.

Grant came in. Seeing him again in his pirate gear, arm bandaged, reminded Kit that she was still dressed as one. She hadn’t had time to clean up or change.

He sat down heavily.

“Tea?” Jin asked, sipping from his own cup, and barely hiding his wince.

Grant sniffed the air. “Is that tea?”

“It’s been referred to as tea,” Kit said.

He paused, then shook his head. “I prefer a more identifiable beverage, thank you.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jin said, and Grant nodded.

“Thank you.”

“You didn’t expect to fight again,” Jin said, and Grant looked at him, surprise obvious in his face.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

Jin nodded, sipped, grimaced. “Every soldier and sailor has a limit. And I imagine how quickly we reach it depends on the things we’ve seen, the things we’ve done. The things lost while we were away.”

“That’s very wise,” Grant said, and looked at Kit. “And not the first wise thing I’ve heard today.”

Kit took that as Grant’s version of an apology, and thought there was something lighter in his voice.

“I’ve heard there’s a hole in the hull,” he said. “Can we make it back to New London?”

“Yes,” Kit said, sipping her brown water. “If the weather cooperates, and the sea cooperates, and the patch holds, and the condition of the injured doesn’t deteriorate.”

“And if the gun brig doesn’t get free and find us,” Jin said.

“And that,” Kit agreed.

Grant cleared his throat. “I think I may be able to assist.”

Kit looked up at him. “Assist?”

“Rather than sailing straight to New London, we can make for my home, Grant Hall. Queenscliffe is a small village, but there’s a harbor, and there was some shipbuilding activity during the war. The shipwrights could repair the Diana, or at least enough to make the trip home, and I could arrange for a physick for the injured crew members.”

Kit considered it. They weren’t too injured, too broken, to sail safely back to New London. She didn’t have permission to delay her return. But if the pirates gave chase—or if the Five sent another squadron—they wouldn’t have a chance.

“There’s an inn?”

“There is,” Grant said.

Kit nodded. “The sailors, those who aren’t injured, can sleep on board, or at the inn if they’ve money to spare. And we’ll need a horse to send a message to New London. To the queen.”

“I’m sure we can find a horse.”

If the horse, she thought, didn’t find them first.