Page 11 of Unearthing the Smuggler's Heart
It impressed her that they were so in harmony with their tasks and with one another that not once did she need to step aside to allow anyone to pass. They adapted to her as they adapted to the chaos of life on a ship, and she was able to make her crossing in a simple, straight line. They reminded her of the cogs in her clock, oiled and built to work in seamless symbiosis, a perfection of motion.
She reached the polished wooden railing, extending her arms to greet it with the palms of her hands so that she might stop with intention rather than at the behest of the ship's movements. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and drew in a deep, fragrant dose of sea air. From here, she could see Calais. If they were going to the northern coast of France instead of the southern, they could dock within the hour rather than requiring many days on the water.
Nothing was ever simple.
Her hair had begun to pull itself loose from its braided coil, thick brown strands tickling at her cheeks. The effect of a neat coif was certainly ruined now, a thought that gave her a private stab of amusement. She'd always preferred to wear it loose anyway. It had only been the pressures of polite society that had forced her to find ways to tame it.
Perhaps at sea, she could leave it free again. It's not as though Zelda would find out.
Would she?
"Miss Ferris," came the unmistakable, low voice of Mathias Dempierre. She felt his approach like a shimmer of heat on the wind, drawing up to her side. She knew exactly where he was well before he appeared at the railing next to her, in her line of sight. "I've been looking for you."
"You were seeking an apology, I imagine." She sighed, tearing her eyes away from the glitter of the sea to face him—a choice she immediately regretted upon being reminded of what he looked like. She clenched her jaw in the hopes that he would not see her nerves expressed upon her face as her stomach did an absurd little flip of anxiety.
His amber eyes widened with what appeared to be surprise, meeting hers with the casual ease of a man who has never had to question whether or not he should look another directly in the eye. "Good God, no!" he said, a dry laugh escaping him as he shook his head. "Quite the opposite. I was the one snooping around in someone else's things."
"Well, yes," she allowed, so surprised by this development that she felt herself beginning to frown. She folded her hands in front of her and held fast to her determination to get the apology out before she lost her nerve. "I think, under the circumstances, you would be well put in retaining offense at what you found. I did not ever truly believe I would damage your property, sir, but even the consideration of it is untoward, and of course I sincerely regret that the thought ever crossed my mind."
He blinked at her, little sparkles on the crests of the waves reflected in his eyes. He appeared momentarily stunned. "Your list..." he began, trailing off when she held up a hand to stop him.
"Just tell me that you threw it into the sea," she suggested, a wry sort of resignation making its way into her tone. "And then, if you're a man who might be moved to acts of mercy, wait until some time in which I am otherwise occupied, and actually throw it into the sea."
He grinned, those dimples popping into his cheeks with the aggression of well-aimed cannon fire. "I threw it into the sea," he repeated, and sounded truly convincing doing so.
She sighed, feeling oddly relieved despite the play-acting of it all, and turned back to look at the water. "Good," she said, and focused on the horizon in an effort to push those dimples out of her mind's eye. She waited for the aura of his presence to fade away, but he wasn't leaving, instead choosing to lean on the railing himself and take in the path ahead.
He looked utterly at home here, with the waves ahead of him and polished wooden planks under his feet. The wind picked up, sending a light spray of salt into the early-evening air and pulling down more of her wayward tresses from their feeble confines.
"Should you not go and wave goodbye to your family?" she asked softly, tucking what hair she could catch behind her ears. "I saw many people lined up on the shore to see us off."
"I said goodbye to them already," he replied with a shrug. "I have always preferred the look of what's ahead to what's behind, anyhow."
She considered this, her back warmed by the setting sun as they maneuvered into the Channel. They would draw a bit nearer to Calais before turning to the west and navigating out onto the open water. Who was to say what would happen after that? How did one occupy herself in this environment, after all?
"Isabelle says that the stars are at their most stunning when one sees them at sea," Mathias told her, as though able to read her thoughts. "When night falls, you might enjoy taking them in…perhaps after supper?"
"Oh, perhaps," she answered, resisting the urge to tilt her head back and stare up into the blue of the sky as it was right now. She glanced over at where Mathias stood next to her and watched him push back from the railing, adjusting his posture in a readiness to depart her company.
"By the by, what time is supper?" she asked quickly, before he could leave, turning to face him completely. She flushed as those amber eyes fell on her, and folded her hands, her voice softer as she added, "I should like to arrive on time."
He froze mid-movement, a little chuckle escaping him as he scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck. "Honestly, Miss Ferris," he confessed, "I haven't the faintest idea."
And with that shocking revelation, he disappeared into the clockwork machinations of his crew.
The words stayed with Jade as the ship came about, and she was forced to return to the cabin to avoid the glare of the setting sun. It was a relief to find the room empty, with Isabelle Applegate presumably off somewhere on the ship, contributing something helpful to the matter of sailing. Perhaps she could teach Jade to do something rather than stand in the way, when ship's matters were at hand. It would certainly be a more consuming task than looking for places to hide, wouldn't it?
She sat on the edge of the bed they were to share and frowned at her blank schedules, stacked neatly under the clock. She couldn't pen in the evening meal because it was apparently a mysterious event which could occur at any given moment.
What a strange man that Mathias Dempierre was.
Who on earth went through their day not knowing when their meals would be served? Who would wish to? And, perhaps most importantly, who announced such a thing as though it were perfectly acceptable and all was right in the world?
The schedules fluttered a little in the breeze, their corners tickling at the inscription around the clock face.
Of human virtues, patience is most great.
As though to demonstrate otherwise, Jade's stomach grumbled.
