Page 150 of The Sea Witch
Ben discarded his tattered coat and waistcoat. As he did so, he shot Warne a wary glance. There had always been a strain between Ben and the mage, so he didn’t have to feign warm camaraderie with Warne now.
He pulled out his shaving equipment. The straight razor was an odd weight in his hand. Lighter than a cutlass. And yet, there was a time not that long ago, when all he’d wanted was to be given some means to shave himself.
He went to the small mirror hanging on the bulkhead. The man looking back at him wasn’t the sailing master, wasn’t Bloody Ben. He was someone else. A man without a place in the world.
He whisked soap into foam and lathered his cheeks.
“An anomaly,” the mage said, his voice almost disinterested. “A ship crewed and captained entirely by women. And not merely women, but witches.”
“Indeed,” Ben answered with just as much disinterest. It took some time to shave, his cheeks and jaw slowly revealed with each stroke of the razor. After wiping his face with a towel, he stowed his shaving gear.
He slipped on his fresh waistcoat and did up the buttons. It was looser in the abdomen now, and snugger across the chest.
“Not many have had the opportunity to observe that many witches so closely,” Warne continued.
Ben made a noncommittal noise as he shrugged on his coat. He kept his expression neutral, though he preferred the ornate and dramatic pirate’s coat he’d worn at Lambert’s refuge. This plain naval coat was now tight in the shoulders and arms.
He turned away and discreetly pressed a hand to the center of his chest. He felt Alys there most.
Removing his hand from his chest, he faced Warne. “You seem to think I’ve information on the habits and practices of witches, but the majority of my time was spent confined to the brig.”
“And what of the time you spent on deck? That precious half hour where you had a degree of liberty.”
“Witches haven’t the luxury of formal schooling,” Ben answered. “Compared to what mages are capable of, they’re hardly a threat. Although...”
He leaned closer to Warne and lowered his voice. “I overheard two of the witches talking when I feigned sleep. Therewastalk of cursing me.”
“Unsurprising,” Warne said. “An underhanded and unscrupulous lot, women who use magic. They’ll exploit anything to gain the advantage and keep men in their power.”
As opposed to decent and upright mages, who subjugate creatures against their will?
“They mentioned something about placing markings upon my skin,” Ben continued. “Some kind of patterns and shapes.”
Warne lifted an eyebrow.
“Naturally, I was terrified of such a thing,” Ben said, attempting to imbue his words with as much unease as possible. “I wouldn’t even know what such markings could do to me. They must be a common practice amongst those who wield magical power.”
He waited, hoping Warne might take the bait.
“Likely something only done by witches.” Warne’s expression shuttered, but not before a flicker of some recognition glinted behind his eyes. “Such a practice isn’t done by mages. Not that I’ve ever heard. You had a narrow escape, Priestley, if the witches didn’t execute their plan and put such cursed markings on you.”
“Narrow, indeed,” Ben answered blandly. He had always been careful to make certain no one observed him whenever hecame in contact with seawater. Warne had never seen his markings, nor had anyone aboard theJupiter.
He feigned a yawn.
“Apologies,” he said. “I cannot recall a moment where I had a decent night’s sleep, and after the tumult of the last few days, I find myself unable to keep my eyes open.”
“I’ll leave you to your slumber, then.” Warne gave him one final glance, icy and assessing, before quitting the cabin.
Once he was alone, Ben stretched out on his berth. It was narrow, hardly capable of holding two people, and yet his arms ached to hold Alys. They had never had enough time together. Always, they had been interrupted by the creatures roused by his awakening magic.
Warne had been unsurprisingly chary in giving Ben any information regarding his markings or what they truly signified. If anyone knew what the markings meant, it would be Warne.
Now, though, Ben had another crucial task to undertake. Here, in the heart of the ship that had become his newest prison.
He closed his eyes, and fell asleep, praying his plan worked.
Chapter Thirty-Three
