The Kingdoms - Natasha Pulley Page 0,54

was obvious that the process took hours. He gave straight data to the eldest, measurements of constellations, and with the youngest it was more of an algebra lesson. They were working with the ship’s real location, on the charts that Kite already had out on the desk. The littlest girl looked delighted when Kite let her mark their current location with a cross on the map. It must have been a high honour. Joe felt strangely betrayed. Kite was good with the children. If he’d just been a vicious man, it would have been all right, but watching him be kind made everything that had happened feel personal.

Fred Hathaway was miles ahead of the others. It was fun going through the exercises in his exam book. They were easy enough for Joe to understand, but complicated enough that it was a good piece of mental acrobatics.

After the lesson, Kite hurried the little ones out to bed. It was hard to watch. There were four of them and they went in a line like ducklings. The eldest three, including Fred, stayed for a drink and talked about their families and letters from home. Kite didn’t say anything about his own family, if he had one, but he seemed to know all their mothers’ names and what their sisters did. There was a wine glass for Joe as well.

In the background, the Scottish man who’d come with them on the ice, and who seemed to be Kite’s servant, was sewing. He was called Clay, which suited him, because he was an unhealthy grey colour. His thread creaked through the cotton. Over the smell of the wine, and the young men laughing and the quiet bump of steps outside on the deck, it was homely. The swinging lamps slung shadows up and down the room.

Bells chimed out round the ship. Joe checked his watch. Three hours. He couldn’t think where the time had gone. It disturbed him, that he had settled so quickly. He was still on edge, and the whip-mark down the back of his head still ached, but he hadn’t been frightened during the lesson and, much worse, he hadn’t been angry. He was going to have to learn to stay angry if he wanted to get away from here. Otherwise – otherwise, he would just get used to it. Like he got used to everything.

Joe waited until the midshipmen had all gone and then coughed in case Kite had forgotten he was there, but he hadn’t. He glanced over while he gathered together the cups and glasses.

‘Don’t smoke in here,’ he said.

Joe put the cigarette case away.

‘Filthy habit,’ Clay said unexpectedly from the corner. He shot Joe a dark look, but then he glanced at Kite to see if it was all right and settled back against the wall when Kite smiled. It was unnerving. It was a child’s manner in a middle-aged man. Joe’s neck crawled again when it occurred to him to wonder if Kite had done whatever necessitated the crutch.

‘What the hell have I done to you?’ Joe asked him, mainly teasing. If he could get Clay on his side, that would help a lot. Someone with keys and access to desks and papers. He didn’t have any kind of plan yet, but access was always a good thing.

Clay gave him a look of such black hatred that it stuck for days afterward. With no other warning, he dipped his hand right into the brazier next to him, picked up a red-hot coal, and flung it at Joe’s face.

Joe dived out the way, but the coal hit him on the side of the neck anyway. Even the brief touch burned.

Kite was already across the room, guiding Clay’s hand down into the water pitcher. ‘Go and get a bandage on that. And then – that reminds me. Lieutenant Wellesley says your cat is stuck in the rigging again.’

Clay made a weird, animal hiss at Joe, but stumped out. Joe frowned. There was something discomfiting about Clay. It made him feel like he would have if the man had been crabbing backwards around the deck with an obviously broken back and every sign of enjoying himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kite said quietly. ‘There’s no use getting angry with him, he’s …’ He touched the side of his own head. ‘We play hide and seek when we’re off watch.’

Joe couldn’t imagine Kite playing with anyone at anything. ‘What’s his problem with me?’

Kite sank a rag in the water jug, squeezed it out,

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