Chapter Nine

in which Neely gets a new placement

I can barely move.

Actually, I take that back. I can’t move. It took everything in me to shuffle from dinner—which I believe Holden mumbled something about calling it a mess deck when I asked if we were going to the dining room.

I’m not sure how, but I made it up a flight of stairs, that let’s be honest, are more like a ladder, and down a very long hallway to get back to our closet. Room? Closet room?

And now we’re here, and I’m standing like a buffoon staring at my bunk. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to climb up into my bed. I might just sleep standing up.

The thought of sleeping standing up makes me want to cry. It’s been too long since I’ve actually closed my eyes, and I want nothing more than to lie down. In my bunk. Maybe I’ll just sleep the rest of the journey. After my poor work today, I doubt anyone would miss me anyway.

“You okay there, Ace?” Holden’s shadow fills the doorway.

I’m sure Holden doesn’t want to sleep standing up, and, in order for him to get to his bed, I first have to be in mine. Right. I can do this.

I lift my arms to grab the side of the bunk, and a strange whimper slips past my lips. My arms drop to my sides, and I suck in a breath. I turn to Holden with a smile I’m sure is more of a grimace. “I just need a moment.”

He leans against the door, arms folded across his chest. Great, now I have an audience. “Have you seen, Sanderson?” Maybe I can get him to go look for him. By the time he returns, I’ll somehow have made it up the mountain that is my bunk.

“Saw him a bit earlier. Looked like he had made friends with the cook. He had given your cat some scraps.”

My plan of distracting Holden with searching for Sanderson having failed, I nod and turn back to the mountain. Bed. Same thing. Staring longingly at my pillow, I square my shoulders (ow), preparing to grit my teeth through the pain to heave myself into bed and onto said pillow. As mortifying as this is going to be to attempt to do in front of Holden, it has to be done. Unfortunately, I can’t just stand here all night.

Okay. One. Two…

Before I can make it to three (in my head, of course), I am lifted off my feet and hoisted into my bed.

I …

The room goes black as Holden kicks the door close behind him. My nerves clench, and I suck in a breath. Not sure if I should be worried, but in the darkness, I hear boots clunk on the ground, and Holden settles into his own bed underneath my own. I guess he tired of waiting on me. Honestly, I tired of waiting on myself, but still, I’m not sure if I should thank him or be annoyed.

“Thank you.”

A grunt sounds from Holden’s bed.

Well, then.

I roll onto my back and try my best to get comfortable. It’s really hard to get comfortable on a wooden plank. I mean, there is a mattress, however, I’m sure a wooden plank would be more comfortable. And there’s a distinct smell of … no, I’m not going to think what this mattress smells like. Right at this moment, I really miss my bed.

And my room. And my… Again, I stop myself from thinking. If I go this route, I’ll be in tears in two minutes.

“Holden, are you asleep?” Maybe not my first choice for distraction, but Sanderson isn’t here to talk to, so Holden will have to do.

I think he must have already nodded off. Not that I would blame him. I’m not sure where my bout of awakeness has sprung from. If my calculations are correct, I’ve been without sleep for almost two full days. I should have passed out the moment I landed in my bed.

A sigh sounds from the bed under me. “Do you need something, Ace?”

My eyes stare into the dark. Shadows from the moonlight slipping through the porthole dance on the wall, and I’m grateful for the little light. I should let Holden sleep. From the looks of him, he probably hasn’t had much more sleep than I’ve had. Not to mention he worked three times as hard as anyone else in the stokehold.

It’s almost as if he were punishing himself for something.

I should let the man be, but I’m tired of not knowing anything about my companion. “How do you know Uly? I mean, I know Uly because he grew up next door. He’s lived next door ever since I can remember. He’s practically my brother, and I thought I knew everyone that Uly knows. We run in all the same groups, but I don’t know you.” I’m rambling. I know I need to stop. “So, how do you know Uly?”

Holden is silent. I heave a sigh. “I’m sorry. I know I talk too much. Papa says I especially do it when I get nervous. Or tired. I guess I’m a little bit of both. This is my first time traveling away from home, you know. Or maybe you don’t know. I don’t know what Uly told you about me. I suppose he must have told you something. What did—”

“Ace.” Holden cuts me off.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I know. I know. I talk a lot.” And then I bite my lip to keep from saying more. I already expertly proved that I talk. In abundance.

“Uly and I have met a time or two on the docks.”

“Oh.” This answer doesn’t help me at all. It just gives me more questions. “Any particular reason you’ve been at the docks? Everyone so far seems to know who you are, except me. So, are you a regular dock worker? Or—” I clamp my mouth shut. I’m doing it again. Blast me and my propensity to chatter!

Not a sound comes from the bottom bunk, and it takes everything inside of me not to burst with more questions. “I’ve been known to take fights down on the docks.”

“You’re a fighter?” I’m proud of myself for only asking the one question (even though I have a hundred more to follow up).

“I was.”

I open my mouth to ask another question, but before I can get it out, Holden continues.

“I got your assignment changed from the stokehold. You’ll need to report to the galley tomorrow morning. Morning is going to come early, so I would suggest you get some sleep.”

He did what? I hang over the side of the bunk. Ouch, every muscle protests, but this is too important to care. In the silky moonlight streaming in from the round window, I can barely make out Holden, lying on his back, fully dressed (sans the boots he kicked off earlier), arms folded across his chest, and his fedora over his face. “You did what? And what’s a galley?”

Holden’s entire body sighs. Tipping his hat up from his face, he squints up at me. “Tomorrow you’re working in the galley—which is the ship’s kitchen—instead of the stokehold. You’ll report to Cook. Get some sleep.” He replaces his hat on his face and settles back into, I guess, the position he’s sleeping in.

Pushing myself back to my bunk, I fall onto my pillow. A smile plays at my lips. The grumpy stranger got my assignment changed. I don’t have to be in the stokehold that I’m sure gives hell a run for its money in the heat department. Suddenly, I feel as if the sun is pushing out from the clouds — not figuratively, since it is the middle of the night, but something flutters inside my chest. Maybe this journey won’t be so terrible after all.

Atlas of Neely Spencer is currently being released chapter by chapter as I write it. You can read all about why I chose this format in this post. Please forgive any errors in spelling, grammar, and punctuation since this is not professionally edited. Think of it like this: you're getting to read my first-pass pages!