Burning Bright (12 page)

“Or they will resent me further for being the cause of it!”

“He knew your position and abused it. A little resentment is far better than another, more serious assault on your person.” Ramsay narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t the first incident, is it?”

Elinor looked away. “I would hardly call sidelong looks and muffled laughter an incident, Captain.”

Ramsay’s lips shut in a thin line and he walked to the window, leaned against the sill and stared out over the sea. “And I will have to do something about Livingston,” he said in a quieter voice. “I can’t have an officer flogged, even if I think it might do him some good.”

“Mr. Livingston did nothing wrong.”

“He did
nothing
, and for that there must be a consequence.”

“Then—what will it be?”

“I don’t know. As satisfying as it would be to humiliate him in public, that would only make him more difficult to work with. So it will have to be something else.”

“You do not like him.”

Ramsay turned his head quickly. “I spoke out of turn. Ignore my remarks.”

“And I know he doesn’t respect you, though he is good at concealing that,” Elinor added. “He is new to your command, so he can hardly have had time to develop a dislike of you personally.”

“Miss Pembroke, do you intend to disregard everything I tell you to do?”

“I hardly think you are allowed to command me in what I think, Captain, and I
think
you would prefer Mr. Livingston elsewhere.”

Ramsay shook his head in exasperation and went back to staring out the window. “Livingston has no talent,” he said, “and he is resentful of those who do, and doubly resentful of someone like me possessing an Extraordinary talent.”

“Someone like you?”

“Someone not of superior birth. He’s the second son of a viscount and would like that to matter more here aboard ship than it does.”

“Then he no doubt resents me as well.”

“Yes, and thinks the men’s disrespectful treatment of you reflects badly on me as your…sponsor, in a sense. Which satisfies his need to see me at a disadvantage.”

Elinor sat on one of the couches, some distance from Ramsay. “If I could only show them…”

“I can’t arrange for an enemy ship to sail into our arms, I’m afraid.”

She glanced up to see him watching her. “You think this entire venture is meaningless.”

“I hardly think
you
are allowed to put thoughts into my head, Miss Pembroke.”

She laughed, but said, “
Do
you, then?”

“No.” His lips twitched in a smile. “I think we’ve not been at sea long enough to declare it a failure. We’ve not even reached Gibraltar.”

“Are we stopping there?”

“I think not. No need for supplies, no deliveries to make. We’ll stop at Tenerife instead.” His good humor fell away, as if he’d remembered why he was there. “I will have to ask you to remain here for the rest of the day. I hope you can see why.”

“I intend to stay well out of the way until the whole display is over, never fear, Captain.”

Now Ramsay’s smile was grim. “Oh no, Miss Pembroke, you will be present to see that man flogged. Everyone witnesses. It may convince you not to ignore my instructions again.”

“It’s barbaric!”

“This is a hard world. I said before you’d make mistakes because you don’t understand it. You ought to see the consequence of your mistake.”

Elinor bowed her head and looked at her hands, still clutching the rolls of cloth. “You are right,” she said, “and I regret the incident.”

“Not as much as I do, that I failed to head this thing off before it came to this,” Ramsay said. “Maybe it was inevitable, but if you’re to blame, I’m to blame as well. It speaks to a failure in my leadership if I can’t discipline my men without resorting to that level of punishment. I never enjoy seeing a man flogged, even if his crime warrants it.” He sighed, and turned to go. “It will be tomorrow morning after breakfast. You might…want to eat lightly.”

Elinor, still staring downward, heard the door close quietly behind him. It was so grossly unfair, blaming her for the choice the man had made; even more unfair that the sailor should suffer so over something so insignificant. Then she remembered the leer on the man’s face and how frightened she’d felt, surrounded by all those sailors who…

She hurried to the head and took care of her needs, refusing to face the memory. She didn’t know if she could bring herself to burn a man, and besides, what good would that do if he took hold of her so closely she could not burn him without burning herself? Ramsay was right, they would continue to harass her unless an example was made. But such an example…she sank down onto the sofa and fumbled in the cabinet for a book, then tried to focus on the words. It was the seaman’s fault that he believed she could be attacked with impunity—what
was
a bob-tail, anyway?—but she felt guilty nevertheless, and witnessing the man’s punishment might assuage some of that guilt.

“Lash him to the grating,” Ramsay said, his voice cold, and two sailors dragged Elinor’s assailant forward and bound his hands to a grating propped upright amidships. The chill wind raised gooseflesh on the half-naked man’s arms and back, making him look even more vulnerable. Elinor stood behind Ramsay, clasping her hands together and wishing she dared wrap her arms around her chest to warm herself.

Above, the sails of the mainmast snapped in the brisk wind, their whiteness standing out starkly against the lowering grey sky, the heavy clouds promising rain that would probably not interrupt the imminent flogging. The deck was crowded with men, sailors in their striped shirts and hats of all shapes, officers trim in their most formal blue coats with the white facings, hats in the fore-and-aft position, the red-coated Marines standing at rigid attention nearby in case of an uprising.

But the crowd was, to Elinor’s eye, surprisingly subdued. They had listened to the reading of the Article of War the man had violated without protest and without casting vicious glances in Elinor’s direction. If anything, they had seemed uncomfortable in her presence, which made her feel irrationally guilty again. She kept her eyes fixed on that naked back, which failed to arouse any feelings of prurience. Soon it would be striped with blood. She ought to feel hysterical, but instead felt only numb with cold.

“Bo’sun’s mate, do your duty,” the captain said.

A burly man stepped forward, the nine lashes of the cat swaying in the wind, and took a position about two feet from the unfortunate man. He brought his arm up, swung, and the man’s strangled groan rose over the sharp crack as the many strands ending in tiny, wicked knots struck that naked back. The bo’sun’s mate lashed him again, and again, and Elinor clenched her jaw to keep from groaning in sympathy. Tears sprang to her eyes that she willed to evaporate before they could escape to roll down her cheeks. She felt warm, now, as if a fire was burning inside her, though she was still as numb as ever.

She rubbed her hands together to warm them as the fifth strike landed. It could not be a fire within her; that was impossible. Yet she could still feel flames nearby, even though that was also impossible. How could anything burn on the ocean waves? She looked up and to her left, toward the heavens, and saw fire arcing toward them, a ball of pale fire, flickering white and yellow, falling out of the sky. She extinguished it without thinking and said, “Captain, there—”

“Miss Pembroke, this is not the time for you to display feminine frailty,” Ramsay said in a low voice.

She grabbed his arm. “Fire,” she said, and pointed to where another ball of pale yellow flame fell toward them. Ramsay’s mouth fell open, just a little, then he shouted, “
Beat to quarters!”

Instantly the deck erupted with motion, followed seconds later by the rhythmic pattern of drums somewhere farther along the deck. Elinor dismissed this second fireball with a wave, reasoning once again that dramatic gestures would be to her benefit, not that anyone was watching her at the moment. She looked lower, toward the horizon, and her heart pounded in her chest as she registered the presence, far too close to them, of a warship headed directly for
Athena
.

In which Elinor proves herself

thena
veered unexpectedly, staggering Elinor, who had nothing to hold on to. Two more fireballs at once now, both easily extinguished—what was their Scorcher thinking? Fire, yes, but so diffuse it seemed unlikely to ignite anything important. Ramsay had disappeared. Men pushed past her, and she stumbled, then retreated to the stern, out of everyone’s way, and gripped the rail running the width of the stern, the taffrail, with both hands to keep from falling. No one heeded her in the confusion; no one stopped to tell her what was happening or what she ought to do.

She looked out at the distant ship, and anger rose up within her.
This
was why she was here, to use her talent in defense of her country, and she was being pushed aside and ignored exactly as if she were nothing but a talentless passenger, a burden to be endured but not respected.

She could feel the fire calling to her as her anger grew, heard it clamoring to be set free, and looked out at the enemy ship—how far away was it? Half a mile? She had never had reason to test the range of her talent, had no idea if her reach extended that far, but she closed her eyes and imagined the feel of the damp canvas under her fingertips, then set the fire free on the highest center sail.

For a moment, she thought she had failed. Then she felt the fire take hold. It was as if she were in two places at once, her body standing at the taffrail, trying to keep the ship in sight as
Athena
began curving around to approach the enemy ship and her sails impeded Elinor’s vision, her—could you call it her soul? At any rate, the part of her that knew the fire as it knew itself—encompassing the distant fire and sending it flowing like boiling jelly down the sails, leaping from the mainmast to the other sails in glorious drops of molten copper. The ship continued its course toward them, burning like a tiny sun that lit the dull grey waves beneath it like a sunset. It was so beautiful it made her heart ache.

The noise of busy men scattering in all directions had grown louder, with overtones of surprise and fear and exhilaration. Cheering. “
God’s blood,
” someone said from nearby, and Ramsay said, “Bridle it, sailor.”