Page 34 of Valour

“Hester?”

She stopped and turned back to him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with men like that.”

Hester scoffed. “It’s not so unusual. And the thing is, Septimus, you aren’t much better yourself.”

“What? Nonsense.”

“Would you threaten any other captain in Havenport not to accept a hire?”

“That’s different,” he growled, smile fading, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Hester hopped onto the gangplank and mocked a salute. “You keep telling yourself that.”

12

IN WHICH THE WEATHER IS STIRRED AND THERE IS AN ANGEL AND A DEMON

10th December 1914, Weddell Sea

“Hard to starboard,” Hester yelled down to Fliss, who stood at the wheel in her furs.

Up in the crow’s nest, the spyglass to her eye, Hester could see for miles. The loose pack ice the whaling captains had warned about stretched out like an enormous sparkling mosaic into the distance. Every so often, luminous blue bergs poked up, nudging towards the sky. It was different to the Frozen North. Like there was limitless potential down here.

The Intrepid was over to starboard in a patch of looser ice, while the Valour was hemmed in between two floes, but making steady progress forwards.

“Port easy,” she yelled next. “No. Hard to port! Hard over, Fliss!”

“Make your mind up!” Fliss yelled back, wrenching the wheel over.

Hester chuckled as the ice ground against the hull, slipping away harmlessly.

“Reef the foresail, Betty. I cannot see the bergs,” Hester shouted, and Betty scrambled into action, polka-dot hair scarf flapping in the light breeze.

Hester pulled at the magic in her chest, bringing the wind on a little stronger to compensate for the lack of sail. She sighed, settling back and basking in the Antarctic sun. There had been no more strange singing, no more men attempting to throw themselves from the ship. Maybe Arnold had just gone a bit stir crazy.

“Oooh,” Hester whispered, spotting penguins. “They’re like little gentlemen in their finest suits.” She smiled to herself, focussing back on the slabs of pack ice.

“After all these years,” a voice rumbled.

Hester sat bolt upright, looking all around. “What the⁠—”

She looked down to the deck, but no one else seemed to have noticed anything amiss. She got to her feet and crouched, frowning and shaking her head to try and clear it. Perhaps the cold weather was playing tricks on her hearing.

“You were hidden from me. Hidden so well. And now the one who cast that protection is dead, I finally see you.”

Hester looked out over the ice. A dark shape passed under the floe between the two ships. Her eyes widened, pulse quickening. What on Earth was that? She swung her legs over the side of the crow’s nest and climbed down the rigging to the deck, compelled to take a closer look.

“Charlotte? Pass me that alpenstock, and the harpoon gun,” Hester murmured, eyes still fixed on the ice as the dark shape turned back. Charlotte frowned, but did as Hester asked, handing the long-handled ice axe and hefty gun over.

“What is it?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m not sure—I thought I saw a shape under the ice. Did you hear anything unusual?” She hung over the railing, scrutinising the ice suspiciously. Where had it gone?