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“They are clean,” — he starts to pull one out of its scabbard — “but you are free to study them.”
I stay him. “That won’t be necessary. They are important possessions. If you’d used them, you would certainly clean them immediately afterward.”
“Impossible to merely wipe blood away. It slips into the tiny crevices.” He has one sword free, revealing the intricate design carved from tip to hilt. “A simple swipe of cloth is not satisfactory.”
“Breath-taking,” I concede. “You may put it away and hold the lantern for Lady Bentwood. She is wounded and fatigued.”
“Wounded?” The sword is gone as quickly as it appeared. His scowl deepens as he notes the wound. “You should wash it. There could be poison.”
“Poison?” Lady Bentwood yelps.
He’s startled me as well. I’m not easily surprised, but there is no time to waste.
“Do you suspect someone from your part of the world?” I wonder aloud. Poisoning weapons is not a common practice in the west. I would know if it were.
He shrugs again.
“Perhaps not.” He takes the lantern, to Lady Bentwood’s obvious relief. It would have grown heavy. I should have thought. “If it were poisoned in the ways that I would be familiar with,” he says, “she would be dead already.”
“Comforting,” she snipes, and I almost laugh, enjoying the novelty of the man almost as much as I wish him away. Really, he disrupts my thoughts.
“May I ask what you see?”
He leans in, too close. I have better things to be aware of than his proximity. Without turning, I raise an eyebrow. He backs away.
“The Captain should be informed.” I move, allowing the foreigner access but with more distance. “Though he will create a mess of my evidence.”
“Blood?” He points at the dark marks on the deck.
I nod.
“Not on the railing?”
“No. I wondered about that myself. Notice the splay of the stains?”
We study together, close again but too intent to care when Lady Bentwood exclaims, “The Captain is coming.”
I jump, ridiculously rattled. I have been expecting the man who is now in my line of sight.
“Bon aventure.”
The foreigner bows and is gone. Disappeared as quietly, as secretively, as he arrived. A servant not allowed on the aft deck, perhaps?
“Bon aventure?” I murmur. “French?” My musings are interrupted by Bentwood and the Captain.
“Oh, bother.” Lady Bentwood tsks. “He is gone! I don’t suppose you learned who he is?”
“His name will be on the roster,” I muse.
The guilty are often fascinated by the investigation of their crimes. They may even give evidence. I refuse to pursue that line of thought and turn to the Captain, who is offering to take a hand I have yet to extend. I correct the error. Rote etiquette masking a thorough inventory.
Everyone is a possible threat, even the Captain.
“How do you do,” I smile graciously and wonder if I’m passing pleasantries with a murderer.
******
Furious, I brace against the roll of the ship and a fog that could easily become rain. Despite the gloom, it is obvious that the rail and deck have been cleaned. Lady Bentwood hovers nearby, restless. She wanted to wait for Lord Bentwood, but something had me biting at the bit. The Captain had promised that the area of conflict would be left, not cleaned before I could inspect it in daylight. My instincts were spot on, but efforts to rise early — futile. Even the cuts in the rail had been sanded and varnished.
