Leeward 🏳️‍🌈 [PUBLISHED BY CANELO]

3: The Scylla

Nightingale was piped up and over the side of the Scylla with all the ceremony due his rank. The entire ship's company had turned out, washed and shaved, scrubbed pink and dressed in their best. The marines gleamed in red, cross-belts bright white, and with weapons shining and crashing as they saluted Nightingale. A bosun's pipe trilled and hats immediately came off when Nightingale first set foot on the hallowed quarterdeck.

It was a time-honoured ritual; some saw it as the marriage of a captain to his new vessel. As the first pleasant surprise of the day, Nightingale noticed that she was spotlessly clean, her wales lovingly painted and not a drop of melted tar upon the deck despite the heat.

But, as he read out his commission, he let his eyes move from the page to the assemblage. White scalps emerged from beneath tied hair, bones jutted from around tired eyes. The ghost of the yellow fever still haunted the vessel.

A tall lieutenant stepped forward once he was finished. He seemed old for such an officer, somewhere north of thirty, although that could have been due to his gaunt appearance and his thinning fair hair. His cheeks reddened as he saluted Nightingale. "Lieutenant Courtney?" Nightingale asked, attributing his pallor to the stresses of Carlisle's death and his ensuing responsibilities.

"Oh." The man cleared his throat. "No, sir. I am second lieutenant Hargreaves. Lieutenant Courtney is still ashore, dealing with business."

"I see."

"I have sent for him, sir. He was aware that you were arriving today."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. As Mr Courtney is not here, perhaps you could accompany me?"

"Yes, sir."

Hargreaves lingered awkwardly. Nightingale glanced towards the waiting men.

"You may dismiss the crew by their divisions, Lieutenant Hargreaves."

"Yes, sir."

The glamour of the ship immediately started to fade. Lieutenant Courtney's absence was an irritating breach in protocol – as first officer, he should have been there to greet his new captain, certainly as he had been so instrumental during this last month. But Nightingale could not dwell on it yet.

The marine sentries stood aside as he entered his new cabin. It was spacious, spanning the ship's width and painted an airy pale green. The gallery windows gaped open, letting in tiny gasps of the breeze and filtering light across the black-and-white chequered floor. It seemed to have been left exactly as Captain Carlisle had had it with books still on the shelves, a small watercolour sketch of a harbour at night, and even ink remaining in its pot on the writing desk. Nightingale almost expected to see the dead man's clothes hanging in the attached night-cabin.

"Has this cabin been in use?" Nightingale asked.

"Lieutenant Courtney has been making use of it for correspondence and administration, sir," Hargreaves explained. When Nightingale did not vocally approve of that, he continued, "He did not wish to be in the gunroom, sir, not after Lieutenant Pearson died."

"But you and the midshipmen have been in your proper place in the gunroom?"

"I have only been aboard for a few days, sir – but yes, sir. The entire ship has been cleaned and fumigated and scrubbed. It's kept the men occupied, sir."

"Very good. Well, I shall look over the ship's logs and books then I wish to speak with the master—?"

"Loom, sir."