Page 104 of Valour

“Trust in the captain,” Charlotte repeated. It had become her mantra.

13th April 1916, Weddell Sea

The splash of oars.

The grunts of the crew.

Bergs all around.

Salt crusting her eyelashes, her clothing frozen and damp.

Hester’s hands were stuck to the tiller, her joints frozen in place.

Splash. Splash. Splash.

She felt for the tether to Septimus, the link between them that they still couldn’t work out. She knew where he was at all times, like he was the magnetic north to her iron compass arrow. She turned her head to pinpoint him at the stern of the lifeboat she had named Misfortune, a distance across the water, hunched over the tiller as she was in the Tempest. Their eyes met, and Hester nodded, checking in. All was well. She glanced to the left, to the other two lifeboats, Fliss helming Thirteen, and Emlyn on board Death. She chuckled at her own jokes. She really was very funny.

The noon sun beat down on them as they rowed unceasingly for the land, which did not seem to be getting any closer.

“How do you fare?” Hester asked, her gaze lingering on Winston, Peggy, Charlotte and Arnold in turn.

Winston looked up at her from the bench, his hands gripped around the oar. “We are doing alright, but I would like some dry mitts.”

Hester cracked a smile, then winced, her lips splitting. She ran her tongue over her lower lip, tasting iron, her tongue burning, mouth swollen. “Chip me off a bit of ice, would you, Peggy?” She was so thirsty. Despite being surrounded by miles and miles of water, it was water they could not drink.

Peggy retrieved a chisel and hammer from the planked floor of the boat and chipped a small piece off the only lump of ice they’d managed to get aboard before the last floe had broken up beneath them. “Pass it to the captain,” she said, handing the ice fragment to Winston with a crooked hand. Winston prised his fingers from the oar handle and passed the ice to Hester, who popped it into her mouth, groaning and closing her eyes as it melted over her tongue. She’d do anything for a cup of water, for a tankard of ale, or a bottle of sparkling wine.

“Pass it around, Peggy,” Hester said, and Peggy handed small chips of ice around. It was the last chunk they had, and it had to be shared amongst all four boats, all twenty crew, and the few dogs they had left.

“I’d give anything for a hot mug of tea,” Winston groaned. “How far till we reach the island?”

Hester exchanged a glance with Peggy. When they had taken the sightings yesterday, Peggy had whispered that they had been pushed thirty miles further from land. Hester had shaken her head and pressed her finger to her lips. It would have done no good to let the crew know. They had been forced to set a new course for Elephant Island, the wind, tides and ice making Deception and Clarence Islands impossible to reach.

“Let’s talk of anything other than drinking water. What colour wedding flowers will you have, Charlotte?” Peggy asked.

“She’ll be having pink. It’s her favourite colour,” Hester said, rolling the ever dwindling chunk of ice around her sore mouth. “Isn’t that right, Boss?”

“Aye, Captain,” Charlotte called, turning to smile at Arnold, her white overall cracking with frost. “Pink roses.”

Peggy breathed a sigh. “It’ll be so romantic. And what about you and Septimus? Has he asked you yet?”

Hester shifted, gripping the tiller tighter. “And take the spotlight from Charlotte and Arnold?” He hadn’t asked her. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to or not. She imagined his head between her thighs instead and smiled a secret smile. Hester gave a little tug on the invisible tether between them and felt one in reply. That settled her stomach. She didn’t need a proposal to know how he felt about her, or indeed, to have her wicked way with him.

The sun had gone down, and Charlotte was huddled on the floor of the Tempest, trying to sleep. The creak of the oars, the splash of the water and the thunk of the oars in the rowlocks kept her awake, despite the weariness in her bones. And there was the ever-present ache in her toes and fingers, too. She was squashed between Marjorie and Peggy, while Hester still sat at the tiller, Winston and Arnold rowing.

The moon was bright in the night sky, its path reflecting on the water. It gave a ghostly glow to the crew of the little lifeboat. She gazed upon Hester, whose skin was pallid, her eyelids drooping, frozen to the tiller. Wings flickered into existence behind the captain as her head nodded forwards.

Arnold cried out in alarm. “Am I seeing things now? Delirium has set in,” he said, staring at Hester’s wings.

Peggy stirred next to her, sitting up in her soaked sleeping bag. She rubbed her eyes. “I’m seeing things too. Looks so real.”

“Hester,” Charlotte whispered, nudging her boot. “Wake up. Let someone else steer.” She wasn’t sure how Hester felt about others seeing her wings.

“I’m fine,” Hester mumbled, the wings disappearing again.

“You’re barely conscious.” She hissed. “They can see the wings.”

“Tell them. Tell them all of it. I’m done hiding,” Hester said.