Read Online The Lady Machinist (Curiosity Chronicles Book 1) by Ava Morgan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ava Morgan
Tags: Book One, Curiosity Chronicles
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their voyage. “Then we’d all be able to sleep at night and breathe through our noses.”
Nikolaos stood on the other side of the deck, shoulders and head over the rail. Well into a nasty bout of seasickness, he kept the men awake at night in the crew’s quarters with the sounds and smells of his distress.
That morning, the crew took breakfast above deck instead of in the galley, where they would be forced to experience Nikolaos’ illness in close quarters.
Rhys ate a bowl of porridge. “Have you taken a meal to Lydia yet?”
Malcolm nodded as he swallowed coffee. “Aye, but she didn’t answer the door. Her dinner tray was outside, untouched. These Aspasians don’t take well to sailing.”
“Or she’s already homesick.” By Rhys’ calculations, the ship would reach the open waters of the Atlantic in two days’ time.
Malcolm let his mug clatter against the ship’s rail. “Maybe self-starvation is the lass’ way of not going to New Britannia.”
Rhys mused on Lydia’s circumstances. Since the agreement was signed, he pondered the merit of granting her a full production license after all. She made a compelling argument. But what would the COIC say? “She wouldn’t starve herself to prove a point. She’s faithful to stand by her work.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. She’s proved honest.”
Malcolm took another swig of coffee. “But Rhys, she has that look on her face, the kind all women get when they start to snooping around. I hope you hid anything important in your cabin.”
Rhys thought about his COIC correspondence locked away in the bookcase. They detailed his prior missions. Unless Lydia broke a glass panel, she wouldn’t gain access to them. Still…
“I’ll see about her.” He set his empty breakfast bowl on the damp floor of the decking and went to his cabin.
Lydia’s breakfast tray rested outside the door. Steam rose from the bowl of porridge and condensed along a portion of the wall. He rapped his knuckles on the door. “Lydia?”
He heard her feet pad across the floor before she opened the door. Rhys escorted her on deck yesterday afternoon, but overnight her face had lost its vibrancy, replaced by a sickly, slightly greenish pallor. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her brow. Her eyes were listless as she looked up at him.
“You look terrible.”
“And a fine morning to you, too.” She started to shut the door.
He stuck his foot in the frame. “You should eat. It’ll help with the seasickness.”
Lydia stared at the gray porridge as though it were a bowl of worms.
“Tea, then?”
“The brew was a bit strong for me last time.”
“Malcolm’s experience with brewing only goes so far as the local pub.” When she failed to laugh, Rhys let the matter of eating and drinking rest. “At least come on deck for air.”
She closed the door behind her and staggered forward. She had changed into a long tunic and pants. Her hair was brushed back in loose curls that rested between her shoulder blades. “One would think a ship with an engine wouldn’t pitch so often.”
“Blame the water currents. We’re coming upon the Atlantic.”
But Rhys felt a change in the air as they went topside. Though accustomed to the motion of sailing, he noticed that the ship did cut a choppy path through the water. The Mediterranean wasn’t usually so rough. Perhaps the ship got off course. He intended to have Finley brief him on their coordinates.
The navigator found him first. He carried a telescope in his hand. “Captain, a word.”
Lydia wandered off to the railing on the starboard side, leaving Rhys to converse with the crewmember.
“Where are we, Finley?”
“Twenty knots out from Sardinia. Look.” Finley jabbed his finger toward the eastern sky before giving him the telescope. “The storm approaches over the horizon. It just appeared when you went below deck. Red sky at morning...”
He didn’t need to finish the rest of that well-known verse. Rhys gritted
Nikolaos stood on the other side of the deck, shoulders and head over the rail. Well into a nasty bout of seasickness, he kept the men awake at night in the crew’s quarters with the sounds and smells of his distress.
That morning, the crew took breakfast above deck instead of in the galley, where they would be forced to experience Nikolaos’ illness in close quarters.
Rhys ate a bowl of porridge. “Have you taken a meal to Lydia yet?”
Malcolm nodded as he swallowed coffee. “Aye, but she didn’t answer the door. Her dinner tray was outside, untouched. These Aspasians don’t take well to sailing.”
“Or she’s already homesick.” By Rhys’ calculations, the ship would reach the open waters of the Atlantic in two days’ time.
Malcolm let his mug clatter against the ship’s rail. “Maybe self-starvation is the lass’ way of not going to New Britannia.”
Rhys mused on Lydia’s circumstances. Since the agreement was signed, he pondered the merit of granting her a full production license after all. She made a compelling argument. But what would the COIC say? “She wouldn’t starve herself to prove a point. She’s faithful to stand by her work.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. She’s proved honest.”
Malcolm took another swig of coffee. “But Rhys, she has that look on her face, the kind all women get when they start to snooping around. I hope you hid anything important in your cabin.”
Rhys thought about his COIC correspondence locked away in the bookcase. They detailed his prior missions. Unless Lydia broke a glass panel, she wouldn’t gain access to them. Still…
“I’ll see about her.” He set his empty breakfast bowl on the damp floor of the decking and went to his cabin.
Lydia’s breakfast tray rested outside the door. Steam rose from the bowl of porridge and condensed along a portion of the wall. He rapped his knuckles on the door. “Lydia?”
He heard her feet pad across the floor before she opened the door. Rhys escorted her on deck yesterday afternoon, but overnight her face had lost its vibrancy, replaced by a sickly, slightly greenish pallor. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her brow. Her eyes were listless as she looked up at him.
“You look terrible.”
“And a fine morning to you, too.” She started to shut the door.
He stuck his foot in the frame. “You should eat. It’ll help with the seasickness.”
Lydia stared at the gray porridge as though it were a bowl of worms.
“Tea, then?”
“The brew was a bit strong for me last time.”
“Malcolm’s experience with brewing only goes so far as the local pub.” When she failed to laugh, Rhys let the matter of eating and drinking rest. “At least come on deck for air.”
She closed the door behind her and staggered forward. She had changed into a long tunic and pants. Her hair was brushed back in loose curls that rested between her shoulder blades. “One would think a ship with an engine wouldn’t pitch so often.”
“Blame the water currents. We’re coming upon the Atlantic.”
But Rhys felt a change in the air as they went topside. Though accustomed to the motion of sailing, he noticed that the ship did cut a choppy path through the water. The Mediterranean wasn’t usually so rough. Perhaps the ship got off course. He intended to have Finley brief him on their coordinates.
The navigator found him first. He carried a telescope in his hand. “Captain, a word.”
Lydia wandered off to the railing on the starboard side, leaving Rhys to converse with the crewmember.
“Where are we, Finley?”
“Twenty knots out from Sardinia. Look.” Finley jabbed his finger toward the eastern sky before giving him the telescope. “The storm approaches over the horizon. It just appeared when you went below deck. Red sky at morning...”
He didn’t need to finish the rest of that well-known verse. Rhys gritted
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