Page 45 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
D ocila made her way through the narrow passages of the ship, her steps measured despite the turmoil within.
The confrontation with Sidney had left her raw, exposed in a way she hadn’t felt since fleeing her uncle’s house.
She had offered something precious — knowledge that might prove crucial to Sidney’s quest — only to have it dismissed, her motives questioned, her integrity doubted once again.
It seemed that no matter what she did, no matter how she proved herself through storm and pursuit and near disaster, she remained an outsider in Sidney’s eyes.
Someone to be managed rather than trusted, directed rather than consulted.
The realization brought a hollow ache to her chest, a sense of loss for what might have been if only he could see beyond his own rigid conception of authority and order.
She had nearly reached the small cabin assigned to her when hurried footsteps sounded behind her. Turning, she found Sidney approaching, his expression no longer cold with anger but troubled, uncertain — so unlike the composed captain who ruled his domain with unwavering confidence.
“Docila,” he called, his voice low but urgent. “Wait. Please.”
She paused, wary after the harsh words they had exchanged, yet unable to simply walk away when he looked at her with such evident turmoil in his eyes.
“What is it, Captain?” she asked, deliberately formal despite the privacy of the narrow passageway.
Sidney winced slightly at the title, recognizing it for the subtle rebuke it was.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he admitted, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “About the medallion, about your father’s involvement. And about my own reaction to finding you in my cabin.”
He leaned against the passage wall, suddenly looking tired. “I spoke harshly — some of it in justified anger, but some of it in fear. Fear that I’d been wrong to trust you, fear that everything I’ve worked toward was somehow compromised.”
His expression grew more serious. “But my concerns about authority, about following orders — those remain valid. Your information about the medallion could be crucial, and I want to hear it. But I need to know that if I give you another chance, if we continue as partners in this quest, that you’ll respect the chain of command when it matters. When lives are at stake.”
He met her eyes directly. “Can you give me that assurance, Docila? Not blind obedience — I value your insights too much for that — but the understanding that on a ship, the captain’s word must be final, especially in dangerous situations?”
Docila considered his words carefully, understanding that this was a crossroads — not just for their partnership, but for any future relationship between them.
“Yes,” she said finally, her voice steady and sure. “I can give you that assurance. I understand now that my independence, my need to be involved in everything, has been putting people at risk. That’s not who I want to be.”
She straightened, as if making a formal vow. “I promise you that when you give an order as captain — especially in dangerous situations — I will follow it without question or delay. Your authority as master of this vessel is absolute, and I will respect that.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Though I hope you’ll still value my counsel when circumstances allow for discussion rather than immediate action.”
“I do,” Sidney replied, his own tension finally beginning to ease. “Your insights have proven invaluable, Docila. I don’t want to silence your voice — I just need to know that when the moment demands it, you’ll trust my judgment as I’m learning to trust yours.”
“I’d like to hear more,” Sidney said after a moment, the words seeming to cost him some effort. “About the medallion, the markings you remember. It might indeed be important, as you suggested.”
The concession was grudging, but Docila recognized the step it represented for a man of Sidney’s pride and position. Still, the memory of his dismissive anger remained fresh enough that she was not immediately ready to yield.
“I thought my place was not aboard this ship,” she reminded him, echoing his earlier ultimatum. “That I must either accept your authority without question or acknowledge that I don’t belong here.”
Sidney’s jaw tightened briefly, then relaxed as he exhaled slowly.
“I spoke in anger,” he admitted. “Words I...” He hesitated, then continued with visible effort.
“Words I regret. Your insights have proven valuable time and again, from the moment you spotted the error in my charts to your warning about the mutiny. I was wrong to dismiss what you discovered so readily.”
The admission, plainly spoken without qualification or excuse, caught Docila by surprise.
She had expected further justification of his position, not this frank acknowledgment of error.
It disarmed her in a way no defence could have done, softening the hurt that had driven her from his cabin in wounded dignity.
“I was wrong as well,” she conceded, the words coming harder than she’d expected. “Not just about examining your papers — though that was inexcusable — but about everything you just said.”
She took a breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
“You’re right about my pattern of disobedience.
Every time you’ve given me an order meant to keep me safe, I’ve ignored it.
The storm, the battles, the escapes — I’ve consistently decided that my judgment was better than yours, that the rules didn’t apply to me. ”
Her voice grew quieter, more honest. “I told myself I was being helpful, that I was contributing. But the truth is, I was being selfish. I didn’t want to miss anything, didn’t want to be sidelined. And in doing so, I’ve undermined your authority and potentially endangered everyone aboard.”
She paused, then added with painful honesty: “My father would be ashamed. He taught me the importance of ship’s discipline, of following the captain’s orders without question.
Somehow I convinced myself this was different, but a ship is a ship, and survival depends on everyone doing their part — including following orders they might not like. ”
“If we’re to move forward — if you’re willing to give me another chance — then you deserve the whole truth about who I am and what I know.
” She straightened her shoulders, as if preparing for battle.
“My father wasn’t just a merchant who occasionally dabbled in treasure hunting.
We were actively involved in several expeditions over the years.
I know more about this world — about navigation, about reading charts, about the dangers we’re facing — than I’ve let on. ”
She met his gaze directly. “I’ve been afraid to tell you because I thought you’d see me as a competitor, or worse, as a spy.
I wanted to earn your respect through my actions, not my connections.
But that was cowardly. You’ve shared your quest with me, trusted me with your maps and your purpose.
I should have offered the same honesty in return. ”
Her voice grew softer. “I knew my father pursued historical artifacts and lost treasures, but I never knew about El Dorado specifically, never knew about his connection to your research. That discovery shocked me as much as it did you. But I should have told you from the beginning that I wasn’t just some merchant’s daughter with basic sailing knowledge.
I should have trusted you with the truth. ”
Something in Sidney’s posture eased at her words, the rigid tension of confrontation giving way to a more open stance.
“Perhaps we have both been too quick to assume the worst of each other’s intentions,” he suggested, a tentative peace offering in his tone. “When in truth, we share the same goal — finding the treasure before our pursuers can claim it.”
It was a significant concession — the acknowledgment that her interest in the treasure was not merely opportunistic, but aligned with his own purpose. Docila felt the remaining anger drain away, replaced by a cautious hope that they might move past this breach and find a more equal footing.
“The medallion,” she said, returning to the discovery that had precipitated their argument. “I truly believe it may be the key you’ve been missing. If you’re willing to listen, I’d like to share what I remember of it in detail.”
Sidney nodded, his expression shifting to one of focused interest. “Not here,” he said, glancing at the narrow passageway where they stood. “Come back to my cabin. We can examine the charts together, see if your recollections align with the information we already possess.”
It was an invitation, not an order — a subtle but important distinction that Docila noted with appreciation. “Very well,” she agreed, falling into step beside him as they made their way back toward his quarters.
The cabin seemed different upon her return — not in its physical arrangement, but in the atmosphere Sidney created by deliberately clearing a space at the desk where they could work side by side, by setting out the relevant charts with a care that invited her participation rather than merely permitting it.
It was a small gesture, perhaps, but meaningful in the context of their recent conflict.
“Show me what you found,” he said, spreading the map that contained the symbol she had recognized. “The connection to your father’s medallion.”
Docila leaned forward, her finger tracing the symbol that had caught her attention.
“This,” she said, indicating the concentric circles with their intersecting line and careful markings. “It was engraved on a medallion my father wore constantly at sea. He showed it to me once, calling it a ‘key to the future’ he hoped to secure for me.”
Sidney studied the symbol with renewed attention, as if seeing it anew through her eyes.