Page 5 of Queen’s Griffon (Swords & Tiaras #2)
Chapter 4
Griff
Griff kept busy and had just about forgotten about the little queen until dinner time came. Until now, Kreed had been bringing her food to the cabin which allowed her to avoid his crew—and him. That stopped today. No more pampering the little royal.
“Kreed, tell her royal highness she’s to join us for her meal,” he commanded his first mate.
“Sure. Where is she?”
Griff stared at him before frowning. “Isn’t she in her cabin?”
“Nope. Door’s wide open and she ain’t in there.”
Nor was she on any of the decks. Had she fallen overboard? Before he could order a search of the ship, Simhi passed by him on her way to the galley for her supper.
“’Scuse me, Captain. Time to fill my belly. I hear Cook’s made his famous rabbit stew,” Simhi quipped.
“With pie,” Griff murmured. His favorite.
“What’s got you looking like someone pissed in your dessert?” Simhi paused to ask.
“Our royal guest appears to be missing.”
“Nah, she’s just down in the belly helping Garth.”
“What?” Griff blinked and resisted an urge to jab a finger in his ear for a wiggle. Surely he’d heard wrong.
“The queen likes machines and stuff, so I introduced her to Garth, and he made her his assistant on the spot.”
“Garth has the queen working on the engine?” Griff couldn’t help but sound incredulous.
“I don’t know what they were working on ‘cause I left. You know I ain’t no tinkerer.”
“I’ll fetch em, Cap,” Kreed offered. “Garth always loses track of time when he’s busy.”
“You eat. I’ll go,” Griff growled. Better than snapping at Simhi, seeing as how she hadn’t technically done anything wrong, but she should have known better. A pampered royal was no mechanic. She’d do more harm than good and given they didn’t have the ability to fabricate parts like they used to, he couldn’t chance losing his engine.
Griff stalked toward the engine room, his glowering expression keeping the crew out of his way. He could just imagine the complaints he’d have to listen to as the little queen ranted about having to get her hands dirty. Assuming Garth convinced her to pick up a wrench. More likely she’d bent the man’s ear about her crazy desire to visit Verlora. Garth would be the wrong person to try and convince. He’d lost his wife and his three daughters when Verlora fell. He’d been on one of the freighters doing repairs when the calamity struck, safe aboard the ship. However, his wife and children? They’d been in the first building that collapsed because of the earth tremors. It took three people to hold Garth back. Even more to convince him no one had survived. Apparently, the structure didn’t just crumple, it got swallowed by one of the many crevices that opened up.
As Griff neared the engine room, his fists clenched, he braced himself for a harangue from a displeased, barely chin-high woman.
Instead, he flung open the door and bellowed, then gaped in astonishment, for there was the little queen, lying on her back, legs sticking out from under part of the engine while Garth crouched beside and handed her parts.
Griff winced as he heard a thump, then a curse. “Stupid metal.”
The queen slid out from under the contraption, her face streaked in grease just like her hideous clothes. She looked nothing like a royal, nor even a lady. She blinked at him as she rubbed the welt on her forehead.
“Is there a problem, Captain?” Garth asked, blinking at him above his spectacles.
“What is she doing?” Griff jabbed a finger in Avera’s direction.
“Assisting. Rather obvious I’d say.”
“She’s not trained to be a mechanic.”
Garth snorted. “Maybe not, but she’s smarter than the other idiots you’ve sent down here to try to help. At least she has a basic understanding of how machinery works.”
“Her?” Griff stared at the little queen incredulously.
“Yes, me.” She rolled her eyes. “And here I thought sexism was restricted to Daerva’s army.”
“It has nothing to do with what’s between your legs,” he growled, avoiding a glance at said section of her body. “I can’t have a neophyte messing with delicate mechanisms. We need this engine.”
“And you’ll have it, Captain,” Garth declared, clapping his hands together with a loud smack. “That rattle that’s been bugging me should be gone with the repairs she just did. I couldn’t quite manage to wedge myself under there.” Garth patted his rotund belly.
“She fixed it?” Again, Griff couldn’t stem his skepticism.
“It’s not that hard,” came her tart reply. “Machine parts can only go in one way. It’s like a puzzle where everything fits in a certain order. It’s especially easy with the right tools,” she stated, handing a wrench to Garth before she stood.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” Griff grumbled.
“Why not? Where should I be instead? Puking in my cabin? Did that, not enjoyable. On deck getting in the way? Or would you prefer I follow you all day, pestering?”
He glared.
She smirked.
Garth cleared his throat. “Sorry if I didn’t ask, Cap. But if you don’t mind, I could use her aid. My eyesight ain’t so good anymore and with a storm coming?—”
“Storm?” Griff focused on his mechanic. “What storm?” He’d heard no mention of one on the horizon.
Garth tapped his leg. “Knee’s acting up, which means there’s one coming.”
Griff knew better than to argue. Garth had yet to be proven wrong with his weather predictions.
“Dinner’s being served,” Griff announced. “Eat or don’t. I’ve got to ready the ship.” He turned and walked out to the murmur of voices, but he didn’t escape. Quick footsteps at his rear indicated the little queen followed.
“Are storms dangerous?”
“Everything can be dangerous at sea,” was his terse reply.
“Is there any point in eating if I’m just going to toss it later?” she muttered.
“The fresh air helps.”
“I highly doubt being on deck while it’s heaving from the waves and wind is going to help me keep the contents of my belly.”
He whirled in the narrow passage. “Then don’t eat. Don’t listen. Don’t care. I informed you the evening meal was being served. Skip it or don’t. Your body, your choice.”
“Not my choice to be abducted.”
“Believe me, I am regretting it.”
“Will you seriously sell me off?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” The honest truth. With that, he spun around and quickly made his way to the main deck and began barking orders only to find his crew already preparing.
Peter in the lookout’s nest hollered, “Storm on the horizon, Cap.”
“Ready the ship,” Griff bellowed. No need to itemize what that entailed. His people knew the drill.
The little queen had disappeared, and to his annoyance, he went looking for her and found her in the galley, eating some of the rabbit stew. Simhi sat by her side, their heads bent as they talked and laughed.
Griff grabbed his own meal but left with it to eat on the bridge, watching the dark clouds rolling in, ruining the sunset. The ocean waters had begun to heave in response to the gusts of wind, the tips of the waves white. He’d not lied to Avera. Storms always concerned sailors and their captains. A bad one could cause immense damage, even sink a ship.
This one looked to be as intense as the last they’d just weathered. Lightning flashed in the roiling morass overhead. Brilliant streaks descended in jagged branches of light. The rumble of the thunderclap provided an ominous accompaniment.
Griff finished his meal and one of the crew took his dishes to the galley so he could keep an eye on the storm.
Movement on deck caught his attention, or he should say, the little queen did. She emerged with Simhi who had her hands moving as she spoke. His first mate’s sister pulled ropes from the trunks they kept all over the ship for storms. Simhi showed Avera how to harness it around her waist and clip it to the various spots on the ship meant for tethering. Nothing worse than a crew member falling overboard into churning waves. It often meant a death sentence.
Avera managed to keep her balance on the rocking deck as she tied herself to the rail and leaned on it. Did she watch the approaching storm, or did she try to keep her dinner down?
As the clouds reached them, darkness enveloped and would have made for tricky visibility if not for the weatherproof lanterns lit and hung throughout the ship. A loud crack of thunder startled the little queen, and she glanced overhead. She undid her clip from the rail and tottered for the passage down to the cabins. He lost sight of her and restrained an urge to creep closer to the window and peer down to see if she’d made it safe. The deck wasn’t rocking badly yet. Besides, if she went sliding, he’d see it.
To his surprise, she didn’t go below but appeared on the bridge, face pale despite her tanned skin.
“Don’t you dare throw up in here,” he warned, given her pallor.
“I won’t, but I do have a question. Is it normal for fish to swim so close to the ship in a storm?”
“It’s an ocean, there will be fish,” was his dry reply.
“I’m aware,” she snapped, “But these were clustering by the hull, almost as if they wanted to grab and climb it. Which is strange to me. I didn’t know that some fish had hands.”
He froze. “You saw hands?”
Even before she finished nodding, he was scrambling from the bridge and yelling, “Everyone arm yourselves!”
Kreed heard him from atop the poop deck and crouched to ask, “What’s up, Cap?”
Even as Griff hollered, “Undines!” the first webbed and clawed fingers appeared on the railing where the queen had just been standing.
The storm wasn’t about to be their worst problem. They were under attack!