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Boats were never supposed to be silent things. Dr Stephen Stanley had worked on his fair share of boats in his career, and in all the times he had grown to be used to them, he had never known them to be things of stillness.
This was the closest a ship got to being silent.
It was a few days before HMS Erebus would be setting sail on its highly esteemed voyage to find the North Western Passage, and the boat was in the docks. Even now, the steady rocking as it rested lazily on the waves caused the wood to groan, creaking with impatience. Not totally silent, but quiet enough for now. Soon, the deck would be crammed with men, able bodies and boots all trampling and working. Soon, the ship would be so full of life that her creaking would die out under the bustle of it, only to be heard in the deepest hours of the night like a gentle lover’s call.
Stephen preferred these moments of quiet. He had made it a habit of his to board a ship a few days before she set sail to map out the sickbay that he would be working in for the next few years- however long it would take. He used this time to get to know the storage spaces, how much room there was, where the tools could be kept.
The room was small but adequate, a far cry from the medical bays he had been used to on warships. The floor remained dressed in its natural wood, for a start, and there was only one single operating table. Still, there was plenty of storage space, and each shelf was equipped with its own fence so there would be no need to bolt anything down. This was a grand ship, one of the nicer ones Stephen had boarded, and it felt insubordinate to be unsatisfied about the mere size of the room. This was a fine job for him, and one that he knew would earn him the respect he garnered when he returned. Dr Stephen Stanley, the head surgeon on the voyage that changed the future of trade- travelling as a wardroom officer, no less. A fine placard that would be on the door to his office.
Stephen stood before the operating table with his back to the door. He had both heels of his hands leant firmly on the surface and had been in the process of shifting his weight to see if the table had any unnecessary give, but he had been distracted by the sound of oncoming footsteps down the hall.
He stayed still, surveying the sound. Perhaps they would simply pass him by and meander off towards another room. Stephen wasn’t in any particular mood to chit-chat, he simply wanted to check on his spaces and be done with it. Although, perhaps it was one of the commanders. Perhaps it was commander Fitzjames, the man who was so gracious as to list him up for this job after their time together on the Cornwallis. But why would he be here? He would surely be busy with the captain making plans, cosy in one of the many inns that were fast filling with sailors ready to board.
The footsteps entered the room and Stephen turned to meet them, graceful as a cat and just as silent.
A young boy stood in the doorway, no taller than a child but with a weathered quality about the face that suggested an age of around mid-twenties. Either that or he was gravely ill. Good lord, Stephen hadn’t seen rings under the eyes as dark as those since he had been working on cadavers. A ghostly sight indeed, in fact it took Stephen a frightful second to check that he wasn’t instead witnessing an apparition of some sort.
The boy seemed shocked to find anyone in the room, he had stopped dead still in the doorway, eyes widened to double their size in his strange little face, shining like two blue china saucers.
“Oh, hullo!” the boy choked out, his accent was from somewhere up north. Stephen narrowed his eyes, staying still. The young man blinked a little reprehensibly at the lack of a greeting, his face hardening a touch. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t expect anyone to be in here, is all! Scared me half to death, you did! Standing there like a great black crow!”
Already Stephen could tell that this boy spoke too much. No manners.
Stephen was in all black, the only colour came from his necktie which was a deep blue. He felt a frisson of belligerence pass over him at the boy’s comment.
“Well, it’s hardly surprising that you would wander into a sick bay and find a doctor, now, is it?” Stephen kept his voice low and even, straightening his posture so that he could fit his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets.
The boy grinned a little, the action picking at the corner of his lips in a tight curve, eyes narrowed. There was a silence in the room as the boy stepped further into it, languidly observing everything around him. He was a small thing, dressed in work clothes, ratty blonde hair worn to the shoulder and tied back under a flat cap.
“You gettin’ a feel for it then, are ya, doc?” He said as he plunged his hands into his pockets, having to bow back a little to look Stephen in the face.
Stephen felt his face colour at the careless manner in which he was addressed, jaw clenching.
“When on this ship, you shall address me as ‘doctor’, is that understood?” Who did this boy think he was? Granted he probably wasn’t aware that he was addressing an officer with the lack of a uniform, but it was obvious that a boy as careless as this could be no higher ranking than an able seaman at most.
“Oh, aye?” the boy smiled, showing a row of teeth. There was a flash of silver- so he had enough means to afford dental work, then. Now Stephen looked at him, there was a similar flash of metal from his left ear. A sailor through and through, it seemed. “Sorry about that, doctor. Guess I should smarten my language up then, eh?”
Stephen wasn’t sure if that phrase was meant as an insult or not, but Stephen refused to accept anything less than what he was owed- even if it was the correct title. He sighed, low as thunder in his chest, and removed his pocket-watch with a graceful flick of his wrist, surveying the time. An obvious hint that seemed to go over the boy’s head.
“What you do with your language is none of my concern, but you should know that Sir John does not appreciate his sailors speaking in such a manner.” Stephen’s pocket watch closed with a sharp click as he drew his gaze back to meet the young man.
The young man was silent, his eyes glittered with an unreadable emotion. Stephen furrowed his brow acutely and turned back to address the operating table, turning his back fully to the boy.
He tried his best to ignore the creeping feeling of observation that skated up his spine and focused his attention down onto the hard wood of the table. What had he been doing again? He had expected to hear the boy leaving by now, not many people would take pleasure in staying in a room with a man who had just turned his back to them, but perhaps this boy was dim.
The table was firm, bolted to the floor, but Stephen pushed his weight against it anyway just to be sure. He once had a table come unscrewed during an amputation on a particularly stormy sea- he had to hold the damn thing against a wall with his knee pushing on the patient’s chest as he sawed through their arm. It was a wonder that the cut was even, although the patient broke a few ribs from Stephen’s weight alone. Not his best amputation, even if the man had bragged about it for weeks afterwards- “ And the good doctor here wasted no time and climbed upon me like a stallion, broke two of my ribs! I feel for his wife!”- which had been absolutely mortifying.
Before long, the small figure of the boy appeared in his sight again, having sidled to the other side of the table. He looked upon Stephen with a sly but mystified expression, considering the doctor’s hands where they pushed down on the surface. Stephen all at once felt himself flush, realising he may have been looking a little odd.
“You, uh…” The boy made a gesture with his head down at where Stephen’s body was pushed against the table, “You expecting to take more than amputations on this thing, huh?”
That level of crude humour was not appreciated, and it took Stephen by surprise. He was used to the laddish japes shared between sailors, but none of which had ever been aimed at him before. He gathered himself into a stormy expression, leaning carefully away until he was upright again, fists clenched at his sides. The boy continued to look into his face as if he wasn’t aware of the foul mood he had just stirred. Heat flushed under Stephen’s jaw.
There was a short silence where Stephen considered what to do- should he just leave? He wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with this crude, uneducated sailor. The boy broke the silence with a tilt of his head, crossing his arms over his narrow chest.
“Forgive me, doc, it’s just you set yourself up for that one.”
This didn’t help quell Stephen’s anger in the slightest, he stared back at the boy with an expression cold enough to burn. The boy held his gaze, a strip of colour developed under his collar and skated up the sides of his face and onto each cheek.
“Um…” He swallowed, averting his gaze for a second, “I just remembered I never introduced myself, did I?”
Stephen arched a brow, folding his arms over his broad chest, his anger subsiding only slightly for curiosity. Like he wanted to know this cretin’s name. It was highly unlikely he would ever see him again after this interaction, he would no doubt be lost in the sea of faces belonging to the ABs, dulled into obscurity.
“It’s Jones.” Jones leaned across the table to offer his hand, Stephen didn’t take it.
“Jones.” Stephen repeated as the boy stiffly withdrew his hand, wiping it on his trouser leg sheepishly.
“Yes, doc.”
“Doctor.”
“Ah, yes, doctor.”
Stephen took a deep breath in through his nose, tilting his head to observe the boy with a chilling precision. A common name, although Stephen couldn’t exactly judge. He could glean absolutely nothing from such a simple- presumably- last name, the boy was a blank slate to him.
“Um…” Jones swallowed, fidgeting a little under the other man’s observation. “Usually when someone introduces themselves, you’re supposed to offer up the same.”
Stephen sighed, a muscle flickered up his jaw as he continued to fix the boy with a glare. Well, he supposed he would get to know his name soon enough, what with him being the head surgeon.
“Dr Stanley, if you’re so inclined to know, although you will hardly need to address me by name.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order.
Despite the icy delivery, Jones’ face seemed to light up, very quickly sinking into a bizarrely coy expression.
“Ah, I thought you to be a man with more whiskers with the way you were described to me.”
Stephen was bemused, eyebrows knitting together. He had always made an effort to appear clean shaven when on ships, it felt more professional and it quickened up his morning routine in front of the limited wash basins. On land, in the amphitheatres and surgical schools, he often wore a moustache- a smart chevron style, thick and auburn-blonde in colour and kindly to his severe bone structure and hard mouth. He had shaved only this morning.
“Why on earth would anyone be describing me to you, boy?”
“Well…” Jones smiled thinly, leaning his hands on the table. Stephen watched him, not exactly liking the tone of his voice. “Despite the fact that you have done nothing but refer to me as a sailor, sir, I am actually going to be your assistant.”
Stephen felt all the blood drain from his face in an instant, eyes widening and jaw slackening. Jones watched him with a growing sense of glee.
“My official job title is ‘loblolly boy’, y’know?” Jones cawed, overly confident now as he turned to lean his hips against the table with a shrug, “But, y’know, you apparently don’t need them on this ship, so I’ve been promoted to an underling.”
Good god, surely not.
“A sort of apprentice, if ya would?”
This boy? Of all the boys?
“Kind of like a low, low down assistant. Lower than your uh… now what was his name? Goodfellow?”
Stephen didn’t even think to try and remember the name of his new assistant now, that was a whole other issue for another day. Right now, he was still coming to terms with the fact that this boy was going to be working with him in the sick bay. This very sick bay. The thought was enough to make him nauseous.
“What are your qualifications?” Stephen tried to keep his voice calm, but the question came so suddenly that it was obvious he was acting out of panic.
Jones looked at him with a small, incredulous smile.
“Ah, I assure you, all my credentials are up to date and are with the captain.” He smiled as if he knew that would be the worst possible answer to give.
Stephen turned away from him, using the millisecond of time as he turned to gather himself. He leaned back against the table with a newfound composure settling over him. Afterall, working on boats was often about sharing living spaces with people you couldn’t abide, and now would be no different. Stupid of him, really, to react the way he had. But it had simply taken him by surprise.
He silently reasoned with himself like this on and on, breathing steady.
Jones came into view again as he edged around the table. Stephen snapped his gaze to him, icy eyes the only thing to move in his face, following him as he scuttled over. The closer the boy got, the shorter he seemed. He was easily two- no, three- heads shorter than Stephen.
“Are you malnourished, boy?” Stephen said without thinking, posture remaining stiff as Jones moved to stand before him. Jones broke into a laugh, but it held a level of insult that stuck to the back of his throat.
“I thought it was rude to go making comments about people’s… extremities, Dr Stanley.” He boldly looked the doctor up and down with a dismissive expression, Stephen felt the gaze tense up across his spine. He folded his arms tighter.
“Well, are you? I can’t have a boy with weak wills in my sick bay.” His voice was still so soft, even as it dripped malice. Jones narrowed his eyes, thin brows creasing his forehead.
“Well, you’re quite a sight in the opposite direction, doctor. Am I to believe that is also due to some nutritional oddity?”
Stephen was silent. He looked to the floor for a moment with a frown. The room lapsed into another uncomfortable silence.
Jones shifted his weight, scuffing the toe of his shoe behind him, tapping it on the floor as he surveyed the room some more. Stephen watched his shoe, each gentle tap felt as loud as a gunshot.
“If--”
“Y--”
They had both begun to speak at the same time, immediately silencing each other. Stephen let his jaw hinge shut with a click of his teeth, feeling this boy’s insubordination bristle all over him. The scuffing stopped.
“What are you doing here so early, anyway, doc- uh, doctor ?”
“I hardly think that’s any concern of yours.”
“Oh, well I will be working here, so…”
“You will be working under me, need I remind you?”
“ Under you, ey?”
“Do not make such degenerate comments with me, boy- I’m not your friend.”
“Well, you’ve made that clear.”
Stephen tipped his chin back, looking down on the boy with a look of glacial and well considered contempt. Jones held his glare, face flushed. It was surprising to Stephen that the boy was so open about such lascivious humour, but looking at him, Stephen wouldn’t have been surprised if the boy was a sod. On the other hand, Stephen reasoned, sailors like this lad made these sorts of jokes often, a sort of test of manhood- perhaps the boy wasn’t a total degenerate, but he certainly had to learn when to keep his mouth shut. Sir John would faint if he heard such jokes.
Stephen sniffed derisively, tilting his head.
“A boy of your age should be expected to work hard, understood? You may have avoided the taxing work of being on deck, but that does not mean the sickbay will be any less demanding.”
Jones’ face fixed into a hard smile, hands curling into tight little fists at his sides.
“I have worked in sickbays before, doctor.”
“Not mine.”
The boy’s jaw bit down, still smiling, bone grinding in his temple.
“Right…”
Silence. Stephen stared expectantly down at the boy, brow shooting up in suggestion. Jones’ eyes were fiery, unmoving from where they met Stephen’s, widening as he realised what was happening.
“…Yes, sir.” Through gritted teeth.
“Not quite.” Stephen tried to stop his voice from displaying any sense of pleasure, but his eyes twinkled like hard blue glass.
Jones’ smile cemented onto his face, now more of a baring of teeth than anything resembling joviality.
“…Yes… doctor.”
Stephen gave a firm nod of satisfaction, moving away from the examination table to examine a shelf on the other side of the room, leaving Jones standing there as stiff as a pole. He pondered the shelf space- he could probably unload some of his medical chest onto this. It was as if Stephen had neither realised nor cared about the humiliating experience he had just forced upon his inferior. After all, it wasn’t humiliation- not to him anyway- it was etiquette. This boy needed to smarten his act up if he wanted to sail with anyone who weren’t whalers.
Stephen heard Jones turn swiftly around on his heel to face the doctor where he was stooped at the back of the room.
“Are you always this much of a wanker, sir?”
Stephen almost choked on his own spit, standing up so fast he was lucky not to hit his head on the overhead beam.
“I beg your pardon!?” His eyes were wide, face paling faster by the second. Jones smiled.
“Oh… forgive me: ‘Are you always this much of a wanker, doctor ?’”
Stephen felt his blood pressure hit the roof, heart hammering in his throat. He ground his jaw down so tight that he felt an old filling twinge with pain at the back of his mouth, shooting into his gum like a razor blade slipping between his teeth. He could scarcely catch his breath for a moment, stood towering with his eyes just visible below a ceiling beam in front of him- no longer passively hunched to accommodate for the ship.
“I’ll have you know you’re addressing a superior officer, Mr Jones.” His voice was whispered and low, as if his own anger had exhausted him.
Jones' smile twisted into his cheeks, jaw pulsing with a stripe of muscle, eyes glittering.
“Not until the ships sail, I ain’t.”
Stephen’s eyes widened in disbelief, he could feel his face heating up, burning like a furnace. The gall on this lad. Stephen had never been a man of high passions, but right now he felt as if he could very well raise his hand.
“Get out of my presence.” Stephen’s voice was soft and barely there, snuffed out by his fury. His eyes hit the sunlight, glowing from under the shadow of the ceiling beam like some dreadful illustration in a horror book.
Jones looked at him for a beat, but it felt like an age of insolence. His smile only cut deeper into his acne scarred face. Stephen would have liked to wipe that smile from his mouth. He didn’t enjoy feeling this way. Didn’t like feeling such urges. They were unprofessional, and far too emotionally taxing.
“Now.”
Jones made no sound, but he moved towards Stephen with steady footing, slowly as if approaching an animal that he was confident was no threat to him. Stephen watched him approach with bile clawing up his throat, moving no muscle except to follow him with his eyes.
Jones stopped a foot away from Stephen, looking up into his face. His blue eyes shone, his lips smiled, but his brow twitched on his forehead as if he were struggling to hold back some sort of outburst. If he were a bigger man it may have been unsettling, but seeing as the boy was no bigger than a young girl it only seemed petulant.
There was a long silence. Stephen refused to speak, refused to crack his voice from where it had glued to the back of his tonsils, only his breath spoke for his temper- billowing like a bull from his nose. Jones parted his lips to speak and the noise of it felt unnaturally loud.
“I look forward to working with you, doctor .” His voice was fractured in his throat, shaking with an unknown emotion. It wasn’t a negative emotion. Stephen felt a flash of confusion run through him that instantly heightened his anger.
Jones took a further step forwards, closing into Stephen’s space, and Stephen felt his stomach swoop into his bowels for a brief second before Jones veered off, brushing past him to exit the room.
Stephen listened to his steps retreating, stuck in his own fury, staring at a point on the far wall as he willed his temper to settle. This will be an interesting voyage, to say the least.