Piper felt her heart rise up into her throat as she counted each of the robotic rodents over again. Each time she counted more slowly, as if the sixth was simply hiding in the midst of the others. It was no use.
"Must've climbed atop one another. More like than not they got a leader in the pack…" Azariah trailed off thoughtfully.
Piper was stone-faced, "I thought they couldn't climb out."
"Not on their own, no. But these little guys are more clever'n they look - 'specially in numbers. That's why I told ya ta keep the lid on."
The sigh with which Azariah finished the thought was like a knife in Piper's stomach. Seeing the disappointment on his face when she at last managed the courage to raise her head was even worse. He pursed his cracked lips as he cleared his throat, evidently choosing his next words carefully.
"I can't say I'm very pleased, missy. No, not very pleased at all…" He combed through his matted beard with a single soot-stained hand.
"I can check the traps again," Piper attempted with desperation, "they're still in place on every deck."
Azariah was already shaking his head, "They ain't like ta fall fer the same trap twice. They're clever an' learn quick. More'n likely it'll be lookin' fer a new nesting ground. We'll have to keep our eyes peeled for 'im till we find some trace."
"I'll find it!" Piper said, her resolution raising her voice to an unintended shout before she corrected herself, "I'll find it."
Azariah nodded quickly, almost imperceptively, though he held her in his gaze.
"A'right then."
Piper marched out of the office without a second glance. She stalked through the darkening corridors of the ship without a real mind as to where she was headed. Feeling a light stinging in her eyes, she had to make a concentrated effort to slow her breathing. Having settled down after a time, Piper decided she would make a point to check all of the traps yet again for any sign of the missing automata. Unfortunately, she would find her efforts to be in vain.
After checking and then double - checking each trap and finding them woefully empty, Piper dejectedly retired to her cabin for the evening. Having changed and washed up, she found Winnifred and Emeline having already fallen asleep. Olivian's even, heavy snores accompanied Piper's melancholy thoughts as she drifted into a fitful slumber herself. When she awoke the following morning, she found that Winnifred had already left. Piper went about her daily tasks as normal, feeling much like a scolded child.
She spent the majority of her free time searching every inch of the cargo holds, pocketing an orange from the mess and skipping the evening meal altogether. For some frustrating reason that Piper could not understand, the thought of dining with her shipmates was a mortifying prospect. She figured her time would be better used searching for signs of the lost machination. Popping the last slice of the sweet fruit into her mouth, she completed her inspection of cargo hold A to no avail, sliding a barrel of salted meats back into place.
"Thought it odd you didn't show at mess, now I know something's up if you're paying me a visit."
Piper nearly jumped out of her boots, involuntarily releasing a faint yelp as she turned, a hand clutched at her chest. Horace sat upon a crate, clipboard in hand. He raised a bushy eyebrow at her reaction.
"Relax, Pipes. Count as many provisions as you'd like - though if I knew you were at it you could've saved me the trouble. Cook's been a real pain in the ass about the numbers."
"I'm looking for a rat." Piper answered, after taking a moment to recover.
"Definitely in the right place for that," Horace replied, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head with his pen, "but I don't suppose it's as simple as that, what with the look on your face."
"Winnifred didn't tell you?"
Horace shook his head, "Haven't seen her since yester. Figured something might be …"
He finished the exchange with raised hands and a shrug, to which Piper only nodded once in return.
"Yeah."
An awkward silence followed, wherein Piper nearly excused herself, before Horace seemed to make up his mind about something. He pressed his palms into the edge of the crate and heaved himself off with a grunt before dusting off his trousers.
"How can I help?"
Piper was taken aback, "Oh…well I am quite finished with this hold until tomorrow. I'll search hold B before heading to the upper decks."
Horace nodded his understanding, "Great! I'm charged with inventory for the next three nocts, just tell me what I need to keep an eye out for an' I'll cover it for you."
Piper found herself unable to understand, "It's alright, the matter is my responsibility anyway and I told Azariah that I'd take care of it."
"So on top of your regular duties, you plan on spending every ounce of meager free time left to you scouring the decks for a single rat?"
Piper could not offer a response, feeling chastised. She felt her face flush.
"I'll be down here anyhow, I can look through whatever you need me to before your shift is up. I'll let you know if I've found anything."
"I'm certain you've other matters to concern you than this, it is a swab's work."
Horace threw up his arms in exasperation, "What in Four-Seas do you take me for? It's a damn trifle compared to the rest that Dreschler's got me doing, I can handle setting and checking a few traps."
"Why would you even want to?"
Horace snorted, crossing his brawny arms over his chest, "Don't insult me, Piper. We're friends ain't we? Now tell me what the deal is with this rat, I haven't got till dawn."
And Piper did tell Horace everything she had learned about the little automata, though looking back on it, she felt unsure as to why. He focused on each detail, even taking a few small notes when she told him of the signs of the automata's presence. When she wrapped up, Horace simply affirmed his understanding of the matter, told her that he'd inform her if he found anything, and bid her goodnoct. She returned to her cabin that evening with a slew of thoughts and feelings battling for dominance in her mind. Chief among them was the nagging feeling that she was being patronized.
Why else would someone offer to take on work that had been assigned to her to no benefit of their own? Perhaps they really did think her to be incapable of even the simplest and most menial of tasks. Surely Azariah did, at least after this most recent blunder. Still, Piper felt wrong about this line of thought; scratching at the back of her mind was the word friend. Piper had never had a friend, at least not that she could remember.
Her transfer to Brackendow had happened at such an early age - the earliest ever for a recruit - that the closest she had come to a friend were her fellow service members. But unit transfers were both often and unavoidable, leaving little room to get to know anybody well enough to consider them a friend. In fact, the more Piper thought of it, the less she understood what the word even meant. It was another restless sleep - the kind that Piper had been getting unfortunately used to - that followed her into the dawn. That same battle of feelings returned the following day, when Piper returned to investigate the wheelhouse.
It had been a quiet morning of little activity, and Piper had finished up her work quickly and with little difficulty. She had met with Horace on her way up as they had discussed. He had informed her that for all his searching, there was no evidence for rodents of the inorganic variety. Piper had thanked him and continued upstairs onto the crowded first deck. She marched along every inch of deck, bow to stern, checking for any sign of her quarry.
"Hey Pipes! Didn't know it was your day to swab…oops, uh, pardon me-"
Piper backstepped quickly to allow Micah room. He slid in front of her apologetically as he clanked a heavy iron pot beside his feet. She watched momentarily as the ship's rigger dipped a large, stiff-bristled brush into the thick, black substance within the container.
"It isn't, not until tomorrow at least." Piper replied at last.
"What brings you sunny-side?" He asked. There was lighthearted humor in his voice as he concentratedly lathered the ropes bound to the gunwale.
"Routine inspection is all." Piper lied.
"Still lookin' for that rat?" Micah queried in return, still intently focused on his work.
"Winnie told you?" Piper whispered.
Micah's brush paused midair as he turned a tar-stained cheek in her direction.
"Horace. Winnifred hasn't come to dine in a couple days now, same as yourself."
Piper nodded stiffly. Taking in a deep breath, she turned to excuse herself.
"W-wait hold up, Piper!" Micah called after her, turning so fast that he slid on a small patch of spilt tar. Piper managed to half catch his thin frame to prevent him from fully toppling over.
"Thanks," Micah breathed, righting himself before his eyes widened in alarm. He pointed down to a splotch on the sleeve of Piper's uniform where he had stained it with the black, sticky substance. "Sorry about that …"
Piper smiled despite herself and shrugged it off, "Whether it's soot, grease, or tar, it was bound to happen sooner or later."
Micah sighed in relief. In spite of her recent disposition, Piper was surprised to find that she had to stifle a laugh. She had found something so earnest in Micah that it had become easy to let her guard down around him.
"He…just told me he was giving you a hand with it, seems like a pretty big undertaking on a ship like the Lockjawe."
"It's not anymore than I can manage," She began tightly, "but, I am grateful for Horace's help."
"Well if you don't mind … I think I might be able to assist as well."
Piper blinked at Micah as he removed his soaked canvas gloves, carrying on after a moment to explain.
"I've come to know the in's and out's of the masts and sails both here and aloft. Horace told me some about it already so I've been keeping an eye out just in case, but he said you might be a little particular about …" Micah trailed off again, his face growing a bit red.
That nagging feeling returned to the pit of Piper's stomach, yet the earnestness in which Micah held in his request was palpable. Before she could get locked in another paradox of thought, Piper relented. Micah listened intently at the signs he was to look out for until she finished, breaking into a toothy grin once she had. He almost seemed eager as he gathered up his brush and bucket to hurry off and finish his work, like a child entrusted with an important task by a guardian they sought to make proud. Piper sighed and carried on to her final location.
As she strode into the wheelhouse, it was clear to see it was being manned by a skeleton crew. Sailing Master Ferretti had nearly bowled her over in her haste out of the door, leaving just the helmsman at the wheel and Emeline at the transmitter. Although she had been in the process of feverishly scribbling into a notepad upon her entry, Emeline took the time to offer a greeting in the form of a smile. Piper returned the sentiment in a similar fashion, before carrying on with her inspection.
Nothing, again.
She felt frustration well in her chest, but did her best to quell it. Apparently it had not been well enough.
"Is everything alright?"
Piper turned to see Emeline, her lips tight and brow furrowed; she had evidently finished with her urgent task; the notepad sat now closed next to the receiver, though she energetically drummed her fingers beside it.
"Just a hiccup is all." Piper replied, forcing an assured smile. She found herself taking the seat that the young navigator had offered.
"A hiccup involving a lost rat?"
Piper felt her frustration bubble over at last.
"Is there not a living being aboard this ship not yet aware of my failings?"
Her voice came out higher in both volume and pitch than she had intended, and Piper was surprised to hear how shaky she sounded. Emeline laid a single hand over Piper's clenched fist.
"I'm just worried is all - the others as well. We haven't seen hardly a trace of you, and Winnifred has become akin to a spectre."
"Worried for me?" Piper croaked, "Worried that I am still yet unable to complete even the most menial of tasks meant for the most menial of positions?"
As soon as the words made their way past her lips she regretted them. Even through the blurring of her vision, Piper could see the hurt inflicted on Emeline's face.
"That isn't what we meant by it." She said softly. Piper said nothing.
"We wish to help you, Piper. That's all. There is nothing wrong with relying on your friends from time to time."
There it was again. That same, foreign word that she had become acquainted with the noct prior. Piper shook her head without really understanding why. She felt Emeline squeeze her hand, and she noticed the slight tremble behind the gesture as well. Blinking the clouds out of her sight and studying the face across from her with a new confusion, Piper was shocked to see the anxiety present on the girl's face. A mask of stress too complex to have just been for her sake.
"Emeline? What is the matter?"
"Piper, there's been…there's been a transmission." She gave the announcement with labored breath, as if the words were forged of lead. Piper didn't fully comprehend what it meant, but she was beginning to understand why the wheelhouse had grown so empty.
"Where was it from? Who sent it?" She asked, grateful at least for a distraction from her recent worries.
"Not sure, but it has to be Animaerisian. Seeing as we're on the trail of the sister ships, there's a good chance it came from one of the two." Emeline explained, her breath wavering with every word, "But the signal was too quiet to make out words. What quiet really means is faint, and if the signal was faint, that means that it's close."
"How faint was it?" Was Piper's next question.
When Emeline did not answer her, she suspected the answer.
When the announcement speakers crackled to life across the entire ship with the voice of Captain Tartan, her suspicions were confirmed.