Tempest by Cari Z.

hanging above the desk at the far end. “Those of us in the Sea Guard, we report in here once a week, get our schedule and our position, and we make reports here as well if we see anything interesting or suspicious. Which, ahoy the desk!” he proclaimed. “It seems there’s an awful spotted beast been sighted on land, infiltrating this very building!”
    â€œSo very clever,” the man—the very young man, Colm realized—sitting behind the desk said with a sneer. He was indeed a very spotty man, his forehead and nose a virulent red broken up with pinkish-white pustules. He had hunched shoulders and lank, dull hair that he was clearly trying to vanish behind. “I suppose being a simple volunteer gives you plenty of time to come up with your little quips. Those of us who are actually in the navy have more important things to spend our effort on.”
    â€œAye, like cushions for your arses in those nice, comfy chairs,” Nichol said. “Is the quartermaster in yet?”
    â€œWhy?” the man asked suspiciously.
    â€œBecause I need to speak to him,” Nichol said, enunciating carefully as though he were speaking to an idiot. “It’s about a burial.”
    â€œGo to the Ardeaglais,” the man dismissed. “The priests tend to such matters.”
    â€œThis matter concerns a family member. No priest could lay one of our own family to rest better than we could, and I need a boat for it, Alain. Now stop being difficult and let me through to see the quartermaster.”
    Colm could see the refusal already shaped in Alain’s lips, and he stepped forward. “Please, sir, it would mean a great deal to us,” he said, keeping his tone quiet and respectful. It was a tone that had gotten Colm through a lot of difficult interactions with the villagers back home, and the man seemed disarmed by it.
    â€œWho beneath the Four are you?” he asked, thrown off his stride.
    â€œJust a son trying to lay his father to rest. Please,” Colm repeated.
    â€œWell…at least you show a proper attitude,” Alain said with a sniff. “I suppose you could see the quartermaster. He’s rather busy, though, so keep it brief.”
    Nichol had kept his silence through this part of the exchange, but as soon as permission was granted, he couldn’t hold back any longer. “Lovely, many thanks, don’t work so hard that the boils spread. Come on, Colm.” He ignored Alain’s offended humph and strode off down the hall. Colm caught up with him quickly, his longer legs giving him the advantage.
    â€œWhy did you have to go and be polite to that silly bastard?” Nichol asked. “Now he’ll expect it!”
    â€œWhy shouldn’t he expect it?” Colm asked. “He’s in a position to help us, and he’s a member of the coast guard besides. That does qualify as a part of the navy, doesn’t it? I thought that was what you aspired to.”
    â€œWell, not to do that !” Nichol exclaimed. “Not to sit on my arse all day and pretend I’ve a real man’s job while all I really do is act as a glorified signpost, telling folks which way to go and when they’re allowed to do so. No, I don’t want to be stuck indoors, or even on a shore-trawler. I want to sail all the way to Speir and beyond, I want to make the ocean my home. I’ll get there too. You’ll see,” he said with a wink as he drew to a stop at the end of the hall.
    â€œThis is the warehouse, and that’s the quartermaster’s domain. A fighting force lives and dies on the strength of its supply chain, Gran’s always said, and the strength of the supply chain depends upon the wisdom of the quartermaster. He’s an important man, Roburt Grainger. He doesn’t care overmuch for me, but he’s sweet on Gran, so I think he’ll give us what we need.” Nichol pushed through the double doors and into the