Edward took the last step towards Herbert and looked him in the eyes next. He didn't conjure any image in his mind, nor did he think he looked at him with any malice, but in Herbert's eyes, Edward could tell he looked crazed.
He felt of two minds at that moment. On one side, he was free from all his exhaustion and pain over the last hours, and it also gave him the respite from the arresting thoughts that plagued him of late. On the other, he felt a different pain from the look in Herbert's eyes: the look of fear mixed with the look one would give a stranger together told Edward he wasn't himself.
His mind split into the two thoughts broke the spell he was under, and he could once more hear the whispers and movement of the men surrounding them.
"We're done for the night," he said as he looked at Herbert, but loudly enough for those around him to hear. He turned around and faced the night crew. "Any objections?"
…
"So, what were they on about up there?" Edward asked when they were below deck.
Herbert paused for a moment, not looking at Edward as he pushed his chair forward towards the crew quarters. "They took issue with some notes I had taken."
"Notes?"
Herbert stopped his advance and reached into his jacket pocket, then passed a small booklet to Edward. He didn't explain any further, and Edward expected he was to find the answer himself.
Edward flipped through the pages of the booklet, taking note of small drawn charts and numbers he was able to recognize as calculations of wind speed and orders issued by a helmsman. As he went further, he took notice of names and designs relating to the brigantine they found themselves on. At the front few pages were a list of corrections and errors on the part of the helmsman and lower-ranking officers in charge of the Black Blood. He also noticed a few attributed to the captain, Grace O'Malley herself.
Edward chuckled as he closed the booklet and handed it back to Herbert. "Well, pray they've learned their lesson today."
Herbert cocked his brow. "To tell it true, I didn't know what to expect, but that's not how I thought you would react."
"Just keep that thing hidden. It may prove useful." Edward leaned closer to Herbert to whisper. "And perhaps with your eyes, you can make a list of those who are loyal to Grace O'Malley and keep a tally of their faults. That, too, could prove useful should we lose favour with our dear captain even more."
Herbert nodded, and instead of returning the booklet to his pocket, he placed it in the hidden compartment in his wheelchair.
Edward and Herbert returned to the crew quarters and back to their hammocks. John was fast asleep, swaying overhead. Edward was last in his hammock, and he lumbered in as the pain began coming back to his conscious mind. He fell into the hammock and closed his eyes and mercifully fell into a deep sleep reserved for the genuinely spent.
Just as instantly as he had fallen asleep, Edward awoke from John slapping his arm. Edward looked about in a half-dazed state. He rolled out of the hammock and rose slowly to his feet.
The slight pain he'd experienced just before falling into his dead sleep hit him in full, and across every inch of his body. He was slower now, and there was little he could do about it save push past. He recalled the floating feeling he had experienced before and tried to channel it, but it was just beyond his grasp. If he had been flying on the weather deck before, now he was simply jumping a few inches off the ground. He could hold it for the briefest moment before it turned to sand between his fingers.
John, Herbert, and he all ate a hearty meal and were given a brief rest before they returned to the weather deck. John had informed Edward that he managed to sleep through another shift, and given that they had returned early due to the previous incident, Edward estimated he had gotten a full five or six hours of sleep. It was the most uninterrupted sleep he had had in some time, and though he hoped for more, he feared it would be the last for another great while.
Edward and Herbert continued taking double shifts while getting only the barest amount of sleep as the crew pushed Edward to the brink of collapse each time.
After the second full four hours, Edward's nausea from the constant work took over, and he vomited over the side of the ship. He managed to keep silent and out of sight as he tilted his head over the side by making it look as though he was on his knees swabbing the deck near the starboard rails.
He cursed himself for his weakness. His body felt hollow and leaden at the same time, and his throat and temples throbbed continuously with each beat of his pounding heart.
That momentary weakness, hidden from the crew's eyes, was the lowest point for him. After that, the situation aboard improved, and not merely because he no longer felt nauseated.
The mood aboard the ship seemed to shift with each passing hour, and with each change of the crew. Perhaps due to pity, respect, or perhaps the words of warning from the crew involved in the earlier incident—Edward could not know which—the crew of the Black Blood stopped their attempts to break him. The feet trying to trip him, the 'accidents' meant to make his job harder, as well as the other crewmates not working as he broke his back slowly trickled away until none
