transferred to the old pimpernel's new vessel," Christophel told me somberly.
Like a worn and wrinkled leather boot, the sky had taken on the dark orangish color of a sunless sky. In long weighted strides they made their way on the path back to the docking boats.
I looked over with narrowed eyes. It was odd for Christophel to speak so casually of our new superior officer. "Evans, is it?"
"Henry Evans. Yes. We went to Edgemont Academy together as boys," Christophel admitted. He blew out a chestful of air he was holding. "He would often pay the other boys to write up his assignments for him and then belittle them for taking his money. I don't doubt that he's only become more cruel and entitled with age."
I followed Christophel's gaze to a man suited up in his Naval officer's uniform, complete with triangle badges to indicate his superior rank. Holding himself a little too rigidly, the new leftenant was nervously ushering sailors aboard and repeating the fact that it was "nearly dark" and that the ship needed to "leave by nightfall."
I could feel Christophel frowning next to me as he muttered, "I suppose there's no time to pick up some palatable rations for this trip. I do so tire of the same fish stew night after night."
Before I could agree with him, Evans had inserted himself in between the two of us and was glaring with the weight of a battle canon out of each eye. "You both are late for roll call. I will be running the starboard quadrant of the ship from now on and sailors under my command will not be late, understand?"
I could practically feel Christophel fuming beside me. Throwing myself toward the boarding plank, I hoped that he would keep his mouth shut and save the backtalk for another time, but it was in this moment that our fates would be from that moment bound together.
Just as Evans had turned his head to yell at another group of sailors, Christophel's mouth snarled at the side. Little more than a whisper, the words came out like a velvet slap to the face.
"Did daddy pack you a sack lunch as well then, PuddingPie?" The snarl had stretched across his face into a all-out smirk by the time Evans had slowly turned back to face Christophel.
Grinding his teeth in anger, Evans composed himself quietly for a few seconds, taking in the
Like a worn and wrinkled leather boot, the sky had taken on the dark orangish color of a sunless sky. In long weighted strides they made their way on the path back to the docking boats.
I looked over with narrowed eyes. It was odd for Christophel to speak so casually of our new superior officer. "Evans, is it?"
"Henry Evans. Yes. We went to Edgemont Academy together as boys," Christophel admitted. He blew out a chestful of air he was holding. "He would often pay the other boys to write up his assignments for him and then belittle them for taking his money. I don't doubt that he's only become more cruel and entitled with age."
I followed Christophel's gaze to a man suited up in his Naval officer's uniform, complete with triangle badges to indicate his superior rank. Holding himself a little too rigidly, the new leftenant was nervously ushering sailors aboard and repeating the fact that it was "nearly dark" and that the ship needed to "leave by nightfall."
I could feel Christophel frowning next to me as he muttered, "I suppose there's no time to pick up some palatable rations for this trip. I do so tire of the same fish stew night after night."
Before I could agree with him, Evans had inserted himself in between the two of us and was glaring with the weight of a battle canon out of each eye. "You both are late for roll call. I will be running the starboard quadrant of the ship from now on and sailors under my command will not be late, understand?"
I could practically feel Christophel fuming beside me. Throwing myself toward the boarding plank, I hoped that he would keep his mouth shut and save the backtalk for another time, but it was in this moment that our fates would be from that moment bound together.
Just as Evans had turned his head to yell at another group of sailors, Christophel's mouth snarled at the side. Little more than a whisper, the words came out like a velvet slap to the face.
"Did daddy pack you a sack lunch as well then, PuddingPie?" The snarl had stretched across his face into a all-out smirk by the time Evans had slowly turned back to face Christophel.
Grinding his teeth in anger, Evans composed himself quietly for a few seconds, taking in the
