Gratitude

Serenica read through the first book in one evening. The central topic was the trinity doctrine of the soul. A whole person consisted of a will, a spirit - or, according to old texts, a breath, but that was merely semantics - and a body. If one of them was taken away, the result would be something like a living dead, a puppet of some kind, or a ghost, but in order to get the dead to function as informants a new will needed to be added into the mix.

Serenica read through diagrams and long lists of things deadrousers needed to avoid. She had to admit Spade had been doing well, ticking none of the boxes. He was careful.

Sighing, she pushed the book away. Myorka's words about suitors rang around in her head. It was true that she was addicted to working, to things and concepts, at the expense of her love life. She didn't know if she even sought for lips upon hers.

She did not, after all, have any suitors that she knew of.

A very human worry of being alone drove her to a little mirror she always had with her. She examined her even skin, her pouty lips, her serious eyes.

She was good enough. Was she good enough for others?

Feeling uneasy, she returned to the book. At least the dead didn't love.

There was something on the very last page that got to her. It was an unnerving bit of information about how certain disembodied spirits were quite fond of deadrousers.

Serenica skimmed through the heavy block of text. Coldness following the person, peculiar sensations on skin, all of the symptoms matched.

She shuddered.

Spade was a marked man. He did, in fact, feel cold all the time. He covered himself in wool and scarves and complained about the wind. Even in tropical areas. That couldn't be good.

Serenica went looking for Myorka, but the only person available was the Admiral.

"You talked with him?"

"I am reading with him," Serenica replied. "There's something that concerns me."

"Oh, that is in no way new. We are concerned all the time. Worried, even. One of these days he will do something that can't be taken back."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Serenica said. "Fancy a pipeful?"

"I just smoked. Are the men doing all right?"

"I haven't seen any of them drinking. Which is good, I suppose."

The first mate raised his eyebrows. "You could give a better example to them."

Serenica panicked.

"Do I smell like booze?" she asked.

"No, you don't, don't be silly. It's just that I have seen you share wine with the big bosses. If you keep on doing that, Spade will pull you down with you."

"So you've all just given up on him?" Serenica asked. "Seems like he makes the business a lot more lucrative. I would have thought you wanted him to stay alive."

"I do! Don't get me wrong...I am merely tired of his antics."

Serenica admitted that she was tired as well.

She went to check how the memory diarrhea halfwit was doing.

John wasn't doing well. He was scared, soiling himself and not aware of his surroundings.

"Kinley, I need you to tell me about Kinley," Serenica said and gave him a swig of rum.

"I hate her," Little John moaned. "Why do you care? Who are you, Mister?"

Serenica let out a sigh of pure desperation. "All right, she paid you but it was too little. What else? Who does she know? What does she know?"

"She goes out to a secret location once a month. I do not know where it is."

"Who does she go with?"

"Only Wheatby. Please, Mister, I am scared."

"You should be scared if you don't tell me everything you know about her."

Serenica hated herself for being so cruel, but it wasn't only her fate on the line.

"Wheatby is in love with her."

That was not as much of a surprise as it could have been. Serenica had suspected something like that from the moment she'd heard Wheatby talk. This could, of course, be an advantage against Kinley. Perhaps he would betray her after one too many unrequited displays of affection. He had a particularly ineffective method of courting, being but a servant, a trained and loyal bloodhound.

"What else?" Serenica asked. She was in a hurry. She had to pry out as much information as she could before John would descend into total madness.

"I don't know, Mister. I am scared. Please."

Serenica shook her head. "Perhaps I will let Spade talk with you once you're dead."

"But I'm not dying."

Serenica contemplated her options. Sure, honesty was morally admirable, but the information would have made no difference, at least in a positive direction. She could lie, but on the other hand, she might as well be honest and honor her soul, if she had one. John would forget everything anyway.

"You are dying of memory diarrhea," she told him.

As his eyes searched for answers on her face, someone tapped on her shoulder.

Serenica got up immediately, hand on her pistol already.

Myorka laughed at her. "You are easily spooked. How is he taking the news?"

"He isn't taking them in at all," Serenica said, looking at her delirious patient.

"I heard you were looking for me," the bookkeeper said.

"I was. We should talk."

"I know what that means," Myorka said and let out a deep sigh. "Bring the paw. I will bring some rum."

"No, you can keep the rum," Serenica said, remembering the sermon she had recently received.

"William has talked to you. Good."

They met in Serenica's little cabin in the middle of books and papers.

"Oh. Wow!" the bookkeeper exclaimed, running her finger on the cover of a book. "He has given you his entire library, hasn't he? He must really want you to get familiar with deadrousing."

"Yes, he is quite enthusiastic about it," Serenica said.

"Try to understand him. I think he sees you as a replacement daughter of sorts. I know, I know, he isn't that old. But it's funny how the mind works when it really wants something."

Serenica was awestruck. She felt a little chilly and quite respectful towards the captain. They had known each other for a few days and he had already taken her in, clothed her, fed her and shared his most intimate secrets with her.

Perhaps it was time for her to give something back.