One Place Down

Twenty-four bowls on the oak. Twenty-three hands. Finch's stayed beside Captain Rusk. He said, "Clear it." I passed it left. We left Widow's Quay at sundown with saffron in the hold. Finch had called the reef at three fathoms through water black and cold. At supper Captain Rusk came down wearing Finch's compass chain. "He took the yawl and forty crowns. Deserters lose their name." I had salted cod for twenty-four, twenty-four cuts of bread. I set the dented bowl for Finch. Rusk turned it on its head. "Count who is breathing, quartermaster." "Count who should be found." Every spoon lay flat against the tin. I passed it one place down. One place down, one place down, pass the dented tin one place down. If a sailor misses supper, keep his portion going round. One place down, one place down, hear the empty knock come round. No one leaves our table nameless. One place down. One place down. At middle watch, young Kit came aft, black powder on his cuff. He set Finch's brass dividers down and could not look at Rusk. "Finch would not burn the chandlery. There were sleepers underneath. Rusk bound him in the captain's yawl and rowed him to the reef. The captain came back with the chain. The yawl came back as well. Cormorant goes under before dawn. Finch is on the outer shelf." Rusk's knife came clear an inch. I slid the bowl between. Twenty-two hands followed mine. Kit's hand made twenty-three. One place down, one place down, pass the dented tin one place down. If a captain hides a sailor, let the table call him out. One place down, one place down, twenty-three votes without a shout. No one leaves our table nameless. Turn the bloody ship about. Rusk laughed. "You passed that bowl for seven hands and never turned for one. Hobb and Elise. The Morgan twins. Old Tomas, Jude, and Grey. You fed their empty places, then sailed the course I gave. Do not call tonight a conscience. You helped me make their graves." No one cursed him. That was worse. He was right about the course. We had made a rite of losing and called obedience remorse. I lifted Finch's bowl, set Rusk's pistol in its place. "East by north for Cormorant. Bolt the captain's door." One place down, one place down, put the captain's bowl face down. Put the wheel to Cormorant. Let the old course run aground. One place down, one place down, twenty-three throats, one command: No one leaves our table nameless. Turn this bastard ship around. At dawn, a hand rose from the reef. We counted once. Then twice. Finch climbed the boarding net with salt dried white across his mouth. I gave him the dented bowl. He held it but did not eat. "Where are the other seven?" No spoon moved.