The crew began rousing themselves around noon. It was just too hot to sleep comfortably any longer. The shipwrecked survivors moved slow and gingerly, trudging through their tasks with stoic determination. There was a lot to be done. The ramshackle camp was mostly just strewn hammocks and bedrolls at the edge of the lagoon. There hadn't been time or energy for much else, so the day's first priority was to set up a more organized campsite. Nearly half the crew, lead by Mister Reeve, were off in the nearby woods gathering firewood. The sounds of hatchets rendering branches and small trees rang out from all around. Mister North was directing traffic, balancing a clipboard on his wounded hand and scribbling notes as he told people where to put the crates being brought down from the gangplank and the incoming piles of wood. Nearby, the Kestrel's cook was running his small crew around the three cookfires like a frustrated jester who just found out he had to pretend to be the king. His leadership style was exactly the opposite of the placid and organized Quartermaster.
"No, no, salt in that pot, flour in that one, bones in that one!" the cook shouted, one hand pressed against the side of his head. "First pot is lunch! Second is dinner! Third is for making glue! You salt it again, you're going to eat it!"
Will sat on a stump in front of the sailcloth awning Doctor Kalfou had claimed as a medical tent. Nearby was a series of cots that had been laid out for the severely wounded. Crewmen laid in them miserable, recovering from broken limbs, puncture wounds, and amputations. All that could be done for them had been. Now it was up to time.
The Doctor herself was finishing rebandaging Will's hand, making sure the bite wound hadn't begun to fester. It was inflamed and quite swollen, but Friday was sure it was from bruising not infection. The good doctor had made the mistake of not keeping her footlocker locked when she was out of the room, and when the crew had retrieved it from her room it had opened, dumping most of her possessions into the remaining dirty water that had had not finished draining from the hold. So the clinic was surrounded by ropes tied between trees, drying every article of clothing she had. The only thing that had been clean was the outfit she had been wearing on Barcola, and her laboratory coat. Amid the dirty sailors trudging through the jungle and wading through the shallows, Doctor Kalfou was resplendent in white, and rather unhappy about it. Will, on the other hand, was enjoying the view.
"It's warm enough, you'll have dry clothes in an hour or two,' Will shrugged. He couldn't help but smile as he looked down the valley of her vest while she leaned forward to work on his hand. He pretended not to notice, and she pretended not to notice him noticing. Neither was fooling the other.
Friday took a deep breath and sighed dramatically, fully aware of what that did to her chest. She casually looked herself over. "Know how much this outfit cost, you? It is white. Blood or grass stains will ruin it forever. Besides, my shoes do not match at all." She half-laughed, aware of how ridiculous she sounded.
"I definitely noticed that," Will deadpanned. "It was the first thing I thought when I made my way through the shipwreck camp to check if my hand was rotting off. Black flats with white trousers? What were you thinking?"
She finished his new bandage and gave his hand a squeeze that was just a little harder than she needed to. "The hand will not rot off. Today," she said archly.
"Thanks, Doc. We really should stop meeting like this," Will smiled.
"If you wish to spend time with me, you do not need to keep injuring your hand. Your last wound has barely healed," Friday smirked back.
Will tested the movement of his bandaged hand. "Am I that transparent?"
"Switch to a different limb next time. It was the repetition that gave you away,' Friday teased.
"I'll keep that in mind," Will grinned.
"Now, what about the rest of you?" Doctor Kalfou asked.
Will winced a bit, not wanting to admit how badly he was hurt but knowing he should. With an apologetic look he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. Doctor Kalfou's brows raise as she saw his legs. His thighs were covered in ropey bruises where the grindylow's tentacles had wound around him and squeezed. He raised his chin so she could more easily see the bruises around his neck where he'd been strangled.
"Seen so many of those," Friday said sadly. "Not much I can do. They will fade."
"I figured," Will nodded. "Other than that it's just the rope burns on my palms."
"More I can do little about. I have balm, but others need it more." the doctor shrugged. "Keep the burn clean, and if it swells or fills with fluid come to me."
Will pulled up his pants. "Yes, ma'am."
"Shoo," Doctor Kalfou said waving her hands at him.
Will buckled his belt and headed off to find Jack.
"Sterling!" a voice called out. Will turned his head, surprised. The cook was waving him over. He changed course, wondering what the cook needed from him. They'd only briefly met. Unlike most of the rest of the crew, a ship's cook was nearly always away from everyone else. The crew rotated galley duty, helping as cook's mates, but ship's officers were exempt so Will had barely spoken to the man.
"Stewpot," Will said as he approached. "What can I do for you?"
"Stewart 'Stewpot' Kees was a lanky, dark skinned man with a slight pot belly. Currently, his right arm was bandaged so thickly that only the ends of his fingers stuck free. Will had heard the crew joke that Stewpot didn't actually own any shirts. He had aprons instead. He was an intense man, quick to yell at mistakes and laziness, but also constantly smiling and joking.
"A bunch of the foodstores were lost in the flood," Stewpot said, not bothering with the niceties that usually came with casual acquaintances. "Mister North saved as much as he could, but I have a bunch of stuff I need to use before it turns. Here." The cook pulled the cover off a slightly dented serving tray and offered Will a confection baked in a bread tray.
Will's brows rose. The top was a lattice of sugared pie crust with delicious smelling filling seeping from within. It looked slightly burnt at the edges and would have been rejected from nearly any bakery, but it was far more decadent than Will ever expected to see onboard a ship, much less a jungle island after a shipwreck.
Will took it with slack jawed surprise. It was still warm. "Stu, how did you... why?" Will shook his head. "Is that peach cobbler?"
"Aye,' Stewart grinned and handed Will a fork. "Picked up the sugar and peaches on Barcola. It was supposed to be a big thing for the whole crew in about a week, but only a bit of it made it through last night. It isn't much, but I wanted to say thanks. You saved all our asses. If you see Miss Webber and Mister Quinn, tell them I have one for them too."
Will took a slow bite and rolled his eyes in pleasure as the taste flooded his mouth. "Damn, Stu. This is amazing. You made this on a campfire?"
Stewpot tilted his head and grinned, thumbing over his shoulder. "Naw. Ship's right there."
"Oh. Right. I guess the oven still works," Will chuckled, feeling stupid. "Thanks, this is really too much."
"Like hell!" The cook held up both hands in protest. "We'd all be dead if not for you."
"I don't know about that," Will shrugged.
"Well that's what the crew thinks." Stewpot insisted. "Look, I've been with the Captain a while. I signed on because she's a living legend. Every story about her is some combination of damn fool crazy, and unbelievable nonsense. I wanted to see if the stories were true, so here I am. There's been enough scrapes and wonders the last few years that I thought I was ready for anything, you know? I mean, there's a reason I stuck around when she said she was going after the Drifts. Pretty much all of us who've been with her a while are like that. Whatever she's a part of, we want a front row seat. Last night though... we ain't never seen anything like that." Stewpot lifted his injured arm, then pulled his apron aside so Will could see the mass of bruising around his ribs and chest. "While you were on that thrice-damned ship I took one of their tongues in the wrist. It dragged me in like a damn fish and started crushing the life out of me. I thought I was a goner. Would have been too, if not for Mister Reeve. I was laying there on my back trying to figure out how to breathe again when the blast went off and you three came diving off that wreck back to us. I don't think you could see the other ship, right? Whatever you did made it jerk away from us like it was being yanked by the hand of the Warden herself. As soon as it was gone, the rest of those damn monsters jumped back into the drink. We all went from fighting for our lives to standing around like idiots in about ten seconds. The three of you ended it. The least I can do is make you a pie."
"Well, I appreciate it," Will said, not really sure what to say. "I'm glad you aren't going to lose the hand."
"The new Doc saved it," Stew smiled. "She says it will take a long time to heal, but that's better than a hook. She's mighty impressive."
"Aye," Will said, talking around another bite of cobbler. "Most of us would be a lot worse off today without her. Fresh wounds and jungles are a dangerous mix."
"I'll take your word for it," Stewpot said. "Gotta get back to yelling at these amateurs. If I keep on 'em, lunch will only be two hours late."
Will laughed and gave Stewpot a wave as he left, then headed off again to find Jack. He found her having a conversation with Danica North.
"That's essentially what I had in mind anyway," Jack was saying. "Just make sure no one wanders off into the jungle before I have a chance to talk to them."
"Aye," the First Mate nodded. Her usual smile was missing at the moment. "What about Morant's men? They seem to know what they're doing, but I don't know if they're reliable. The whole crew knows they stayed below deck through most of the fight, and the tensions are already ratcheting up."
"Wonderful," Jack sighed. "As if this situation isn't tense enough already."
"Exactly. Coleman and I are still working out how to handle it," Danica said. She noticed Will and gave him a curt wave before turning back to her discussion.
"They aren't going to go anywhere unless Morant tells them to, and he's going to keep them close," Jack said, offering Will a glance of greeting mid-sentence. "They're all trained survivalists, but you're not going to be able to use them for scouting."
"I guess that will be all on you," Danica sighed, clearly frustrated.
"Him too," Jack nodded in Will's direction.
"Him too," Will agreed around a mouthful of cobbler.
"You do jungles?" Danica asked, impressed.
"Once or twice. I'm not as good as she is, but I probably won't die right away," Will shrugged.
