Chapter 3: The Seafinch

About an hour and a half later, the biting smell of burning matter poured from the galley, and even from their places around the boat, Stephen and Ben were downwind enough to catch mouthfuls of it. Coughing and spluttering, they ran to the kitchen, where Adriana stood fanning whatever it was she was cooking with her apron.
      “What are you doing?” Ben cried, holding the cloth of his sleeve to his face as his eyes began to water. “You’ll set the whole ship on fire!”
      Stephen coughed and ducked beneath the thick smoke floating around them. “That’s not saying much,” he muttered. “What were you trying to do?”
      Adriana brought the smoke under control and set her hands on her hips. “I told ye I was no good at cookin’. I was tryin’ to whip somethin’ up but…I don’t quite know wha’ happened. It just sorter flared up an’ I couldn’t stop it.”
      Holloway’s face fell slightly. “I guess that means no dinner.”
      Ben set his jaw resolutely, piecing his thoughts together. “Not necessarily. If there are any fishing lines stowed away on this tub, we may be able to catch something.”
      Stephen thought for a moment. “There might be. I don’t know if my father left spares on any of his ships, and since this is both a new one and a small one, he might not have bothered.”
      “Well, it can’t hurt to look,” Ben said, striding off towards the storage area with Stephen and Adriana in tow. He rummaged through piles of rope and canvas, searching for anything that resembled fishing gear. Finding nothing in the first pile, he headed off to look elsewhere as his companions watched on in curiosity. After a moment, Ben came back to them with a heavy sigh. “There’s nothing here. At least, nothing I can find.” He paused a moment, weighing the options. “Stephen, have you any knowledge of a kitchen?”
      Stephen wrinkled his brow in apology. “Sorry, Ben. All I know is from what I’ve seen my mother do, and that’s not to say I could do it myself.”
      Ben gave a slight scowl. “And I’ve never cooked. Even on the ship, I never hung around the galley much. I suppose there’s some hardtack somewhere around here.”
      Stephen nodded once. “That I’m sure of. Father provisions every ship himself so long as it’s slated for use soon. Which this one was, until you stole it.”
      “Would you mind telling me where it might be?” Ben continued, his voice betraying a hint of irritation.
      Stephen grinned roguishly. “Only if you mind quitting stealing my ships,” he replied curtly.
      “Gennelmen,” Adriana sighed, “Can we please jus’ find it and eat? I ‘aven’t eaten since yesterday.”
      Ben nodded, giving Holloway a quick glare. “After you, sir.”
      Stephen led them boldly to the storeroom beside the galley. Upon opening the loose wooden door, they saw that it was loaded to the brim with crates and sacks full of various supplies. Approaching one pile of sacks, Holloway procured a small knife and sliced a sizeable hole across the top of a canvas bag. A few round objects spilled onto the floor, rolling around their feet.
      “What is that?” Adriana asked, dodging the rock-hard biscuits.
      Stephen bent down to pick one up. It was about the size of a small plate and had the consistency of a brick. He held up the brown biscuit and looked at it briefly, a knowing smile on his face. “This, my dear Miss Spelling, is hardtack.” He tossed her the loaf in his hand and she caught it as though she were being thrown a spider. “The sailor’s manna.”