Duty crews once again split off after dinner for their scheduled assignments. That night was a rare occasion wherein Piper was one of only a handful of swabs that had the evening off. She did not stick around the crew mess much longer after everyone else had departed; returning her dish to the galley steward behind the dish pit, she retreated down to Azariah's office. Piper had found herself in the humble workroom more often as of late - during the infrequent instances that she was not needed, or when seeking a reprieve from the near constant socialization in which she was not yet accustomed.
Azariah would not himself be there, Piper knew. He would be further down, supervising the cooling of the primary boiler that powered the engines and running their nightly inspection. She lit the oil lamp with the rusted lighter that sat upon the desk - she had found that there was an electric light that lit the office, but quickly realized that it droned out a harsh buzz and had a rather annoying proclivity to flickering that made the lamp a more favorable light source. After her vision had adjusted, Piper organized the papers that routinely cluttered the desk into a semi-organized pile. By tomorrow they would be scattered once more so that not an inch of the desktop would be visible, and the process would be repeated. She at last sat down onto a metal stool she had acquired a few days' past. It creaked in protest, warning that its age made it untrustworthy of bearing her weight. Despite this, as well as its tendency to stain her trousers with a fresh coating of dust and iron-oxide, Piper found the stool to be a major upgrade from the milk-crate.
It was during these times that she cracked open the old sailor's journals and pored over them meticulously. What had begun as a curiosity born of a combination of boredom and desire to be free from the watchful eyes of her superiors had slowly formed into a habit that held genuine intrigue, though she could not yet claim to understand all the technical jargon present within the records and schematics. This being the case, Piper had begun taking the liberty of adding her own notes as the opportunities presented themselves. Whether subconsciously or not, Piper had found a private retreat in the office. Dim and dusty as it might be, she was able to release her breath and unclench her jaw while studiously flipping through the hand-written logs as if they were ancient texts.
Azariah poked his head in every once in a while, naturally, but had grown accustomed to Piper's visits. Save for a word or two, he typically left her be, entering only to retrieve a tool or spare-part before departing once more. Winnifred, too, knew of Piper's hiding place, as she had caught on fairly quickly as to where her friend was disappearing to when the noise of life became too much. It was a rare occurrence that they would both have time to spare that did not encroach on meals, hygiene, or sleep, but when the stars did align in such a way, Winnifred would sometimes accompany Piper. Wordlessly they would sit at a corner of the cluttered desk; Piper with eyes on a log or schematic, and Winnifred peering over her arm.
That night there was no such visit, however. After staring over a detailed outline of the ventilation networks that bored like roots through the various decks and chambers until the lamp-oil ran low, a yawn signalled an end to Piper's studies for the evening. There was a nagging question she had felt regarding the plans that was nearly at the forefront of her mind. Should she had been instructed as a shipwright, Piper might have had the capacity to ask it, though her lack of formal training in the subject left the diagrams feeling like a mental puzzle more often than not. Piper stood, her arms raised in a long stretch before snuffing the light. She mulled over what she had learned on her walk back to her quarters.
Piper had always possessed a keen mind for learning - even been told as much by some of her kinder instructors at Brackendow. When not absorbed by training, she allowed reading to be one of the few hobbies to occupy her free time. It had not taken very long for Piper to exhaust the few histories and manuals that were offered at Brackendow Ridge; Then-Captain Prescott had felt it almost an obligation to allow his eager trainee access to his personal library, permitting she had continued to excel as a soldier. Thinking over her evening's research, Piper could not yet piece together why it was necessary to have two shafts of differing size connect to the chambers of the lower decks. Mulling over the possible reasons, she was confident she could piece together the answer given enough time. Perhaps she would ask Azariah at the next opportunity. Piper settled on this decision as she quietly opened the door to her cabin.
Subtle as she tried to be upon entering, Piper was instantly caught off guard as she came face to face with Emeline. Her bunkmate seemed just as startled as she did, sidestepping to allow Piper to pass. It had become a regular occurrence for Piper to be the very last to bunk down, and so she found it unusual for Emeline to not only be awake, but still fully in uniform. Piper was about to voice a question, but the girl raised a single finger to her lips and looked towards the opposite bunk from which could be heard a steady drone of snoring. Emeline gestured towards the hall, and Piper followed behind her into the corridor.
Nothing was said for the first few moments as the duo navigated the halls. Piper recognized the route to the head.
"I'm having some trouble sleeping," Emeline whispered after a time, "same for you?"
"It has become an unfortunately regular affair." Piper sighed.
Piper could not see Emeline's smile in the shadows.
"I was wondering if we might have a word?"
Emeline did not wait for a reply as she opened the door to the restroom. The inflection she'd heard in her friend's voice gave Piper a moment's pause. Was it urgency? She hurried to follow behind. Emeline made her way to the wash basin, where she allowed the water to run over her hands before cupping them beneath the steady stream. A small pool formed in her palms that she gently splashed onto her face, once, then twice. Piper closed the door behind them, watching in silence.
"I'd like to apologize for earlier," Emeline started, still facing the mirror, "it wasn't my intent to pry."
Piper was surprised at the regret she heard in Emeline's voice. It took her a moment to recall the incident that had occurred a few hours prior. She had nearly forgotten about it.
"I hadn't thought you were. It was a sore spot for her is all - I really had no idea either."
Piper shrugged, and she could see Emeline nod her head lightly, allowing her shoulders to sag in relief. Another few moments passed in uncomfortable silence.
"Volgull will be making his rounds soon," Piper stated, prompting the conversation, "I've already had a couple of unfortunate run-ins."
"It would be very unfortunate for him to scold a lady for going about her business."
Emeline turned to face Piper as she replied, she seemed to have made up her mind about something.
"It is about the reports Captain Tartan discussed at supper."
"Those two ships out West?" Piper queried with surprise, "What of them?"
"The Leviathan is fresh out of the shipyard, and the Ironwind has made the journey over half a dozen times in her day. To reach their destination just to vanish with hardly a trace upon return?"
Piper took a step closer, pondering the information, "Could've been any number of dangers. 'Further West and closer to death' is what I've heard."
But Emeline was already shaking her head, "Pirates have tried and failed, our ships are too thick to breach and too tall to board. Our navigators are top notch - aside from Mid-Islanders who have been at it their entire lives, our advancements are more than enough to match their natural skill. They couldn't have wandered off course, so what is it then?"
Emeline turned to Piper suddenly, scanning her face for a conclusion she herself had already drawn.
Piper turned over the possibilities in her head, her military experience taking over despite her newfound position in the Navy. She hesitated at the answer she reached.
"It…could have been some creature."
Emeline smiled knowingly.
"It very well could be, assuming there was one strong enough and of a mind to crush or burrow through half a foot of reinforced iron. But it isn't."
"What then?" Piper questioned, startled at the fierceness in her eyes.
"There has been correspondence with one of the missing ships. Crackled voices over radio waves, emergency signals as far out as the Fourlands Sea."
Piper nodded, "The phonowave transmissions Tartan mentioned…he'd said there was a distress signal."
"There was a little more to it than that. The Leviathan sent out a wide enough signal that anyone on the coast that could afford a transmitter could pick it up. It was strange though, garbled and choppy, and when the government tried to place it, it sounded as if it were coming from a dozen different places out at sea. It felt almost like intentional interference. Phonowave technology is advanced and coveted, even our allies in the Isles haven't managed to piece it together without resorting to borrowed runes.
"Unless our enemies have had a sudden leap in technological innovation, how could the transmissions have become so scrambled?"
Piper blinked rapidly, "I'm sorry Em, but this isn't making any sense. Nothing of the sort was mentioned by Tartan, and if there were a transmission that large, it would've been talked about in every newspaper in the Western Quarters."
Emeline shook her head. She had taken to a rapid tapping of her foot.
"It didn't make much sense to those who couldn't triangulate it. It sounded like any average interference. Most would ignore it."
"And how did you come to understand any of this? Something the sailing master taught, or has Tartan taken to sitting down with you for tea?"
"No," Emeline responded, chewing on her lip, "my sister did."
"Your…?" Piper was completely lost. Emeline hurried to explain.
"I told you that before my transfer, I worked for the Capital's intelligence division. My elder sister Theodora has worked in the Capital far longer than myself, and gave me warning before my departure. She says the signals prove that the ships are still out there and still afloat with men aboard to communicate. Hence why we are being sent for recovery."
Piper reanalyzed the situation grimly, "A mutiny, then."
Emeline's silence confirmed that she had reached the correct answer, as far as the Division of Central Intelligence was concerned.
"Why tell me at all?" Piper asked genuinely, "There's no possible sway I could hold."
Finally, Emeline smiled.
"There's not much most of us could, unless the Captain reveals the information himself. I suppose I just couldn't keep it weighing on my chest any longer. "
She strolled towards Piper and laid her hands on her shoulders.
"And if we are going to be sailing towards a mutinied ship likely set as a trap, what bunkmate would I be to not warn you of the danger?"
Emeline rubbed her shoulder gently before strolling past her and back into the hall. Piper stood a moment, shocked at the genuinity she had been shown. She thought about all she had learned and made a mental note before stowing it away in the back of her mind.
There is little I can do about the matter, anyhow. If it's even true. Piper told herself.
Despite the fact, she felt as if she had been given a gift.
She decided she would find what else she could, should the opportunity arise, and returned herself to bed.