"I won't be knocking off anything in the final tally for nanny services," he says, "though you've been very attentive."
Captain Vane likes him just fine and is despairing in his absence, he doesn't need anyone to mind him for a week to give the man a break. The Ranger is perfectly serene at all times, no one on the crew is neurotic, and Thomas adds nothing to the atmosphere of poorly-contained chaos. This is all true.
"To say nothing of hospitable." Twofold. It's a show of trust, outwardly, that Thomas hasn't brought along anyone else from his crew to act as a bodyguard. (His bodyguard is Captain Flint, hopefully no one is looking so closely at such an angle.) And the convicts. Their ultimate fate may not yet be decided, but it's looking better now than it did before the ship was overtaken, in Thomas' opinion.
There are tedious numbers to go through, books to match to the actual product in shadowy holds, inspections to be carried out, would-be bookkeepers to observe out of the corners of eyes. Sometimes piracy is an awful lot like running a large house; women would fare better at captaincy - or at least quartermastery, he's sure - than men, Thomas reflects privately. It's a wonder young Eleanor manages the inventory juggling she does, raised as she was like a boy. Interesting.
Dufrense gets stuck holding a lantern below, with a man Thomas doesn't know the name of pointing at the corner of a stack of containers, insisting on evidence of rats.
"Reach your hand in there and get it, then," Thomas says, an idea that's met with indignation but not outright refusal, since it sounds like a dare.
"I seen a man get his finger chewed off by a rat before."
"Do you need all your fingers for something?"
At this logic, a hand is surrendered, slithering in blindly to search for vermin. And then he screams.
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Captain Vane likes him just fine and is despairing in his absence, he doesn't need anyone to mind him for a week to give the man a break. The Ranger is perfectly serene at all times, no one on the crew is neurotic, and Thomas adds nothing to the atmosphere of poorly-contained chaos. This is all true.
"To say nothing of hospitable." Twofold. It's a show of trust, outwardly, that Thomas hasn't brought along anyone else from his crew to act as a bodyguard. (His bodyguard is Captain Flint, hopefully no one is looking so closely at such an angle.) And the convicts. Their ultimate fate may not yet be decided, but it's looking better now than it did before the ship was overtaken, in Thomas' opinion.
There are tedious numbers to go through, books to match to the actual product in shadowy holds, inspections to be carried out, would-be bookkeepers to observe out of the corners of eyes. Sometimes piracy is an awful lot like running a large house; women would fare better at captaincy - or at least quartermastery, he's sure - than men, Thomas reflects privately. It's a wonder young Eleanor manages the inventory juggling she does, raised as she was like a boy. Interesting.
Dufrense gets stuck holding a lantern below, with a man Thomas doesn't know the name of pointing at the corner of a stack of containers, insisting on evidence of rats.
"Reach your hand in there and get it, then," Thomas says, an idea that's met with indignation but not outright refusal, since it sounds like a dare.
"I seen a man get his finger chewed off by a rat before."
"Do you need all your fingers for something?"
At this logic, a hand is surrendered, slithering in blindly to search for vermin. And then he screams.