5 Times Jeremy's Friends Called Him Out - Chapter 2

Two
Jeremy tacked down the edges of the map with practiced hands. The parchment was still fairly new, and he found it held a considerable stiffness that hadn’t yet been stretched, rolled, or flattened out of it. It’d get broken in eventually, of course, but by then the political landscape of Morova would have changed so much that he’d have to get a new one to replace it anyway. He finally convinced the rather large paper to stay horizontal, and stepped back to consider the display. The northern half of the known world, a dozen or so islands of all sizes, most of which were already under the thumb of the Kingdom of Fharyn. A frown creased his brow as he focused his attention on the center of the map, on the troublesome Unclaimed Lands.
“Strategy meeting hasn’t even begun, and already I find you worrying yourself to death over maps and tactics,” a deep and even voice cut through his thoughts before he could even properly begin to think them. Margot entered the room, leaning her hip against the low table. She had her uniform jacket tied around her waist in a blatant breach of dress code, and her hands were covered in smudges of ink, likely from a bout of late night course charting. “Come on now, Captain, don’t tell me you’re getting this worked up over a routine patrol.”
“You certainly aren’t one to talk about fretting over tactics,” Jeremy jested halfheartedly as he forcibly lowered his tense shoulders. This was indeed a low-stakes assignment, and there was no logical reason for him to get stressed about it. Except, of course, if something went wrong, as was wont to happen on even the most mundane of missions. They could stumble upon a massive pirate fleet, or get swept into a gale, or a crewmember could tie a knot too loose and cause their main sheet to fly away, or-
“Jeremy,” Margot’s voice took a sharper edge as she spoke to her captain, “I can see smoke pouring out of your ears, sir. What’s working you up this bad?”
Ah, Margot’s particular brand of blunt empathy was as hard-hitting as ever. Jeremy leaned against the table next to her and crossed his arms as he tried to gather his thoughts.
“No, you’re right, I shouldn’t be feeling so worried over a small patrol. Honestly, the others are going to start thinking that Sessley and Isaac have been training me in the art of mother-henning if I keep this up,” he chuckled. Margot, however, didn’t seem to feel the same humor.
“I wasn’t saying you shouldn’t feel worried, sir,” she said as she picked some ink from underneath a fingernail, “I was more just curious as to why you were letting yourself get so wound up. After all, we’ve been running patrols like this for years, and I’ve never seen you sweat over one as much as you are now.” At last she turned her head to the side and held eye contact with Jeremy. Her eyes were the same as they always were: tired, lined with fine wrinkles she was too young for, and absolutely piercing in their expectation of honesty.
The Hopewell creaked gently around them as Jeremy thought on what Margot said. She was at least correct about his usual disposition towards patrol missions -- he found them a bit dull, but necessary nonetheless. He’d probably been on hundreds during his time in the Defense Force, so why in the world was this one in particular making him feel like there was sand trickling down his spine?
Margot waited patiently next to him, knowing that Jeremy’s silence wasn’t him ignoring her point, but instead directing all of his inner thought towards assessing it. The two were both tacticians, after all, and so they thought through things in a very similar way. Their musing lasted a few long minutes before being interrupted when Quinn, Sessley, and the liaison from Bransindal (a stony and ancient woman named Commodore Kenworthy) entered the formal meeting room, all slightly on the early side of punctual. Jeremy shelved his ruminating in order to focus on something more important: the Hopewell’s latest assignment. He pointedly ignored Margot’s critical look as he stood up and straightened his jacket, ready to begin the mission briefing.
Kenworthy’s description of their assignment was, in kind terms, dry and straightforward. The Hopewell was to patrol the waters southeast of mainland Fharyne, as recent intelligence suggested that some Corsair vessels had stayed in the northern waters around Stell past the onset of winter, and were only now beginning their journey towards warmer southern waters. The Hopewell, along with its sister ships Reverie and Fortitude, and the new flagship Deliverance were all assigned patrol routes in the area. They would be close enough to assist each other if needed, but just distant enough to cast a wide net and hopefully scoop up the stragglers. A good, solid plan, Jeremy thought, and he said as much.
“Now, Commodore, hold on a minute,” Quinn’s voice, noticeably dripping with a posh mainland accent, spoke up. Jeremy had to work rather hard to contain a sigh, and judging by Sessley’s glare didn’t entirely succeed. Quinn continued on, ignorant of his captain’s distress.
“If the Corsairs are indeed heading south from the Stell Isles in search of safe harbor, I don’t think it would make sense for us to attempt to intercept them so close to the mainland.” He gestured towards the map, pointing out the dashed line that separated Fharyne waters from unclaimed territory. “I could almost guarantee that they’ll immediately make for Gemeris and hug the western coast all the way south to Xito. If we want an effective interception, we should be aiming much further northeast, as close to Toren-Osea as we can bear.” He sat down, seemingly satisfied with himself, and leveled a challenging look at Kenworthy.
The Commodore, for her part, took being questioned by a rookie officer startlingly well -- much better than Jeremy had, in fact, and still continued to do. She read some more from her reaf of official papers before nodding. “Yes,” she said slowly, “that doesn’t directly contradict what our friendly eyes are reporting, and does seem a logical course of action.” Quinn glanced over at Jeremy with a smug grin plastered on his face, and Jeremy felt his blood pressure rise faster than a storm surge.
“But Commodore,” he said icily, “I imagine that straying too far from the mainland would incur the same risk we’re trying to avoid by targeting the stragglers in the first place. And not only would we be putting ourselves in danger of encountering a startling number of Corsair vessels, we run the risk of stumbling upon a Toren patrol -- and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that our relations with Toren-Osea are nearly as bad as our relations with the pirates!” He huffed, not entirely pleased with himself for raising his volume so much, but not the least regretful of making his point.
Quinn’s expression had twisted up and his hands were clenched into fists underneath the table, a sure sign of barely contained rage. “Yes, well, we could take the safe and easy route if we want to avoid doing our jobs, certainly. I, for one, rather want to catch some pirates, and I think it’s well worth making some Toren bastards piss their britches when they see Deliverance coming their way.”
“It isn’t enough to try and scare them with a handful of cannons, Officer Allen!” Jeremy cut off his first mate rather aggressively. “The buffer of the Unclaimed Lands is practically the only thing keeping Toren-Osea and the Kingdom from all out warfare. If we start patrolling within the Unclaimed Lands- right up to Toren waters as you so wisely suggest- then we’d practically be planting our banner on their doorstep! There’s no tact to that maneuver whatsoever!”
“We’ll never get anywhere by playing it safe! You’re normally the first one to bend the rules, Captain, why the hell are you lowering the colors before we even set sail? Aba sedh hasindalmavens?”* Quinn’s face glowed a shocking scarlet hue as he unknowingly switched to Fharyne, his (and Jeremy’s) preferred language for high-volume confrontations.
“Allen, prasa ahyn dinan! Yn-”** Jeremy’s explosive tirade was shot down before it began as Commodore Kenworthy, until then forgotten by most of the room, sneezed explosively.
“Ah, you’ll have to pardon me, gentlemen,” she said as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, “my damned bullshit allergy is acting up again. Perhaps we should stay the meeting so I might have a moment to recover.” She dabbed at her nose as Jeremy and Quinn both lowered themselves into their seats, thoroughly abashed. Jeremy felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Margot, who jerked her head in an unmistakable gesture: ‘meet me outside’.
“You’re better than this, Jeremy,” she began without preamble once they were both standing above decks, leaning against the rails of the fo’c’sle. “I know you and Quinn disagree on more things than you don’t, but at least with strategy you can usually come up with something to agree on. And cussing each other out in front of a Commodore...?” She left her accusation hanging, challenging Jeremy to respond.
“Truthfully I don’t… I can’t say I entirely felt myself, Margot,” Jeremy admitted haltingly, “there’s something about this patrol that just has me knotted up in all the wrong ways. For Allen to be so brash and foolhardy about it, even moreso than he normally is… I just couldn’t let it stand.”
Margot shook her head, somehow seeming grimly amused much to Jeremy’s confusion. “Esteemed and honorable Captain Wilson, I know you’re smarter than this.” The use of Jeremy’s formal title only made his head spin faster, but Margot still continued. “Just think for a moment: it’s the beginning of winter, and you’re being ordered by Kenworthy to go patrol the waters east of Fharyn. Now, what could you possibly be reminded of in this. Precise. Situation?”
On the list of emotions that Jeremy felt most often, embarrassment and shock were nowhere near the top of the list. In that moment, however, both were present in abundance. How could he forget that this was the exact scenario that lead up to the disastrous encounter of the Lady Madeleine with the Silverlock three years prior? No wonder he had been feeling tense about this mission since he received the preliminary briefing the day before. Margot patted Jeremy on the back as he stared at the horizon -- his expression hadn’t drifted from its default state of “mildly put-upon and tired”, but Margot could sense the shift in his mood regardless.
“I’d criticize you for being the strong, silent type, but your outburst in that meeting seems to prove you’re anything but the latter,” she jested, and Jeremy managed a grimace in response. “We all know this is a tough time for you, Captain, even though apparently you don’t. I’m sure Sess is giving Quinn a similar enough pep talk right now, actually, so he’ll probably be on his best behavior for the foreseeable future. Or at least, for the rest of the day until you work him up again,” she corrected herself grimly.
Jeremy initially wanted to protest, mortified at the prospect of his first mate being advised to tread carefully around him as though he were some volatile, fragile man, but he held his tongue. At least while the Commodore was onboard, it would be best for him and Quinn to at least put up an attempt of a unified front, lest the Hopewell find itself mysteriously assigned only to dreary escort missions reserved for underperforming crews. He sighed in defeat and picked himself up from where he had slumped over the guardrail.
“I do suppose you are correct, Margot, though you know I don’t care for this at all,” he turned to look her in the eye, though she stubbornly avoided his gaze.
“Yes, well, someone has to keep this ship from descending into a squabbling mess, right? At least, not while the admiralty can see it.” She rubbed absently at an inkstain on her coat as she began to walk towards the main deck. “Come now, Quinn’s probably cooled off enough that he won’t set any maps to smoldering, and I think the Commodore has recovered from her ‘allergy’. Care to try this all again?”
Jeremy followed her back down to the formal meeting room, his feeling of tension still present but more bearable now that he knew its cause. “When did my subordinates all decide they were wiser than me,” he thought fondly to himself, “and why ever didn’t they think to consult me on it?”

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* "Are you insane?"
** "Allen, open your eyes! It-"