“First challenger?” Zed called out.
A man stepped forward and waved a hand.
“Seaman Hao! Seaman Hao, who are you challenging?”
“Seaman Johnson,” the man replied.
“Right. Have at it.” The two men shucked off jackets and then faced off against each other.
“You see,” Zed told Amelia, “even the question of who challenges whom tells me what’s happening on board my ship. Hao and Johnson are fast friends; if they’re starting with a friendly match, I learn that the crew is in good humor. That’s useful to know.”
Amelia’s gaze fixed on the two men. Gray knew them both. Johnson had been with Lord Traders for decades now. He was one of the Black men who had made his way up north before the war and found it useful not to wait around for his freedom to be stolen. He’d taken to life at sea and had eventually made his way to work on the China end of the world. Hao was from Guangzhou; his two brothers also worked aboard the Lenity. He kept his forehead shaved and his hair in a long, braided queue down his back. They circled each other a few times before Hao went in, getting an arm around Johnson’s waist.
Amelia gasped. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
Zed shook his head happily. “Isn’t everything dangerous?”
“There are rules,” Grayson put in. “No punching, no tripping. Just a little good-natured grappling.”
It truly was a distraction. Grayson found himself leaning in with the men, wincing at a body blow, cheering when Johnson eventually got Hao in a headlock. There was a moment of struggle before Hao tapped the mat twice in quick succession.
Grayson saw Mrs. Smith tilt her head in confusion. “It’s a form of surrender,” Grayson said. “I’m not sure where that one came from, but we’ve adopted it.”
The next pair to face off was the chief engineer against Second Mate Wilder. The chief was small and wiry; the second mate was big and burly. The crew clapped and called. The chief played up his size—or rather, lack thereof—by ducking and dodging, making exaggerated faces when Wilder almost caught him and blowing raspberries when he escaped.
That was the point of the Daily Disoccupation—to let go of worries.
Finally, Wilder caught the chief around the waist. The man just shrugged dramatically and, just as dramatically, tapped out to immense applause.
Mrs. Smith was smiling at this. “I can see how this would be a form of entertainment.”
“I’ve got a challenge,” Zed called at her side. The crew turned to him. “Grayson Hunter, you stubborn mule.”
Grayson looked over in surprise. Ah, damn. He should have expected something like this. Grayson sighed. “Yes, Captain Zedekiah.”
Zed motioned with his head. “Get your sorry behind on those mats.”
Grayson stepped forward. His smile felt fake, but nobody here had to know how he felt. “If you want to beclown yourself in front of your crew.” He shrugged. “That’s your lookout, I suppose.”
He shucked off shoes and socks and started to take off his jacket before remembering that Mrs. Smith was on board.
For a moment—just one moment—he looked up from where he crouched to find her watching him with wide eyes. For a moment, he almost made a comment about her sensibilities, delicate or otherwise.
Then he remembered she’d watched the first two rounds without so much as a blink of an eye. What was he going to do? Posture for her benefit? That would be truly ridiculous.
Instead, he stripped off his jacket. The air was cool against his shirtsleeves. Her eyes rounded.
Next to him, Zed let his jacket slip to the floor and struck a pose, flexing his biceps. His crew cheered. “Zed! Zed! Zed!”
Oh, what the hell. Grayson absolutely was going to posture. He moved next to Zed and flexed as well. The small crowd clapped in unison as the two men entered the ring and circled around each other.
“Now Gray,” Zed said across the way. “I’m only doing this because my mother is worried.” He feinted; Grayson dodged easily, whirling to face him.
“You’re doing this because you’re scared of your mama,” Grayson taunted back.
That won him a laugh from the crowd.
Zed rushed in head down—no feint this time. Grayson let him hit center, turning so that his back foot absorbed the shock of impact.
“Fear,” Zed panted as he tried to wrestle Grayson to the ground, “is a…healthy…response…to powerful things.”
Grayson twisted, squeezing, and broke free. The two of them circled each other warily.
Zed looked him in the eyes. “I’m not going to tell her I didn’t try my hardest. I need your promise that you’re going home.”
Home. For a moment, he saw home—home as it had been, his brothers so young, waiting for him when he returned from his first trip with wide eyes, demanding he tell them everything.
Then he thought of his mother’s face, washed pale by funeral black, and the grim, grieving lines of his father’s body next to her. He felt that old lump in his throat, lodged so far back he wasn’t sure if he could breathe.
Disappointment and doubt. That was what waited for him.
All that flashed through him, cutting deep into him like the sharpest knife.
“I want your promise, Gray,” Zed called.
If he said no, he’d have to explain why in front of everyone, and he could scarcely explain it to himself.
“Have it your way.” Grayson kept his eye on his cousin’s feet. Zed feinted with his hands; he never could lie with his feet. “I’ll go home and see everyone. You have my promise.”
Another feint. One of these days, Grayson was going to tell his cousin how he telegraphed his moves in advance. Today he stepped into Zed’s feinted reach, took hold of his hand, and pulled him off balance.
Zed hit the mat, and Grayson got a knee on his back.
“Choose a date!” Zed called cheerfully, nose pressing into the mats. “I’ll be sure to include it in the next letter I send.”
Christ. Of course he would. “You want me to have a calendar in my head while I’m drubbing you?”
“You always have a calendar in your head.”
He wasn’t wrong. They’d lay the cable to Myriad Island in September. It would take all of three months for the Victory to make her way back to San Francisco for the smaller load of cable. That would put him on the eastern seaboard by December.
“If you say anything other than ‘I’ll be home for a month starting next year…’” Zed let that threat trail off dramatically.
Grayson dug his knee. “You’ll do what?”
“Then I’ll lose to you every day until we get to Hong Kong,” Zed said, tapping out. There was a certainty to his tone that said he would definitely do it. And if he was feeling the pressure, Zed’s mama—Grayson’s aunt—must be going even harder than Grayson had imagined.
Grayson sighed and got off his cousin. Zed turned around, coming up to a kneel.
“Have it your way.” Grayson extended a hand. “I’ll be back home around Christmas, precise dates to depend upon travel times.”
“Perfect.” Zed’s smile managed to be both sunny and cutting all at once. “I shall see you there.”