Emerald Storm Page 8

  Once more she nodded.

  “Wonderful. There should be decorations, entertainment—music certainly, and perhaps a magician or an acrobat. The ceremony will take place here, in the Great Hall. That should make things a bit easier for you. You will also need to have a wedding dress made—one worthy of the empress.” Seeing the tension on her face Saldur added, “Relax, Amilia, at least this time you only need to train her to say two words… ‘I do.’ ”

  Chapter 6

  The

  Emerald Storm

  As the ship lurched once more Hadrian stumbled and nearly hit his head on the overhead beam. It would have been his third time that day. The lower decks of the Emerald Storm provided meager headroom and precious little light. An obstacle course of sea chests, ditty bags, crude wooden benches, tables that swung from ropes, and close to one hundred and thirty men all crammed into the berth deck. Hadrian staggered his way aft dodging the majority of the starboard watch, most of whom were asleep, swaying in hammocks strung from the same thick wooden crossbeams that Hadrian had nearly cracked his skull on. It was not merely the clutter or the shifting of the ship that made Hadrian stagger. He had been feeling nauseated since sunset.

  The Emerald Storm had been at sea for nearly fifteen hours and the enigma of life aboard ship was slowly revealing itself. Hadrian had spent many years in the company of professional soldiers and recognized that each branch of the military held its own jargon, traditions, and idiosyncrasies, but he had never set foot on a ship. He knew he could be certain of only two things. He had a lot of learning to do and little time to do it.

  He had already picked up several important facts, such as where you relieved yourself which, to his surprise, was at the head of the ship. A precarious experience as he had to hang out over the sea at the base of the bowsprit. This might be second nature to sailors, and easy for Royce, but it gave Hadrian pause.

  Another highly useful bit of information was at least a cursory understanding about the chain of command. It was easy to see that there were officers&mdashnoblemen mostly—and skilled tradesmen, who held a higher rank than the general seamen, but Hadrian could also tell there was a sub-stratum within these broad classes. There were different ranks of officers and even more subtle levels of seniority, influence, and jurisdiction. He could not expect to penetrate such a complex hierarchy on his first day. All he managed to determine with any clarity was that the boatswain and his mates where the ones charged with making sure the seamen did their jobs. They were quite persuasive with their short rope whips and kept a keen eye on the crew at all times. As such, they were the ones he watched carefully.

  The ship’s crew divided into two watches, and while one worked the ship, the other rested, slept, or ate. Lieutenant Bishop placed Royce on the starboard watch assigned to the maintop. His job was to work the rigging on the main or center mast. This put him under boatswain Bristol Bennet and his three mates. Hadrian had seen their like before. Drunks, vagrants, and thugs, they would never have amounted to much on land, but aboard ship they held power and status. This chance to repay others for their mistreatment made them cruel and quick to punish. Hadrian still waited to discover his watch assignment, but he hoped it would be the same as Royce.

  He had been lucky so far. This being the first day out, meals had been little more than placing out fresh foods from the recent stay at port. Fruit, fresh bread, and unsalted cooked meats were merely handed out with no actual cooking required. Consequently, Hadrian’s talents remained untested, but time was running out. He knew how to cook, of course. He had prepared meals for years using little more than a campfire, but that had mainly been for himself and Royce. He didn’t know how to cook for an entire ship’s crew. Needing to find out exactly what they expected drove him to wander in hopes of finding Wyatt.

  “The Princess of Melengar rules there now,” Hadrian heard a young lad say.

  He didn’t look to be much more than sixteen. A waif of a boy with thin whiskers, freckles darkened by days in the sun, and curly hair cut in a bowl-like fashion except for a short ponytail he tied with a black chord. He sat with Wyatt, Grady, and a few other men around a swaying table illuminated by a candle melted to the center of a copper plate. They were playing cards and the giant shadows they cast only made Hadrian’s approach more disorienting.

  “She doesn’t rule Ratibor, she’s the mayor,” Wyatt corrected the boy as he laid a card on the pile before him.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “She was appointed, lad.”

  “What’s that mean?” the boy asked, as he tried to decide which card to play, holding his hand so tight to his chest he could barely see them himself.

  “It means she didn’t just take over, the people of the city asked her to run things.”

  “But she can still execute people, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Sounds like a ruler to me.” The boy laid a card with a wide grin indicating that at least he thought it was a surprisingly good play.

  “Sounds like them people of Ratibor are dumb as dirt,” Grady said, gruffly. His expression betrayed his irritation at the boy’s discard. “They finally get the yoke off their backs and right away they ask for a new one.”

  “Grady!” said a man with a white kerchief on his head. “I’m from Ratibor, you oaf!”

  “Exactly! Thanks for proving me point, Bernie,” Grady replied, slamming his play on the table so hard several surrounding seamen groaned in their hammocks. Grady laughed at his own joke and the rest at the table chuckled good-naturedly, except Bernie from Ratibor.

  “Hadrian!” Wyatt greeted him warmly as the new cook staggered up to them like a drunk. “We were just talking about land affairs. Most of these poor sods haven’t been ashore in over a year and we were filling them in on the news about the war.”

  “Which has beenbloody cracking, seeing as how we didn’t even know there was one,” Grady said, feigning indignation.

  “We were just in dock though,” Hadrian said. “I would have thought—”

  “That don’t mean nuttin’,” one of the other men said. With next to no hair and few teeth, he appeared to be the oldest at the table and possibly the entire ship. He had a silver earring that glinted with the candlelight, a tattoo of a mermaid that wrapped around his forearm, and he, too, wore a white kerchief on his head. “Most of this ’ere crew is pressed. The captain would be barmy to let them touch solid ground in a port. He and Mister Bishop would be the only ones left to rig her!”

  This brought a round of laughter and garnered irritated growls from those trying to sleep.

  “You don’t look so good,” Wyatt mentioned to Hadrian.

  He shook his head miserably. Looking around at the others and said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a ship. Does the Storm always rock so much?”

  “Hmm?” Wyatt glanced at him then laughed. “This? This here is nothing. You won’t even notice it in a day or so.” He watched the next man at the table play his card. “We’re still in the sound. Wait until we hit the open sea. You might want to sit. You’re sweating.”

  Hadrian touched his face and felt the moisture. “Funny, I feel chilled if anything.”

  “Have a seat,” Wyatt said. “Poe, give him your spot.”

  “Why me?” the young boy asked insulted.

  “Because I said so.” Poe’s expression showed that was not enough for him to give up one of the limited places. “And because I am a quartermaster and you’re a seaman, but even more importantly, because Mister Bishop appointed you cook’s mate.”

  “He did?” Poe asked and blinked, a smile crossing his face.

  “Congratulations,” Wyatt said. “Now, you might want to make a good impression on your new boss and move your infernal arse!”

  The boy promptly stood and pretended to clean the bench with an invisible duster. “After you, sir!” he said, with a bow and an exaggerated flourish.

  “Does he know anything about cooking?” Hadrian aske
d dubiously, taking the seat.

  “Sure, sure!” Poe declared exuberantly. “I know plenty. You just wait. I’ll show ya.”

  “Good, I don’t feel up to working with food yet.” Hadrian let his head drop into his hands. The old man next to Wyatt tossed down his card and the whole group groaned in agony.

  “You bloody bastard, Drew!” Grady barked at him, tossing what remained of his cards onto the pile. The others did the same.

  Drew grinned, showing his few yellowed teeth, and collected the tiny pile of silver tenents. “That’s it for me, boys. Goodnight.”

  “Night, Drew ya lousy Lanksteer!” Grady said, shooing him away as if he were a bug. “We can talk at breakfast, eh?”

  “Sure, Grady,” Drew said. “Oh, that reminds me, I heard something right funny tonight when I was reefing the top’sl. We’re going to be taking on a passenger to help find the horn. How stupid are these landlubbers. It’s only the most well-known point on the Sharon! Anyway remind me at breakfast and I’ll tell ya about it. It’s a real hoot it is. Night now.”

  Most of the rest of the men headed off, leaving just Wyatt, Grady, Poe and Hadrian.

  “You should turn in as well,” Wyatt told Poe.

  “I’m not tired,” he protested.

  “I didn’t ask if you were tired, did I?”

  “I want to stay up and celebrate my promotion.”

  “Off with ya before I report you for disobeying a superior.”

  Poe scowled and stomped off looking for his hammock.

  “You too, Grady,” Wyatt told him.

  The old seaman looked at Wyatt suspiciously, then leaned over and quietly asked, “Why you trying to get rid of me, Deminthal?”

  “Because I’m tired of looking at that ugly scowl of yours, that’s why.”

  “Codswallop!a he hissed. “You wanna be alone to talk about the you-know-what, don’t ya? Both of you are in on it. I can tell, and that Royce fellow he’s in too. How many more you got, Wyatt? Room for another? I’m pretty good in a fight.”

  “Shut up, Grady,” Wyatt told him. “Talk like that can get you hanged.”

  “Okay, okay,” Grady said, holding up his palms. “Just letting you know, that’s all.” He got up and headed for his own hammock casting glances back over his shoulder several times until he disappeared into the forest of swinging men.

  “What was that all about?” Hadrian asked, hooking a thumb toward Grady’s retreating figure.

  “I don’t know,” Wyatt replied. “There’s always one sailor on board any ship looking for a mutiny. Grady seems to be the Emerald Storm’s. Ever since he signed on he’s been thinking there’s a conspiracy going on—mostly because he wants there to be, I think. He has issues with authority, Grady does.” Wyatt started gathering up the scattered deck of cards into a pile. “So, what’s your story?”

  “How do you mean?” Hadrian asked.

  “Why are you and Royce here? I stuck my neck out getting you on board. I think I have a right to know why.”

  “We’re looking for a safer line of work and thought we’d try sailing,” Hadrian offered. Wyatt’s face showed he was not buying. “We’re on a job, but I can’t tell you more than that.”

  “Does it have to do with the secret cargo?”

  Hadrian blinked. “It’s possible. What is the secret cargo?”

  “Weapons. Steel swords, heavy shields, imperial-made crossbows, armor—enough to outfit a good-size army. It came aboard at the last minute, hauled up in the middle of the night just before we sailed.”

  “Interesting,” Hadrian mused. “Any idea where we’re headed?”

  “Nope, but that’s not unusual. Captains usually keep that information to themselves and Captain Seward is no different.” Wyatt shuffled the cards absently. “So, you don’t know where the ship is going, and you weren’t aware of the cargo. This job didn’t come with much in the way of information, did it?”

  “What about you?” Hadrian turned the tables. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could say I was working for a living, and for me it would actually make sense, but like you I’m looking for answers.”

  “To what?”

  “To where my daughter is.” Wyatt paused a moment, his eyes glancing at the candle. “Allie was taken a week ago. I was out finding work and while I was gone the Imps grabbed her.”

  “Grabbed her? Why?”

  Wyatt lowered his voice, “Allie is part elven, and the New Empire is not partial to their kind. Under a new law anyone with even a drop of elf blood is subject to arrest. They’ve been rounding them up and putting them on ships, but no one can tell me where they’ve taken them. So, here I am.”

  “But what makes you think this ship will go to the same place?”

  “I take it you haven’t ventured down to the waist hold yet?” He paused a second, then added, “That’s the bottom of the ship, below the water line. Ship stores are there, as well as livestock like goats, chickens, and cows. Sailors on report get the duty to pump the bilge. It’s a miserable job on account of the manure mixing with the seawater that leaks in. It’s also where—right now—they have more than a hundred elves chained up in an area half this size.”

  Hadrian nodded with a grimace at the thought.

  “You and Royce gave me a break once because of my daughter. Why was that?”

  “That was Royce’s call. You need to take that up with him. Although I wouldn’t do that for a while, he’s sicker than I am. I’ve never seen him so miserable and this sea business is making him irritable.”

  Wyatt nodded. “My daughter’s the same way on water. Pitiful little thing, she’s like a cat on a piece of driftwood. It takes her forever to get accustomed to the rocking.” He paused a moment looking at the candle, then said, “I got the impression the two of you might be sympathetic. Maybe, if you finish this job, you might be willing to help me a little—a turn for a turn?”

  “I thought you got us aboard to pay off a debt.”

  Wyatt sighed.

  “I don’t know—maybe.” Hadrian glanced at the mass of men around him and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The job we’re on is important, and we can’t afford to be distracted, but if the situation presents itself, we might be able to help. Something tells me I won’t have much trouble convincing Royce to stick his neck out for this one.”

  Hadrian felt the nausea rising in his stomach once more. His face must have betrayed his misery.

  “Don’t worry. Seasickness usually only lasts three days,” Wyatt assured him, as he put the cards in his breast pocket. “After that both of you will be fine.”

  “If we can stay on board that long. I don’t know anything about being a ship’s cook.”

  Wyatt smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. Poe will do most of the work. I know he looks young, but he’ll surprise you.

  “So, how is it that I get an assistant?”

  “As ship’s cook, you rank as a petty officer. Don’t get all excited though. You’re still under of the boatswains and their mates, but it does grant you the services of Ordinary Seaman Poe. It also exempts you from the watches. That means so long as the ship’s meals are on schedule, the rest of your time is your own. What you need to know is that breakfast is promptly at the first bell of the forewatch,” Wyatt paused. “That’s the first time you’ll hear a single bell toll after eight bells is rung just after the sun breaks above the horizon.

  “So have Poe light the galley fires shortly after middle watch. He’ll know when that is. Tell him to make skillygalee—that’s oatmeal gruel. Don’t forget biscuits. Biscuits get served at every meal. At eight bells, the men are piped to breakfast. Each mess will send someone to you with a messkid, sorta like a wooden bucket. Your job will be to dish out the food. Have Poe make some tea as well. The men will drink beer and rum at dinner and supper, but not at breakfast and no one on board will risk drinking straight water.”

  “Risk?”

  “Water sits in barrels for months, or year
s if a ship is on a long voyage. It gets rancid. Tea and coffee are okay ’cause they’re boiled and have a little flavor. Coffee is expensive though, and reserved for the officers. The crew and the midshipmen eat first. After that, Basil, the officers’ cook, will arrive to make meals for the lieutenants and captain. Just stay out of his way.

  “For dinner make boiled pork. Have Poe start boiling it right after Basil leaves. The salted meat will throw off a thick layer of fat. Half of that goes to the top captains to grease the rigging, the other half you can keep. You can sell it to tallow merchants at the next port for a bit of coin, but don’t give it to the men. It will make you popular if you do, but it can also give them scurvy and the captain won’t like it. Have Poe boil some vegetables and serve them together as a stew, and don’t forget the biscuits.”

  “So, I tell Poe what to make and dish it out, but I don’t actually do any cooking?”

  Wyatt smiled. “That’s the benefit of being a petty officer; sadly however you only get a seaman’s rate of pay. For supper, just serve what’s left over from dinner, grog and, of course, biscuits. After that, have Poe clean up and like I said, the rest of the day is open to you. Sound easy?”

  “Maybe, if I could stand straight and keep my stomach from doing back-flips.”

  “Listen to Poe. He’ll take good care of you. Now you’d best get back in your hammock. Trust me, it helps. Oh, and just so you know, you would have been wrong.”

  “About what?” Hadrian asked.

  “About thinking saiing was a safer line of work.”

  ***

  It was still dark when the captain called “All hands!”

  A cold wind had risen and in the dark hours before dawn a light rain sprayed the deck adding a wet chill to the seasick misery that had already deprived Hadrian of most of his sleep. During the night, the Emerald Storm passed by the Isle of Niel and now approached the Point of Man. The Point was a treacherous headland shoal that marked the end of Avryn Bay and the start of the Sharon Sea. In the dark, it was difficult to see the shoals, but the sound was unmistakable. Somewhere ahead there came the rhythmic, thundering boom of waves crashing against the point.