In Search of Spice, page 16
For a moment Pat thought the door had been locked, till he realised it was the pressure of the wind. Coming outside was a shock, as the wind whipped the ship along and the rain was horizontal, smacking into unprotected flesh with a painful, smarting blow. Waves were huge, and despite her size the Queen Rose was wallowing, with an uncomfortable corkscrew motion. After the heat that had been building day after day, it was wonderful to feel so cool again, though it was still not cold.
Pat and Sara dragged themselves to the poop deck using ropes to cling on and haul themselves against the wind. They were soaked to the skin by the time they climbed up, both grinning from ear to ear. Suzanne was standing in the lee of the Captain’s quarters looking smart in a great coat with her hair wrapped up and down her back, inside the coat. She shouted at them over the wind.
“Nils has the fore watch. Pat, you are to join him and learn from him.” Pat nodded, grinned and turned. As he started to make his way down, there was a loud crash from above and the central topmast snapped off, swinging down in a tangle of rigging and started banging against the main mast. The ship leaned hard over and groaned as the wind caught the obstacle and pushed.
Captain Larroche was out of his cabin in a trice, and called to Pat.
“Get Nils and tell him to cut that away.”
Pat jumped to the deck, the wind catching him and blowing him so he landed several feet further along than he expected. Travelling to the bow was hard, having to time his movements with the pitching of the ship and after one close shave when he nearly went overboard, he learnt to pick his next handhold and let the roll of the ship and the wind take him to where he could grasp it with a death hold.
Just past the main mast he met Nils coming back. Nils turned his ear to hear the shouted instructions.
A determined, grim expression spread across Nils’ face. “Stay down here Pat, I’ll sort it.”
“You can’t do it on your own. I’m with you.”
Nils grinned at him. “On your own head then. Grab an axe and tie it to your belt. You’ll need both hands and the axe is vital. Keep three points of purchase always. Stay away from me so I don’t knock you off if I fall.”
The two of them started up the mast. Pat couldn’t believe the force of the wind. He tried to keep it on his back so the rain didn’t blast his face. Without looking up or down, he concentrated on each step, planning where he was going to put his hand or foot next. As he climbed he grinned, remembering times in the past scaling trees and cliffs, then thought that crossing the desert had been more similar in terms of sheer endurance. His arms straining from the constant pulling of the wind, he glanced down and was surprised how little distance they had travelled.
Putting it out of his mind, he concentrated on a foot at a time. Reach up with a hand and grasp the rope. Take a firm hold, look down and watch the foot rise up to the next step. Wiggle the foot and slot the rope between the toes and grip. Move the next hand up. Straighten the leg and watch the second foot come up into place. Repeat. Over and over while the wind buffeted him, his clothing rubbing against him and weighing him down as it more than doubled in weight from the rain.
Almost in trance he moved up steadily, and then banged his head. Looking up, he found it was Nils’ foot. They were at the first spar location.
Nils shouted something down that he couldn’t hear, and pulled himself up. Coming up carefully, Pat saw that the mast was greasy. One of the protective beads had split and gone, spreading slippery grease over the mast and ropes in the process. He checked, there was no way around, he had to go through it. Nils inched past, and he could see his foot slip on the grease. Pat was thankful for his bare feet and stretched his toes getting ready. His first step landed on a greasy rope and he slipped. Buffeted by the wind, he couldn’t see and pain seared through his fingers as they caught a grip. Digging his nails into the unforgiving wood, he tried taking tiny steps and inched his way up.
Past the spot he went faster, and felt the mast ringing with every gust. He held on more tightly, seeing Nils was going slowly. While he watched Nils, he saw the top mast crash back just above his head and Nils stiffened, then grabbed the rope with rigid arms. Pat watched the topmast swing out again and saw broken rope slashing after it. Nils didn’t move. He was in a dangerous place and now was inching back down. Pat looked at the other side of the mast. The rigging remained in place, but it was a stretch to reach. He swayed in the wind, then timed a gust and swung with it, risking a hand and foot across the gap. The gust pushed at his back and gasping he grabbed the far rope, pulling himself across, breathing rapidly. Pulling himself level with Nils, he sensed something wrong.
He reached out with one hand as he came level and grabbed Nils’ arm. Nils turned his face towards him and Pat gasped. Nils’ left eye was gone, just a gaping hole with blood trickling out of it.
“Rope end” screamed Nils, “slashed me across the face. Can’t see properly.”
“Your eye!”
“Is it bad? Hurts like the devil and I can’t see a thing. Give me a moment and I’ll go up and free it. Got to get past this bit where it slams into the mast. This is where we earn our pay, lad!”
“Nils, you’re not going to be able to do it. Your eye is bad. Go down a bit out of range and leave it to me.”
“Thanks Pat, but it’s my job. You’re back up. Aaah! Damn, it hurts! Salt in a cut by the eye!”
“Nils! It’s bad! Get down and leave it to me! You won’t be able to see well enough to do it, no chance!”
Pat pushed past and watched the topmast. It would be held out at right angles from the mast for a while, then when the gust passed it would slam back into the main mast. That was the killing moment, when bits of rope whistled around. It came down again and Pat buried his face in his arms, eyes closed. A line of fire erupted across his back but he held still. He felt the wind pick up, looked up and saw the mast going out straight.
Disdaining care, he raced up the mast, the wind picking at him with insistent fingers, levering at his hands constantly. He came to the part where the topmast was attached and it was a mess. The careful lashings, lovingly put on and expertly tightened, were splayed apart and the butt of the topmast waved free, bits of broken lashing hanging about.
The wind died, and the mast fell again. Pat clung on tightly, out of the danger area now, and watched how the mast was connected. He picked out the ropes still attached to it, which would cause more problems if the mast was freed first. Locking his legs around a rope and the mast, thin here, he took a turn of rope round his left arm and released the axe with the other. Not the moment to drop it. He swung at a tight cable, caught it perfectly and nearly went flying as the mast side of the rope sprang back, whipping past his head and grazing his skull.
‘Close,’ he thought, feeling blood dribbling down his skull.
The next one he swung at, he ducked his head at the last moment and protected it in his tethering arm. Looking up after a moment, he saw he had missed. Judging the moment again, he swung again and parted it. One more to go, but it was out of reach to one side. He could only get to it when the wind gusted strongly and he needed a good 30 seconds to get to it, cut it and get back. The gusts usually lasted up to five minutes, never less than a minute, so as soon as the next one started he pushed up, leaned out and cut the rope. It slammed back into his ribs and he groaned, but didn’t release his grip.
Getting back, he took a breather and glanced at the topmast. The lashings were looser, a few swings and it should be free.
He swung, the sharp axe sliced through three ropes of lashing and the rest unfurled and fizzled away after the topmast which shot away on the wind. He felt the ship spring back up to the vertical, seemingly lighter without the burden of the broken mast. Gasping, he rested a moment then inched his way down to Nils.
“It’s done, Nils.”
“Took you long enough. Pat, I still can’t see. Am I blind, Pat? Have I lost my eyes?”
“No mate,” lied Pat, sensing Nils would let go and be blown away if he thought he was blind, remembering how he loved to stand high and watch the sea birds and the dolphins. “But it’s bad, could be awhile till you can see. I’ve seen a few of those injuries where a rope smacks somebody across the eyes. Can take a week before you can see again.” He had to shout across the wind and hoped Nils could hear. “Come on, I’ll help you down.”
The trip down took forever. While the mast did not sway so much with the topmast gone, Nils couldn’t see where to hold or step and Pat had to place his feet. If Nils hadn’t been so good, they would never have made it. His shoulders were a raging sea of pain by the time they reached the mainsail spar socket of the mast, and Else and Sara were there to help. Pat turned and shouted at them,
“Nils can’t see! Took a rope end across the face! Help him down and get him to the galley.” With his free hand he pointed to his eye and shook his head, then put his finger on his lips. The girls looked at him strangely until Nils tilted his head down on hearing Else call to him.
The gaping socket leered horribly out of his skull, washed clean and staunched by the rain, but still with the thread from the eye ball hanging part way out, looking like the tail of a worm burrowing into his skull.
Else went visibly white, even in the night storm. She was up alongside Nils, going round to the opposite side of the net where the wind could pull harder at her.
“Step with me, darling,” she said quietly and started to move his hands. Sara took his feet, moving them one at a time. Nils moved slowly as the wind and blood loss started to take effect. Pat, himself exhausted, lowered himself to the deck, braced himself against the wind and reached up to help Nils the last few feet to the deck where he collapsed.
A pair of huge arms swept him up and he felt himself being carried; looking off to the side he could see two men had Nils. It was the Bosun that had him, and she tenderly laid him on the galley table, with Sara beside her, squeaking over his hands.
Wearily he picked them up and examined them, eyes widening as he saw that he had lost four nails, three from his left hand. Sara was peering at his head now, while the Bosun peeled off his shirt and was looking at his back.
“Ach, laddie, you’re a one, you are. Grand job you did there. Your back looks like you’ve shipped on a pirate and they’ve given you the lash!”
Nils was brought in and sat beside Pat, Suzanne coming in behind him already arguing with Walters, while Perryn pushed in behind them.
Somebody pushed a hot mug into Pat’s less ruined hand and he took a gulp. Feeling strength returning, he listened to the medics squabble.
“No I will not let you put hot pitch in the socket,” said Suzanne forcibly.
“We have to stop infection,” cried Walters.
“I think hot pitch would make it worse,” said Perryn worriedly.
“Shuttup,” Pat cut across them. “Have any of you ever operated on an eye before? Successfully?” He glared at Walters who had started to answer. “Well I have, maybe ten or twelve. There’s a fly that gets into the eyes of horses and cattle, if they are scratched by a branch, lays its eggs and buggers off. Next thing you know the eye is a ruin, full of maggots. We have to cut out the remains.”
He pushed himself off the table and went over to Nils, turning his head so the lantern light fell on the socket.
“You said my eyes were alright,” whispered Nils accusingly.
“You would have jumped if I told you anything else,” said Pat tiredly. “Anyway, it’s only one that’s gone, I can fix the other. You’ll be running along spars in a day wearing a patch.”
Pat put his hand towards the eye and saw it shake.
“You can’t do anything now, you’re done in.” Suzanne forcibly took charge. “Else, wash it out gently with a tea of euphrasia, eyebright flowers. Steep about four flowers in boiling water for 5 minutes; let it cool to blood temperature so it doesn’t hurt him. Oh, put some of those orange flowers in too, the ones for cuts, some sinjunswort and a monkshood flower. He can sip it while it cools. I’ll sort him in the morning.”
Perryn and Pat were nodding at this, while Walters looked worried.
“When you clear the eye on the cattle, what do you do?” Suzanne asked, peering into Nils’ eye.
“Sockets clean from the rain, but you have to get out any bits that may be in there, and tie off that string so it doesn’t bleed. You can snip it off above where you tie it. If there are some bits of the eye ball left, stuck to the sides, they need to be cleaned out. Cheer up, Nils,” he slapped Nils weakly on the shoulder, “Else will stop Steve from pissing in it! He reckons that’s much better than Elven remedies!”
He sagged slowly forward and braced himself on the table. Sara gently supported him. “We need to sort out your injuries too. What does he need, Suzanne?”
“Some tea with monkshood, and put some wolfsbane in it. Bathe the cuts with sinjunswort and marigold tea.” She replied briskly, Perryn nodding enthusiastically while a glum expression spread across Walters’ face.
Pat slumped forward on his face. “No fucking hot pitch.” He said and passed out.
Morning dawned bright and clear, the storm having blown itself out in the night. Sara and Else were right up the top in the rigging, checking for damage while others replaced the main spars.
Captain Larroche looked bleakly off to the north, brooding on the two seasick sailors who had been lost. Washed from the scuppers, one had broken his safety rope and gone, while the other when dragged aboard had drowned. That had been Hughie, and he wasn’t sure the lad had been tied up correctly. He should have been more forthright in clearing him of the rape accusations. He worried about Nils, who had been with him for seven years and had taken to topsail work in the new ship as one born to it.
In the sick bay, Pat groaned and opened his eyes, to see Nils looking at him with one bright eye. They stared at each other for a moment, then Nils said, “Thanks Pat. I would’ve jumped. I’ll not forget this.”
Pat went red and blustered. “God, I’m starving, isn’t there any breakfast for sick lads? Have you scoffed the lot, Mr Greedy?” Nils hardly ate anything.
The door banged open and the Bosun came in bearing a wide tray which steamed.
“Hah, you lucky laddies, see who’s your nurse today! Your pretty birds are up in the rigging looking for damage so I thought I would come and play with their toys! Who needs a bed bath then? If you need a piss, I’ve got a bottle and I’ll even hold your willy for you, there’s an offer you don’t get every day!”
She laughed happily and leaned over and kissed Pat as she put the tray down.
“I suppose I will have to feed you, the way your little bird wrapped your hands up last night, you wont be able to get at the food.”
Pat pulled his hands from under the covers, and found them like huge mittens with bandages all over the place.
“Oh, god, Bosun, this is no good. The wounds need to breathe! Can you take the bandages off please?”
“Really? Breathe? Well, I don’t know...”
Impatiently, Pat attacked the bandages with his teeth and the Bosun leant forward muttering, pulling out a huge knife from her boot and slicing off the knots. Pat inspected his ruined nails critically, then went over to Nils and removed the bandage that was over his eye.
“Borrow you knife, Bosun?” he asked holding out his hand. She placed it there, and he went over to a lantern that was still burning. He opened the window and stuck the knife in the flame for a moment.
“Why do you put it in the flame?” The Bosun asked.
“My Elven healer made me do it. Don’t know why.” Going back to Nils, he said, “Hold still, mate.”
With his right hand he held the knife half way along the blade, and resting his hand on Nils’ cheek, he used his fingers to delicately lift up the cord that dangled uselessly in the socket. He grasped it firmly with his left hand, and saw that one of the girls had tied it off low down with a thread. Very gently he sliced it off just above the thread. Nils didn’t move. He peered into the socket, then moved Nils to the window where he could see better.
“There’s still a bit of the eye in there, Nils, need to get it out.”
Pat slowly inserted the tip of the knife under a shred of eye, lifting it slowly away from the side of the socket. An absorbed Bosun was watching over his shoulder.
“There,” he said, “that’s fine mate. Will heal up in no time. Leave it open to the air till it is healed up, then you can put a patch over it or chuck a false eye in.”
Unconcerned, Nils simply said, “Can I have my breakfast now? I thought you were hungry. By the way, did I understand you right? You’ve never done that to a man before? Just on a cow?”
An hour later, Captain Larroche dropped in to see how they were doing and to compliment them on their work. Pat was embarrassed, and Nils brushed it aside with his own question.
“Did you select a new topmast yet, Captain? Will it need a lot of work?”
“We pulled up several spare spars, and Else picked one. The shipwright and his mate are working on it now. Should be ready this afternoon.”
“Right sir. We’ll be rested enough by then and we’ll get it up.”
“You stay here. Else can set the ropes and we’ll pull it up from down on deck.”
“I know sir, but she hasn’t the strength to set it on the block. You can’t do that from below, it will sway around. Let her do that and she’ll lose a finger or two.”
“Can’t any other of the topsailsmen help her?”
“Only one I would trust is Pat,” said Nils with finality. “They are fine down on the main spars, but up on top of the world, no chance. Got to be me, with Pat helping. Else can set the ropes and do all the preliminary work.”
“Are you up to it?”
“I reckon.”
Pat just nodded, the idea of not doing work because of a little injury like missing fingernails and eyes hadn’t occurred to him.
