In Search of Spice, page 4
“What do you know about the big ship that is going off to explore the world?”
“The Queen Rose? Lovely lookin’ ship she is, bloody huge too, beggin’ your pardon ma’am. A carrack, they call hers. They’re havin’ some trouble fillin’ up her crew, so ya’d git a berth, no trouble.”
“What sort of job would I get?”
“Well, She’s a merchant, see. So she needs all sorts. Sailors, but also sojers though youall is expected to fit. Not that she looks for it, but pirates attack merchant ships alla time, an’ ya never know when yore gonna bump inna Spakka ship an’ they’ll always have a go atcha if’n they can. So they need sojers for dee-fence. Blademen, arrer shooters, pikemen, all sorts. But they also need cooks, chippies, all sorts o’ craftsmen ‘cos They’re gonna live on that ship for ages. I hear they’re even takin’ animals along so they need a farm boy to shovel shit, beggin’ ya pardon, ma’am.”
“I’m a range hand, not a farm boy!”
His dad interjected. “Is there some sort of apprenticeship I can buy him to help him on his way? How much money will he need?”
Mep looked at his empty tankard, which Selwyn took wordlessly and headed for the bar.
“Nope, don’t give him money. If ya want, ya give the Cap’n some dosh. Dunno how much a share is, but it gives him rights to some o’ the profits when they git back. These merchants are a team, see. Nobody gits any pay, they git a share o’ the profits when they git back. If ya put money in it, ya git more money at the end o’ it. Providing it makes money, o’ course. Don’t need any money on board, an’ ya can ask for some if in a port, but best not. You’ll want to go an’ get drunk an’ chase the skirts when ya git to port, but believe me That’s a bad idea. Many a sailorman never cum home again ‘cos o’ that. Ya can’t trust furriners, they do odd things.” He fell silent, eyes unsighted as a memory played.
“What do you suggest I do?” asked Pat. “I’m a good archer, and although I can look after animals I would rather learn to be a sailor.”
“He’s clever too,” said his dad, “how does he go about becoming an officer?”
“Waal,” said Mep, not knowing the answer. “Becomin’ an orficer takes time. Ya don’t just becum ‘un. Ya works ya way up through the ship. Start off as a hand, young ‘un, then learn ya way about the riggin’, That’s the sails an’ masts an’ shit, beggin’ ya pardon, ma’am. Ya do good, they make ya a bos’n, but ya mest asken the Cap’n if’n ya can figure that navvigashun stuff, that tells ya where the ship is, see. That’s the key to bein’ an orficer. Me, I can’t do that, why this ‘un stays where ‘e c’n see the land.” Mep grinned broadly, and Pat stared at him in amazement, seeing a new life opening up in front of himself, with a picture of shipboard life forming graphic images in his mind. New opportunities were rushing into his imagination in a tidal wave.
“Dad, I’ve got to do this. Sal, thank you so much. All of you. You are right, I have to go and this is just fantastic. Mep, how do I go about getting a berth?”
“Waal, laddie, ya jist rock up at that ship abaht an hour or two afta dawn. They’ll be up. An’ ya asken for the mate. He’s a verra important man, he is, yessir. He’s yer lord gawd almighty for the next year or two. He’s the one who decides iffen ya git a job or not. Iffen he ses yeah, and he will, laddie, no trouble ‘cos they are short o’ hands, then ya tells him ya want to put some dosh in tha ship, an’ he’ll take ya to the Cap’n to discuss it, so he will.”
Mikkel leaned forward at this point. “So why are they so short of ‘hands’? Why don’t people want to go? Is he a bad Captain?”
“Cap’n Larroche? Nah, ‘e’s sound as a bell, ‘e is. Lovely man, ‘e is. Runs taut ship, no trouble aboard, makes money for alla crew. Iffen anyone can go hexplorin’, ‘e’s ya man. But nobodies done it, see. It’s a new thing, see, an’ lots o’ folk liken me, scairt we is. See?”
They did. In the silence Mep drained his tankard and smacked his lips noisily. Pat jumped up.
“Let me get you another one.”
“S’arright laddie. Full tank I ‘ave. An I gotta talk to me mucker there. ‘Bout the fishin’ actual, so cummalong an’ ya might pick up summin’.”
He took Pat off with him, and Selwyn got up to join them, turning as he left and Pat was out of earshot and spoke to Sal.
“Fiona? Getting married? To that prick from Yellow Pong? Is she quite mad?”
“Don’t be an ass, Selwyn. Fiona will wait for Pat to come back for the next two years, if not more. But do you think he would have gone if he thought that?”
“But, but, you said all the girls were scared of him because he was so bright and different.”
Sal sighed. And sighed again, as she realised that all the men were looking at her in confusion. “Guys, the only reason that Pat is without a girlfriend is because he is too shy to ask them. Plus they are busy fighting as only girls can to ensure than he is never alone with any of them. They all want him more than anyone else because he is mysterious, different and bright. They know he is going to do well for himself and want to latch onto him for the ride. If he had ever gone to one of the dances, they would have fought over him.”
Mikkel roared with laughter and slapped his dad on the back. “See? Didn’t I tell you she was the one who had to talk to him?”
Connor looked worried. “Ah, that was all well and good while we were around and able to shepherd the wrong ‘uns away, but he won’t have anyone to do that now. What’ll happen if some bitch latches onto him without us to help?”
“Too late for that now, Dad. You can try and extract a promise that he doesn’t wed till he can bring her home, but he’s not fool enough to do that. Some girl will teach him a lesson or two, and it won’t be long now, I reckon. But he’ll have to learn how to handle her the hard way. We can’t help him anymore. It’s called growing up.”
Farewells
Pat woke and wondered where he was. He seemed to be lying in a blanket that moved and it came back to him. He was going to sea. He was a sailor. He was an explorer! They were going to find out what was out there beyond the edge of the world, the first people from Harrhein to venture out of sight of land.
His father had brought him aboard yesterday afternoon, and they had been delighted to take him, the mate pleased with his ability as an archer. He was in his hammock, something he had never seen before let alone used. The harsh weave scratched his skin, and he breathed in the smells, identifying them in his mind. Unwashed bodies, normal and ignored. The fascinating new smells of the sea and the tar that was everywhere on the ship. He carefully and gingerly sat up, managed to get his legs over the side and stood up without too much trouble.
Most of the other hammocks seemed occupied, snores and grunts coming quietly from most, but a pair of eyes were smiling at him from the next one. Big green eyes from under a rough black fringe, with a miraculously clear complexion transforming the strong regular features into beauty. He recognised the girl, Sara, who had joined up at the same time as he did.
She copied him and said, “Ha! I was wondering the best way to get out of this thing. I think it is awhile before breakfast, any chance of a wash, do you think?”
Washing had not occurred to Pat, but his bladder was pressing him. “Let’s have a look.”
They left the wardroom without a sound and went up on deck. They could hear splashing from the seaward side, walked over to some piles of clothing and looked down. There was a raft tied to the side of the ship and a couple of people were washing from it while a man was peeing against the ship. A rope ladder led down to it. Pat started towards the ladder.
“What do you need a ladder for, slowcoach?” cried Sara and he turned to see that she had stripped off her clothes and was running to the side of the ship. “Come on, get a move on.” she laughed at him and dived into the water.
Pat gaped. He had never seen anyone dive, let alone from that height. He stripped , but jumped instead of diving.
The water was chill but invigorating and he shook his head vigorously as soon as he came up, feeling the rush of blood and looking around warily for Sara. His limited experience of girls was that ones who talked to him would also likely try to duck his head under the water. She was looking at him with an evaluating eye from a few yards away, taking in his broad shoulders.
“Pat, isn’t it? How well do you swim?” she asked.
“Well enough for a plainsman, I guess,” he replied with care, becoming even more concerned about her. “I’ve swum across the Granthel in the mid plains. It’s wide there.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s get some exercise and work up an appetite for breakfast. Swimming is the best, exercises everything. Come on, we can swim out to that island near the harbour mouth and back.” And she was off.
Pat was a little startled, he had not thought of swimming as exercise, but he had never had to think of anything as exercise. Life was a constant exercise. However, he was willing and started after her, thinking as he did so he might need the exercise on the ship; there had not been much heavy work yet.
He was barely three quarters of the way back when he saw her standing on the raft, shaking her hair dry. As he climbed out, he heard one of the men say to her, “Breakfast will be in about ten minutes. You’re well out of the fo’c’sle, Bos’n will tip the other newbies out of their hammocks. Get to the galley with your plate and mug early. Last ones will do the washing.”
“Err, what’s the galley?” asked Pat, staring at the sailor. “And the fo ca sel?” The sailor grinned amiably. He was of medium height, stocky and packed with muscle, with long dark hair tied into a pigtail with a bit of string, and big gold hoops in his ears.
“Galley is where the cook gets the food ready. Up forward where the wind blows the smoke away. Fo’c’sle is where you sleep. Really, it’s the forecastle, ‘cos the ship has a castle at each end, kind of, and the front one is called the fore.”
“Why do you call them castles?” asked Sara.
“When pirates have a go at us, you’ll see. Cap’n”s had a lot of experience, and the high part of the ship gives you a big hand when they try to get aboard. This is the only place they can get on, and they have to climb up again. We can fill them with arrows from up there, and chop down at them with axes and cutlasses. You’ll see some chests at each end, they’re full of arrows.”
“Doubt they’ll fit my bow,” said Pat.
“Ah, you’re the longbowman?” said the man, looking at him with interest. “I’m Jem, glad to have you aboard. You’ll be useful, for sure. Have a word with the mate, show him some of your arrows and he’ll get some in before we sail. Anyway, I’m off to get some grub.”
Sara and Pat followed him up the ladder, retrieved their clothes and shrugged them on, following him towards the galley. Breakfast was fresh bread with cheese, the bread still steaming. They took it outside and sat on the rail to eat. Pat wolfed his food greedily, savouring the nutty taste of the bread, a very welcome change from the food on the trail. Sara looked unhappy at her plate and ate slowly.
“Want help to finish it?” Pat asked, looking at the half-eaten bread and not noticing her grimace of distaste.
“Go for it,” she said, passing it over.
“I love the nuttiness and the chewy bits where the flour wasn’t finely ground,” he said as he chewed with enthusiasm, missing the look Sara gave him, but her reply was lost as screams came from the fo’c’sle, to the amusement of the sailors eating. A gaggle of the new hands came rushing out followed by a thickset, brawny woman with massive, tattooed forearms. She was red in the face and shouting after them.
“What sort of useless twats have I been landed with this time? Lavata love me, what have I done to offend you?” She cast her eye to the heavens and made a flowing gesture with her right hand. “Its way past dawn and you lot think you can lie about wanking in your hammocks! Get a bloody move on, you’ll miss out on breakfast if you hurry it. Ten minutes and I want you lot ready on deck for training.”
One of the new crew was foolish enough to stop and ask a question.
“Wash? Wash! You want to know where to wash? In the bloody sea, you dolt!” She got even redder, grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and threw him over the side. Pat noticed this was right by the washing platform. He leaned over to Sara and whispered, “Who or what is Lavata?”
“God of the sea. Not heard of him?”
“Err, no. Didn’t know there was a god of the sea, thought there was just one god.”
The Bos’n kept harrying the new recruits, until she bellowed, “I’m two short. Where are the bilge rats hiding?”
“Sir!” answered Sara smartly. “We’ve washed and eaten and waiting for orders, sir.”
The Bos’n started over towards them. “A bloody soldier. Fat lot of good you’re going to be on a ship. I AM NOT A SIR!!!! The Cap’n is Sir. The officers are Sir. You call me Bos’n, understand?”
“Yes Bos’n.” Sara answered, poker faced and staring to the front, almost standing to attention.
She glared at Sara for a moment, and went off to collar a bedraggled recruit coming up the rope ladder.
Sara smiled at Pat and said, “She’s only pretending, and she’s not very good at it. An army bully sergeant would have her for breakfast. She’s just trying to get the new lads into sailors as fast as possible. Easier when they’re scared of you.”
“How come you know so much?” Pat stared at her. He was not used to somebody the same age, let alone a girl, know as much if not more than he did.
“Oh, I’ve been around. Done some soldiering - interesting she picked it up straight away. Bet she was in the army once. Come on, let’s get over to that net. I reckon we’ll be climbing that this morning.”
Pat looked over, and saw what he had taken for rigging was, in fact, a net leading from the side of the ship up to the first spar.
“Hmmm.” he tested some of the rope. “Looks a bit ratty, though. Older than the rest of the rigging. Some of those strands won’t bear anyone’s weight.”
“Umph. Take care, Pat. Likely a trick here.”
There was no time for anything else. The Bos’n was harrying everyone over and standing them under the net.
“Right, lads. You want to be sailors, so first thing we need to do is get you up in the rigging. There it is, behind you, get up that rigging quick smart. Climb you wharf rat!” this last screamed at a man who seemed to be about to ask a question.
As one, the recruits turned and started scrambling up the net. Sara raised an eyebrow at Pat, and moved off to the side of the net, grabbing the support rope and used that to go up. Pat ran to the far side, noticing the rope frayed in places throughout the net. As a good cowboy, he knew good rope, and thought Sara had done the right thing so he grabbed the far support rope, which looked sound. He had barely gone two yards up when there was a scream and a crash, and two bodies were lying on the deck grasping bits of rope in their hands. He did not look down, concentrating on finding sound rope and moved up as fast as possible. More cries, as he reached the spar a resounding crash and he looked down as he pulled himself onto the spar and grabbed the next set of rigging.
The entire net had broken in the middle, leaving the supporting ropes and all the recruits were in a mess on the deck except for him and Sara who was grinning at him from the far side of the spar. The Bos’n was screaming at the recruits with a big smile on her face. Pat saw the rigging was now sound rope and a ladder going up to a platform where the next spar joined the mast. He was there in moments, before Sara, who said, “Well done.”
The next ladder going up was in reach, so he reached for it and headed up, with Sara behind.
A female sailor went up to the Bos’n, indicated the two at the top, and said, “Me and Nils will take those two now, Bos’n. Natural topsailsmen, they are, we’ll have them ready by tomorrow.”
The Bos’n looked up at them. “Fine. Make sure they don’t try a quick way down till you are sure of them. Don’t want them falling from up there. No tricks in front of them, right?”
“Sure boss.” She turned to go.
“And don’t forget rowing training. They are not excused that.”
The woman and another young man swarmed up the ropes and joined Sara and Pat in the crow”s nest, standing on the ropes rather than on the platform.
“Hi guys, I’m Else, this is Nils,” said the woman. “We’re topsailsmen, and you’ve just joined us.”
“Good show,” said Nils, “but now we need to make sure you don’t get too confident and do anything stupid. What are your names?”
“I’m Sara, this is Pat. How can you stand on the rope like that? It hurts.”
Else laughed. “Your feet will toughen up in no time. I’m glad you two were smart enough to recognise good rope from bad. You know rope?”
“Not really,” said Sara, “but I was expecting a trick.”
“Uh, I do,” said Pat. “I worked on the range with cattle, used a rope a lot. Made my own too.”
“Good,” said Else. “One of the main things we do is check all the rope every day - and if you don’t know rope it’s all our lives that are at risk. Rope wears away, just from the wind. We are always replacing it, and greasing it where it rubs. You will see in some places, like there, see, we have wooden beads around the rope to help stop it wearing. We replace the beads too and they usually need lots of grease. Come, we’ll do a check now and at the same time we will show you how to walk in the rigging. Sara, you come with me, Pat with Nils.”
Captain Larroche stood on the poop deck, the highest deck on the ship. It was at the stern, with only the officers cabins behind it and featured the steering wheel and a view over the entire operating deck of the ship. Sourly, he watched the Bosun hazing the new recruits.
“It’s not enough, Brian, but I want to sail on the morning tide.”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” replied the first mate. “It’s been hard. None of the experienced fishermen or coastal sailors will come near us. They don’t trust our sailing master, him being foreign. Not that any of them know how to sail a ship like this. Sailors don’t like being out of sight of land even less. We are left with the raw recruits. I have been looking for people with balance, woodsmen, country people and the like.”
