In Search of Spice, page 7
Sara looked at Sal. “You’re like a military operation. You seen a lot of trouble?”
“Yup. We run one of the biggest spreads in Fearaigh, and we’re always getting raiders coming down from the hills, men, elves, even the odd Dwarven band, though they tend to treat with us first these days.”
“Elvish raiders?”
“Renegades. Not part of the main clan, and they need to win their scars. Seems we’ve developed a bit of a reputation, and they try to hit us at least once every couple of years. They like our horses. Of course the Elf Queen sends a trading caravan once a year.”
“I didn’t know.” Sara frowned.
“Why should you? We look after ourselves and we’re proud of it. No mercenaries down our way.”
Sara bit back on what she wanted to say, inwardly furious the crown did not know of these raiders into the fiercely independent grasslands. She changed the subject. “Is Pat always the scout? Is he good?”
“Never seen the like. We had a renegade elf we healed after a fight, stayed with us for five years. Said it was because of Pat. When he was just a little thing he used to take him into the woods and teach him about animals and God knows what else. Got him shooting arrows earlier than most, probably why he is so good. Only person I ever saw who could creep up on every animal around. He used to get into trouble when he was small, pinching cubs and the mamas would come after them. Funny though, he would always give them back to the mama and they never hurt him. Seemed like he could talk to them.”
The subject of the conversation appeared in the light at the end of the street, nodded briefly at Mikkel and disappeared into the shadows. Mikkel kept them going.
The moon and stars lit the docks almost as clear as daylight, but with plenty of deep shadow. Two sailors appeared and walked up the gangplank, while Pat slid up a stack of bales. He stiffened, seeing movement across the quay on another pile and relaxed as he realised it was Rat.
The main group came up the quay and all went onto the ship. He slipped down and followed them aboard; Mot appeared from nowhere and went across the gangplank without hesitation.
“Hang on a moment, let me check the cabin,” he hissed, and slipped to the fo’c’sle. Mot followed him in, her hackles shot up and she raced over to a hammock, growling fiercely. There was a commotion from the hammock, which twisted and a body was thrashing in it, hanging upside down with a face staring into Mot’s teeth, whereupon it froze.
Others crowded in behind Pat and somebody lit a lantern, revealing a trickle of liquid coming from the hammock, and an acrid smell.
Dan started to laugh.
“Mot!” Pat said, “to me now. Friend.” Mot stopped growling, gave the girl a quick lick and sauntered back to Pat.
“Bet you wish you had come with us for a drink now, Katie.” Dan cried, as the tension dissolved.
Mikkel raised an eyebrow to Pat, who nodded.
“Right,” he said, “if you folks are all happy and safe, we’ll tuck you into your hammocks and get back to some serious drinking. C’mon Dad, you’ve said your goodbyes, let’s get going.”
“Not so fast,” said Sal, grabbing Rat by the hand as he came in. “These hammocks look loads of fun! Don’t you get any privacy?”
“On a ship?” Sara cried, “you must be kidding. You could try right up the rigging though.”
Pat was helping Katie out of her hammock and introducing her to Mot, not very successfully, as Mot was trying to help and Katie was still terrified and not sure if she was awake or asleep. Dan helped, less gently and she sprawled on the floor from where Linda pulled her up while Terri hugged Mot and spoke soothingly to Katie.
Outside there was a noise and the sound of horses coming across the quay towards the ship. The gangplank creaked as the first feet stepped on it.
Mikkel stiffened and stepped to the door, Dan and Pat right behind him with Sara slipping in front. There was a group of men coming up the gangplank, slowly and unsurely, clearly not sailors. A knife appeared in Mikkel’s hand, when Sara gripped it.
“Soldiers” she breathed into his ear.
They tensed. Pat slipped out of the door, picking up his war bow and quiver from the rack by the door and disappeared into the shadows with Mot at his heels, Rat half a second behind went the other way, knife glinting in the moonlight.
“Ah, hello? Is anyone here?” came an uncertain voice from the group at the head of the gangplank, well spoken but with a hard tinge to it.
There was a noise from the poop and a door opened, shedding some light onto the deck. The mate came out, swinging a lantern, revealing a group of about a dozen soldiers with a Lieutenant to the fore. They looked tired and well travelled, their clothes, even in the dim lantern light, looking dirty and torn, though still showing faint insignia.
Nothing was wrong with their reactions though, as the dim light reflected on half a dozen knives drawn at the entrance to the fo’c’sle. In an instant all had drawn swords and were spreading out.
Pat’s voice came sharply, hard and commanding, totally unlike anything any of the others had heard from him before.
“Stop! You are covered by war bows and outlined in the moonlight. State your names and purpose.”
To underline the command an arrow thunked into the deck at the feet of the Lieutenant, who froze, as did the soldiers who all recognised the power and lethal capability behind the broadhead which had come from out of the dark and buried itself a good couple of inches into the deck, leaving a crunching hole.
“Lieutenant Mactravis and ten soldiers of the Royal Pathfinders, reporting to the Queen Rose as per our orders. We were detained by weather and some entertainment from Spakka scouts.” He smiled grimly. “We rode through the night to catch up some of the time, but I regret we are a day late.”
Sara’s voice came from the fo’c’sle. “Relax Pat, They’re genuine. I’ve seen Mactravis before.”
The Lieutenant’s right eyebrow rose slightly. “I begin to see why we have been detailed. You are having trouble? Fill us in and we’ll join your watch tonight. We may have had little sleep for the last couple of days, but standing watch is easy.”
“Just what the hell is going on?” Captain Larroche came out behind his mate, who was looking confused. “And what in the seven circles of hell is a wolf doing on my ship?” Mot had come out of the shadows, and looked twice the size in the poor light.
Suppressed giggles came from the fo’c’sle, but Pat stepped into the light, his bow still strung and an arrow ready.
“Sir, we were attacked in town, two enemy casualties, no shipmate injuries. My family escorted us home. The wolf is my sheep dog - she came too.”
“Attacked? What do you mean attacked?”
“They were after Sara, Sir. We think it was some old mercenary grudge, as there was not just a gang but a well thought out plan to kill her. That’s why we accepted extra help to come back to the ship.” Pat looked at the Lieutenant. “Apologies for the welcome, Lieutenant Mactravis. Did think you were the mercenary gang in the dark.”
“In other circumstances that would be a deep insult, lad. In these, quite understandable. You’re a hand with a bow. I’ve not met many who can draw that length.”
Captain Larroche stepped forward, keeping a wary eye on Mot who relaxed her hackles, went up and wagged her tail at the Captain.
“Right, I think I understand what happened. Lieutenant Mactravis, apologies for the manner but you are very welcome. We have reserved a cabin for you, very small I am afraid, and your men have a larger one. A good thing you rode so hard as we leave on the morning tide. Brian, can you show the soldiers to their quarters. Lieutenant, if you would be so kind as to report to my cabin when you have settled in, say half an hour. Brian, you be there too. Pat, choose a colleague and take the watch till midnight. I doubt we will see any activity tonight. Brian, I thought we had a watch?”
“You do, Captain.” A voice from above, and Else slid down a rope. She grinned. “Best fun I’ve had in ages. Nils! Relax the ballista.”
She grinned again at slight reaction amongst the soldiers. A ballista could be loaded with a sheaf of bolts that could sweep away an assault party.
“It’s alright, fellas, it wasn’t pointed at you. I knew we were expecting soldiers at some time and recognised you guys - the others hadn’t been aboard long enough to tell me about the bad boys. No stowaway attempts either, Cap’n.”
Brian stepped forward. “Soldiers... - Ah, Pathfinders, if you will follow me I will show you your quarters. We’ll settle them first, Mactravis.” He nodded at the Lieutenant who dipped his chin, then turned to the soldiers.
“Corporal Strachan, take a detail of three men. Pass your kit to others and take the horses to the local barracks. Get a chitty from the quartermaster, wake somebody up if you have to, but get back here within two hours and get the watch to see you to quarters.”
Corporal Strachan sort of saluted, it was a brief gesture at his hat, touched three soldiers, handed his kit bag to another and went down the ramp, sword still out. The soldiers did the same, all without a word. It was impressive, and noticeable that now they were aware of trouble in the vicinity, the gangplank no longer creaked. There was not a sound on the dock either. The other soldiers followed Brian aft, eyeing Connor, Mikkel, Selwyn and Sal who now came forward towards the gangplank.
“Who the hell are you?” Captain Larroche snapped. “Oh, don’t tell me, Pat’s family? You’ve got the same far-seeing look.”
“Indeed, sir, I am Connor and these are my other kids. Thank you for giving Pat this opportunity.”
“Huh? Ah, I think I should be thanking you. Quite a lad you have raised there. Want to get rid of anymore of them?” He eyed the others speculatively.
“Regretfully I rather need them to run the ranch. In truth, we need Pat, but he needs to spread his wings. Now we must go. We have said our farewells earlier, so let us go. Mot, follow!” He turned and started for the gangplank.
Mot sat down at Pat’s feet.
Connor reached the bottom of the gangplank, turned and realised only Selwyn and Mikkel were behind him. They looked up to the ship and saw Sal kissing Rat, one hand firmly on his bottom and Pat trying to push Mot to the gangplank.
He touched Mikkel. “Get the dog. SAL! Come, we are going.”
Sal released the permanently scarred and gasping Rat, gave a little grin, a wave to Sara, ruffled Pat’s hair and sauntered down the gangplank with a whistle to Mot who ignored her. Mikkel went over to Mot, who bared her teeth at him and growled so menacingly he retreated.
Mikkel and Pat stood over the dog, uncertainly, while Mot retreated away from the gangplank, still growling. Captain Larroche watched with interest.
“If that is a sheepdog, you must have bloody big sheep. Devoted to you, is she, Pat?”
“Uh, we’ve spent a lot of time together, sir. I am sorry, will get her sorted in a minute. She’s actually very well trained.”
Sara slipped up to the Captain. “They’re a team, sir, and a damn good one. Shame to break it up. Could be very useful.”
The Captain glanced at her. “Does she eat fish?”
“Huh?” Pat was confused. “Sure, she eats most things.”
“Can you train her where to shit?”
“Uh, sure, that’s no problem.”
“I bet. If I find dogshit on my deck, I’ll have you keelhauled. You are now officially in charge of the ship’s dog.” He turned and stomped to his cabin.
Mikkel grinned, and went down the gangplank to Connor, who did not look too pleased. Mot clearly understood and came back to Pat wagging, and sat at his feet.
The Connorsons went off, with Connor grumbling half-heartedly about his dog.
“I’m pleased she has gone with Pat,” said Mikkel. “Help him to remember us and home, stop him being lonely.”
“Lonely!” Sal laughed. “With those girls on board that won’t last. That Sara girl, the mercenary, seems to have him well in tow. Good for him, I reckon.”
“Thought you didn’t approve of the girls for him, Sal?” Connor asked.
“This one’s different. Got that look in her eyes and she’s as capable as him.”
Mikkel smiled. “More than that. Pat’s going to have an interesting time. That’s the missing Princess we’ve been hearing about, the one that won the fencing championship. Looks like she has picked on Pat as a guard.”
“Really? How do you know?”
“Saw her last year when I went to Praesidium. She’s cut her hair and dyed it, but the same girl for sure.”
Departure
Dan groaned, and applied himself to his bar. He had Pat behind him, and they were pushing the capstan, a big round solid barrel of wood that came off the foredeck mounted on an axle. There were holes in the top into which spars were thrust to form spokes - on each of which a sweating sailor pushed to turn it. A long rope went from it out a good two hundred yards to where a boat had dropped an anchor and they were pulling the rope in. As it came through the thwarts, it went round the capstan twice and down into the fore hold where other sailors coiled it and detached the links. The effect was to winch the ship towards the anchor, the best way of moving the ship in shallow water.
The early morning sun beat down on them from a cloudless sky and they were sweating. The light sparkled and bounced off the choppy sea and they started to feel the motion of the ship. The Queen Rose boasted three masts, the middle one rising almost eighty feet high, with a prominent bowsprit. From the side, she looked a little like the letter U with her high castles front and back, the back one being much larger with the poop deck on it, from where the officers commanded the ship.
They inched her out from the quay and towards the open bay where they could raise their sails. Sara, Else and Nils were in the rigging above them, waving to the crowds who lined the quayside to see them off. Mot lay in the shade of the foresail, which was furled but ready to be pulled into position, just to one side. Every time Pat came round and she could see his face she thumped her tail to encourage him.
A band from the local militia played in between speeches from various people, including the local representative of the Crown and the new Member of Parliament, as the ship inched her way from the dock.
Captain Larroche was resplendent in a dress uniform and great cocked hat on the poop deck, Brian by his side. They stood beside the helmsman who was checking the wind and waves with meticulous care. Taufik and Walters were going over a chart, with Taufik’s rutter in front of him. Walters was resplendent in purple robes with a gold cross on the back, while Taufik looked wonderfully exotic, with his dark face beneath a blue turban, and strange trousers that were wider at the bottom then tied in.
Brian bellowed through a speaking trumpet, “Top watch aloft, fore mast!”
A boatswain’s mate flicked his rope end at Pat, who relinquished his place to an older sailor and scampered up the rigging. Nils was busy greasing a pulley two thirds of the way up the mast.
“Jib away!” called Brian at a nod from the helmsman, and Mot moved away smartly as three sailors started to pull a rope which went up to Nils’ pulley and the triangular sail, a jib, started to rise up and billow in the light winds.
As the wind caught it, the capstan work became easier. The anchor came free and swung up to the ship where two experienced sailors lashed it down. The sailors on the capstan pulled their spars from the sockets, stowed them away and raced to stations on either side of the ship.
“Fore course!” Brian yelled and Pat sprang into action. He was out on the right side of the spar, and pulled the cords that released the sail, allowing it to unfurl. Sara was doing the same on the far side, while Nils was below him pulling it down and lashing it in place. This was the hard part as the wind started to push the sail and Pat punched and kicked the hard canvas to knock the wind out and make it easier for Nils. It took only moments to get the sail set and then he was scurrying up to the topsail to see if that would be required.
Nils spoke below him, “Doubt we’ll set the others till we are out of the bay. Too risky if the wind changes with a lot of sail set this close to land.”
The Queen Rose was sailing now, moving through the water like a stately swan and Pat heard Mot giving the welcome bark down below, to be answered with a curious chattering. He looked down and, to his amazement, there was a huge fish going backwards on its tail through the water in front of the ship, making this strange noise at Mot, who was barking and wagging her tail furiously. The fish seemed to be laughing at her, and another broke the surface out of the bow wave in a graceful leap.
“Dolphins!” Else cried in delight. “Captain! Lucky ship! The dolphins are with us.”
Captain Larroche doffed his hat and waved it at the dolphins and the long time sailors all cheered. You could feel the buzz of confidence and good spirits rising through the ship, while the newcomers stared in amazement.
Nils said to Pat, “Lovely aren’t they? We consider them good luck, but they rarely go beside the smaller boats. They like the Queen Rose though. They came with us on some of the trials. Always a good sign when they see us off. Look how many there are.”
Indeed, by now there was a whole pod, some playing in the bow wave, but most fascinated by Mot and trying to talk to her.
The Queen Rose cleared the headland and Pat clung on as the deckhands hauled on ropes, the yards swung around and the ship turned on her new course, southeast. The commands roared out and Pat was soon exhausted as they went from mast to mast, setting the huge and heavy sails. Other sailors were up helping now, and the Queen Rose responded, surging forward and causing the water to race past. The dolphins loved it and played at the bow, while Mot held herself up as a figurehead. Pat noticed she was being much more careful now the ship was starting to plunge through the waves and the land had dropped away to a thick line on the horizon.
