Voyage of the Lanternfish

by C S Boyack

  Army pointed with one of his three arms. "Ship over there."

  "We'll give Trouble a bit more time. He got the worst of it. Any news?"

  "Biscuit trap pinchy things. Eat all up. Men find big snails. Eat all up those, too."

  "Were there any problems?"

  Army put a finger to his mouth. "Flattop try catch bayfrog. Frog swim away."

  "Sounds like it was nice and quiet."

  "Biscuit bring wood to ship. Say make fire."

  "Always good to stock up when we can. Are you about ready to go?"

  "Army strong. Modders strong, too. Not Trubba. Too much ca ca salt."

  "Can you walk?" James asked Trouble.

  "I I I I. Trubba walk slow."

  "Would you like a few more minutes?"

  "I I I I."

  "Rub yourself down with the sand. Make sure all the salt is gone."

  Trouble did as he was told, and spent extra time polishing his seashell helmet. The other monsters looked at him in awe. When he put the helmet back on, it was tight once more. "Trubba ready."

  They wound their way back to the beachhead where they landed. The fog was so thick they couldn't see the ship.

  "Do you lads have a horn?" James asked the monsters.

  "Trubba no have horn. Boss have horn. Flattop have horn."

  "Mule, use your horn to call for the longboat," James said.

  Mule pressed the horn to his lips and made the same two note sound as before.

  The sound of men filling the longboat reached them through the fog. The terrifying answer of Buwaya came back to them from the high country.

  "That's scarier than the salt dragon," Mule said. "Good thing we didn't take that route."

  Bill and Chappie showed up in the longboat. After being introduced to Mule, they rowed everyone back to the ship.

  James yelled back to the longboat from the deck of Lanternfish. "Get the rest of the monsters, then gather everyone back up. We're leaving tonight."

  "Have time to empty my traps?" Bill asked.

  "Yes. We won't leave until after dark."

  "In this fog, Cap'n?" Chappy asked.

  "Yes. In this fog."

  "Aye aye." The men headed back for shore.

  "What are my duties, Captain?" Mule asked.

  "First, we'll check in with Miss Fala. Tell her you're my new cabin boy. Then you can draw some water for Trouble and the others to have a longer soak."

  "Aye aye, Captain."

  "You there. Lewis," James yelled across the deck.

  "S-s-s-" He finally just saluted.

  "Set Master Mule up with some proper clothes, would you."

  "Pht. A-a-a." He stomped his foot for focus. "Aye aye, C-Captain."

  James placed his sextant and the books in his quarters. He went across to rouse Fala, but saw Mal entering the surgery.

  Pants waited on the surgical table.

  "Why?" Mal asked.

  "Pants slow now. Want work here."

  Mal placed the huge conch shell on the table. He sat a box beside it. "Dig out pearls for Serang."

  James knocked on Fala's door then introduced Mule. "He's our new cabin boy, and I don't quite know what to do with him yet. You're the quartermaster, so I wanted him to meet you first."

  "Pleased to meet you, Mule." She turned toward James. "What do you want me to do with him?"

  "For now, he needs to get some fresh water in the wash basin. I'm afraid Trouble's crew took some damage and water seems to be the cure."

  "Good plan. We'll place it on the forecastle then make him set through orientation. I'll bet your monsters have a new story to tell."

  "No doubt, and it's a good one too. It'll teach him about us, and give him something to do while Stuttering Lewis finds him some appropriate clothing."

  James returned to his cabin and studied his charts. He already knew their location, but different sextants read slightly differently. He determined to take a fresh reading once the stars came out.

  Biscuit Bill set the table and made ready for supper.

  Mule sat beside the washbasin listening to the Monsters tell stories. None of it made much sense until he heard the story of Salt.

  Trouble stood up in the center of the washbasin. Water flowed out of the bite marks in his chest. He removed his seashell helmet then placed it on the deck. He pointeda the shell. "Salt sleeps.

  "Mal say, hmmm, want big shell." Trouble placed a hand on Mule's leg. "Mool say, No! Salt mean."

  Trouble stepped onto the deck. "Mool throw rocks." He twisted the shell around. "Salt comes. Mad." He turned his back to the crowd then placed the shell on his head, dunking his face in the water. When he turned back around, the monsters all screamed.

  Trouble sprayed them with water from his mouth. "Mans back up. Dan fall down. Salt comes." He made some stomping steps then sprayed again. "Dan scream, Aggghhh. Leg all gone crustus."

  He placed a hand on his chest. "Trubba see. Say, monchala! Modders run help. Fight Salt. Salt brings more faces. Probably thirteen faces. Modders all crust now. Then BITE. Bite Trubba. Pull Trubba inside.

  "Army beat shell. Oder modders beat shell." He moved his hands up and down to illustrate the pounding. "Loud. Make Salt gone bongo. Salt throw away shell. Run ca ca awa.

  "Modders all crust. Trubba solid crustus.

  "Mal comes. Wash modders in ca ca awa."

  The monsters all growled at the ca ca awa.

  "Modders all crinkled. Headman say, carry modders good awa. Mool find... find, not clink clink–"

  "They were pearls," Mule said. "It's like treasure."

  "Find pers. Oman like pers. Headman say, bring pers. Modders soak good awa. All better now."

  The monsters all stared at the shell on Trouble's head. They held him in reverence, because it was as if their creator, Mal, foretold what would happen.

  "Some of it's starting to make more sense now," Mule said. "I was there for Salt, and I get some of it." He stood up then placed a hand on the forward mortar. "This is what belches." He worked up his own belch for good measure.

  The monsters fell down laughing. "I I I I," Flattop said.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Supper consisted of two gigantic sea scorpions. Biscuit Bill trapped them, then removed the tips of their stingers before boiling them whole. He said the whole ship has been eating them. He also had conch fritters with some dipping sauce made from goat's milk and spice.

  James ordered Mule to stand to the side and pour wine or mead, depending what the officers wanted.

  "Aye aye, Captain. Trouble didn't get his story right."

  "How so?"

  "He said the dragon had thirteen heads."

  "They can't count. They have no idea. I'll tell you this much though, they're fierce opponents and absolutely loyal."

  "That seems true, sir."

  "Looks like Stuttering Lewis found you some pants. How do they fit?"

  "He cut the legs shorter, and removed a red stripe from the sides. They fit fine."

  "What's he doing for a shirt?"

  "Said he had to cut one down, and I could have it tomorrow."

  "Very good, and boots?"

  "Those are going to be harder. He said he can cut some apart and make them into boots, but it might take a week."

  "Does it bother you to go barefoot?"

  "No, sir. I've been barefoot my whole life."

  "Very good. We'll get you a proper outfit in a few days. Stand to, and the officers will be here any minute."

  The officers filed in, one or two at a time. Dan wrinkled his nose at the scorpions. "Bill expects us to eat bugs now?"

  Serang broke one of the huge claws off, then cracked around it using the back of a butter knife. She pulled out a large piece of meat that resembled lobster or crab. "I'm surprised you will eat raw oysters, then balk at something like this. It is delicious." She followed it up with a swig from her huangjiu jug.

  "Would you like a glass of mead, ma'am?" Mule asked.

  "I prefer m
y own, but thank you," she said.

  "I'd love some," Fala said holding out her glass. "I've never eaten so well until I came aboard this ship."

  "Fine," Dan said. "I'll try some of the arm below Serang's claw." He broke off the remaining piece then placed it on his plate.

  "Hit me with some of that, lad," Johnny said. He held out his glass. "Don't care which kind."

  "We need to decide what to do about Mule," McCormack said.

  "I'm still figuring out duties for him," James said.

  "Don't mean duties, sir. I mean paying him. He's not exactly crew, but a cabin boy isn't exactly an officer either. Some of the men might complain if he earns an officer's cup."

  "Some of them will complain no matter what we do. Start him out with a crew portion. I'll deal with complaints if they come up. We need to capture something first, or there won't be any portions."

  "That is what I like to hear," Don Velasco said. "Time to become pirates once more."

  Dan looked up from his scorpion leg and glared at James across the table.

  "We will take to pirating, but with a plan. We're going to Hollish to take back Miss Philson. There will be any number of ships along the way."

  "It's a war zone now," Johnny cautioned. "We've got a big ship, but it ain't the only big ship out there."

  "As a matter of fact, the Saphish built three of them. One was wrecked in the rocks just over there, then there's Lanternfish. I don't know what became of the third one," James said.

  "In twenty years, someone would have built more large ships," Don Velasco said.

  "That's likely," James said. "Modern navies like to give up bulk in favor of speed. Two gun decks are enough to sink us, but if they can get into position faster, it seems to give an advantage. We have to assume the naval ships are fully armed once more. If they aren't, it helps us, but we can't plan on that. The safest course of action is to avoid military ships if we can. They aren't carrying much of value anyway."

  "Sounds good, but for one thing," Dan said. "They're looking for us. We can fly a false flag to trick some captains, but our ship is easily identifiable if they want to look."

  Don Velasco slapped Dan on the back. "Then those are the ones we fight."

  They quibbled about tactics, routes, and possible fortunes they would take. At the end of the meal, they dispersed, leaving two mounds of scorpion shells in their wake.

  "Plenty of small legs left, Mule," James said. "Get something to eat, then help Biscuit Bill clear the table. After that, I'll show you how to load a pistol."

  "Am I allowed some of the wine, sir?"

  James raised an eyebrow toward him. "I don't see the harm, but only with supper." He returned to his charts and books.

  After the table was cleared and cleaned, Mule stood beside the desk awaiting orders.

  James jotted some numbers on a paper before speaking to him. "Let's step outside and unload the pistol."

  They went onto the small deck then James pulled his pistol from his belt. "The forward trigger fires the left barrel, the rear one the right. Understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He handed the pistol to mule. "Point it out to sea where it can't hurt anyone, and be careful not to drop it overboard. Fire off the rounds. You'll have to cock the hammers all the way back until they click."

  Mule followed the instructions. The left barrel barked. "Smells like a hot spring."

  "That's the sulfur in the powder. Now the right."

  Once the gun was empty, Mule handed it back to James. They went inside then James stood it up on the pistol stand.

  "It's dirty now, and needs cleaning first. Then we'll reload it." He opened a drawer under the stand, then removed a silver bottle of solvent and some large patches, along with a prong that screwed inside the ramrod. He placed a patch over the bottle and held it with his thumb before turning the solvent quickly over and back. The patch absorbed the solvent. "Take the patch and snag it on the prong, then swab the barrel out. Use each patch a couple of times, then throw them away. Don't stop until you get a clean patch back."

  Mule took to his assignment with great interest. After a number of patches he said, "Finished."

  James looked up from his charts. "Put the solvent away, we're done with it now. Use the two cleanest patches and their remaining solvent to wipe down the outside. The fog, jungle, and surf cause rust. Solvent protects against that."

  When Mule finished, James said, "Now we have to load it." He opened another drawer on the stand and produced a short starter ramrod with a large spherical handle. "This pistol has riflings to make it more accurate. Look at the opening, and you can see the grooves. Because of that, we need a starter to cut into the ball."

  He went to a leather bag hanging on the wall and produced a brass powder flask. "My flask has a measure attached to the mouth. One thumb over the opening. Turn it up. Open and close the lever. Exactly the right charge." He poured it down the left barrel. "You do the right."

  Mule followed his example then charged the right barrel.

  "Now lift it straight up and slap the side. We want the powder to compact and settle. Then place it back on the stand."

  Mule followed his directions, then placed the pistol on the stand once more.

  "Now we need a patched round ball." James removed a small circular patch from the drawer, then wiped it across a small amount of grease that was placed in an indentation in the drawer. "Wrap it around the base of the ball then place it on the barrel, like so."

  Mule nodded his understanding.

  "I'll load the left, you can do the right. Use the starter, because it's going to resist until the riflings cut into the lead." James placed the starter on the ball then forced it down the muzzle. "Then just use the ramrod to shove it all the way down. It has to be tight against the powder or it could explode."

  Mule struggled with the starter on the right barrel. James flattened his hand over the handle, then told him to hammer with his other hand. Once the ball was started it easily rammed home.

  "Now we have to prime it. They make a fine flash powder, but we don't have any. We'll have to use what we have in the flask." He moved the pistol so it sat level across the stand using a different support on the box. "Flip the frizzen open to reveal the flash pan. Sprinkle enough grains into the trough to fill it then close the frizzen."

  Mule followed his example.

  "Now this is the most dangerous part. We have to lower the cocks into place, and if we aren't careful, we could fire the pistol accidentally. More than a few lads have killed themselves or a mate doing this." James swiveled the loading stand so the pistol pointed out the back door. "Always, without fail, point it in a safe direction. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And never get in front of the muzzle at this point. Come around behind me."

  Mule moved into position.

  "Which trigger fires which barrel?"

  "The front fires the left one. The rear fires the right."

  "The cock has a spring, and you'll have to hold it back. If it drops, the gun will fire."

  "I understand."

  "Alright, the left one's mine." James lowered the cock into place.

  Mule swallowed then placed his entire hand across the top of the pistol to secure the cocking mechanism. He safely lowered the cock into place.

  "Nothing to it, right?"

  "Seems like a powerful lot of work for a shot."

  "It is, but one shot can turn the tide of a battle. And your captain has two." He rustled Mule's hair.

  "Thank you for trusting me with this."

  "All guns work the same way, even the cannons. Most don't have riflings and those are easier to load. All of the muskets are like that, but they aren't as accurate either. This will become one of your duties. It's important to keep your weapons clean." James tucked the pistol back in his sash. "Now I want you to go out and light all the lanterns. Meet me at the wheel after the stars come out."

  Mule left and headed for the poop deck.
The gigantic lanterns were as big as he was. He lit them, closed the doors, and adjusted the flames.

  McCormack met him on the main deck. He thrust forward a couple of grey woolen blankets. "You'll have to find a cot or hammock and claim it. There are some open on the lowest deck. Colder down there, but you have two blankets." He handed over the items then left.

  Mule took them forward and placed them on the forecastle. He lit those lamps, then examined the firing mechanism on the mortar. It was attached to a lanyard instead of a trigger, but looked nearly the same as James' pistol. He opened the hatch, then slid inside the lanternfish figurehead.

  He lit the small lamps inside the fish's eyes, then used those flames to light the punk. Reaching through the teeth, he was able to use a hook on the rod to open the door of the forward lantern. He flipped the rod until the punk met the wick then brought the flame to life. He closed the door, and the hook fit into the screw to adjust the flame.

  Mule spit on the smoldering punk to put it out, since he didn't have boots yet. There was a ring welded to the inside to hang the rod from. He put his hands on his hips and took in the view.

  Calm seas lapped against the hull, and the foggy beach was visible through the fish's teeth. If he ducked down, the bowsprit was visible, along with the lines for the jibs. He returned to the forecastle then carried his blankets into the figure head. This would make a wonderful bed for a cabin boy.

  He watched the skies darken, and when the earliest star showed up, he ran for the poop deck.

  Don Velasco sat in the chair. The wheel was roped into place. James joined them with his books, paper and sextant.

  "You man the wheel," James told Don Velasco. "The boy needs the chair." He situated Mule with the wooden box across his lap, a quill, and some paper for his calculations. "That won't do. Slide the chair over by the lamp."

  Once Mule was placed where he liked, James took a reading on the stars. He leaned over then did some calculations using Mule like a table. Then he thumbed through the book, writing the formula on the paper. "Have you done these calculations before?"