Oracle of Delphi

by James Gurley

  He eyed the scars on Tad’s back. “Looks like you’ve lived through trouble before.”

  Tad shrugged, not eager to explain. “A little.”

  The First Mate turned to leave, but then turned back. “Get some sleep, lad. Tomorrow we’ll tackle the chain locker. Then, I’ll show you how to reef a sail.”

  Tad watched him leave. Was the First Mate warming to him, or was he just pleased to see Tad put Hamish in his place? He guessed the next few days would tell. Once again, he wondered at his decision not to defy Simios’s wishes and return to his uncle’s farm in Casson. He knew that he would be welcome, even in his defeat, but returning to the past had not seemed an option. The Veil was coming once again and the land was in danger. Any defense, any solution lay out there somewhere, beyond the sea. According to some of the old tomes he had read, there were mysteries out there that hinted at powers far beyond those at Delphi, if there was some grain of truth to the old legends. Simios seemed to believe so. Tad had nothing to hold him now. Wandering aimlessly would suit him fine, at least until he found something that could stop the advance of the Veil.

  As Tad returned to his cabin, he thanked the stars that he had had enough money to purchase a private cabin. It had cost him his last two gold Crowns. The idea of bunking below with Hamish or one of the others turned his stomach. His cabin certainly had nothing about it he could call luxurious, unless he counted the porthole. At least he had a fresh breeze to dilute the perpetual stink. His bed was a thin, dirty mattress on a hard wooden shelf too short for him and a small table that appeared designed for Haffa anatomy. A cheap porcelain water pitcher and rickety chair were his only possessions. He hung his clothes on wooden pegs behind the door. A single, smoke-stained oil lamp filled the small room with a pathetic pall. He sighed. It would be his home for many weeks.

  He stripped off his filthy clothes, washed them as best he could using seawater he found in a bucket beside the door basin, and hung them to dry. At sea, fresh water was too precious for washing clothing. He had brought only three pairs of trousers, four shirts, and a few changes of underclothes. He was not going to let his wardrobe become the filthy rags most of the others wore. He looked at the stained bed linen with disdain, stripped it and washed the worn sheet, pillowcase and ragged blanket, and then hung them over the table to dry. Exhausted, he crawled onto the bare bed and stared out the porthole at the few wildly swinging stars. The bed, though hard and uncomfortable, lulled him slowly to sleep.

  He awoke before dawn, stiff from the hard wooden bed. It was like sleeping on a park bench. He stretched to ease his aches and pains, washed his face, and put on clean clothes. The ship no longer lumbered. During the night, a heavy wind from the south had filled the sails and the Holden’s Spur became a true ship, plowing through the waves with the grace of a ballerina. Although technically a ketch because of the tall mainmast and shorter mizzenmast, the ship cut the water cleanly like a schooner.

  Hamish and the Saddir were aloft in the rigging of the mainmast tightening the mainsail where it was luffing, or flapping in the wind. They clung to the rigging with their feet like agile monkeys, deftly pulling the sail taut. The First Mate stood at the wheel. He saw Tad and nodded.

  “Get some breakfast and come back here pronto. We’re running true but I fear a squall is pushing this fair wind. We’ll need to make the old girl storm worthy.”

  Breakfast was hot porridge, even hotter java, toasted bread with butter, a hunk of cheese, and fresh fruit. The fare was unimaginative but palatable. He ate quickly, pocketing the apple for later. Climbing the ratlines into the mainmast to join Hamish proved more difficult than Tad could have imagined. His face was red from both exertion and embarrassment. His feet kept slipping off the rope and through the openings in the ratlines.

  “Drop off your shoes! Use your God-given feet!” The First yelled up at him.

  Tad dropped his shoes to the deck and found that the First was right—climbing barefooted was much easier. His nimble toes could grasp the ropes as he climbed. As he looked down at the swaying deck, his stomach began to get queasy but he clamped down on it. He would not let any of the crew see him seasick again.

  “We got this one, Bilge Rat,” Hamish sneered when Tad drew level with him. “Go unfurl the topsail.”

  Tad stared at Hamish, but said nothing. He continued up the ratlines until he reached the topsail boom. He worked his way across the rigging. Finally, he sat astraddle the boom and looked down on Hamish and the Saddir. He fought down an urge to spit on Hamish, deciding that it would just cause more trouble. Tad began to loosen the stays one by one, as he had been instructed, letting the sail drop. As he loosened the last one, a gust of wind caught the sail and jerked the boom around the mast. Tad slid off the boom, but scrambled for a trailing lanyard, grabbing onto it until he could pull himself back onto the heaving spar. With all sails now unfurled, the ship put on a burst of speed and rode more steadily across the waves.

  “Back down, lad,” the First called up to him. “We’ve work to do.”

  Before he climbed down, Tad looked out across the water surrounding the ship. More than a kilometer away, a blast of water like a cloud rose into the air. When it cleared, he glimpsed a large dark object beneath the spray. It appeared to be the size of an island as it rose majestically from the water as if flying before settling back into the sea with a grand splash.

  “Leviathan!” he yelled down to the others. Tad marveled at its size. It would have to be a giant to be visible from so far away.

  The First Mate motioned him down from the masts with a wave of his arm. When Tad was back on the deck, the First said, “Spotting a Leviathan brings good luck. We’ll need it. Batten down the hatches and coil and store any ropes.”

  When Tad just stared at him, the First added, “Tighten the lashes on the hatch covers above the holds, yonder and yonder,” he pointed to the fore and aft holds. “Roll up the ropes and tie them to the rail so they don’t get underfoot with the deck awash. You might get tangled and dragged over the side.”

  He saw Hamish now down from the mainmast coiling ropes on the opposite side of the ship and followed his example, neatly twisting a loop around the coil and hanging it from a belaying pin. Fine, salty spindrift from the waves had coated his face and hands by the time he had finished. The sky behind the ship had grown much darker and the waves were breaking white on their crests. The ship now rolled to port as she slid over each wave.

  “It’s a Wave Walker,” the First said as Tad went back to check on him.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a sudden gust of wind out of the Channel Isles where the water is shallow and warm. It piles up the waves until they look like rows of white-capped marching soldiers. It blows hard for a few hours; then moves on, but if you’re not ready for it, it can sink you.”

  Tad strained to see in the distance. “Are we ready?”

  “Aye, as ready as this old tub can be. We’ll shorten sail and turn her tail to the wind soon. If the gods are willing, we’ll live ‘til the morrow.”

  If the First Mate was worried, Tad figured it was okay for him to worry too.

  “What do you want me to do?” The thought of going aloft again during a strong blow made his stomach quiver, but he knew he would have to do his part while aboard the ship.

  “This is a job for experienced sailors, lad. The Captain will take the wheel and I’ll go aloft. Stay in your cabin and keep a float handy. If you hear the ship’s bell ringing, over the side with you.”

  Tad nodded and returned to his cabin. He wrapped his few possessions in a waterproof cloth and sat nervously on the edge of his bed. Outside the porthole, the waves were growing angrier, slashing at the ship with white-tipped fury. Over the roar of the wind, he could hear snatches of yelled conversation.

  “Tighten those lines!”

  “Take her to starboard five degrees!”

  “Watch out for that wave!”

  Water spilled down the steps and ran under his doo
r. The ship shuddered as a wave caught it broadside, shaking dirt and chips of rotten wood from the ceiling. The room tipped ominously to port, then slowly righted. Tad held his breath until the ship rode smoothly over the next wave. It seemed odd that outside it was sunny and almost cloudless, yet the sea tossed and heaved as if stirred by God’s own breath. For two hours he sat, hands clenched where they dug into the edge of his bunk. At last, the sound of the wind diminished and the waves settled down, undulating slowly and smoothly. The ship steadied and rode easily over them. He climbed the stairs and looked out on deck.

  A few barrels rolled loose on the deck, sheared from their moorings. The wind had ripped one of the small spinnaker sails of the mizenmast down the middle. It flapped loudly.

  “We weathered that one well enough,” the Captain said. He wore a broad smile on his face, as if he had relished the battle between ship and sea. “Help stow those barrels and pick up below decks.”

  Cleanup went smoothly. There was little serious damage to the ship. A few loose crates needed lashing more securely. Tad manned the bilge pumps until his arms ached and, to his surprise, Hamish joined him. Tad took it as a peace offering. Together, they manned the pump until the First called down to hold off before they brought her keel out of the water.

  Dinner was cold sandwiches.

  “I couldn’t risk a fire during the blow,” Sasja announced apologetically. The quantity of meat piled on the slices of bread and the hunks of cheese on the tray he offered around more than made up for lack of a hot lunch. “Tonight, we’ll have hot biscuits and gravy with roasted elan and baked ‘taters.”

  By the end of the first week with his first storm at sea behind him, Tad felt as if he was beginning to get his sea legs. He no longer stumbled along the deck like a drunken man or fouled his footing in the ratlines. Muscles he hadn’t used in many months still ached, but he knew the exercise was doing him good. Below deck, the constant smell of wood smoke, dead fish, pitch and mildew no longer assaulted him as it first had. The air above deck was clean and fresh with no taint of garbage or distorted by city haze. He was surprised at how quickly he had become used to the filthy air of Delphi during his short stay there. His breathing improved rapidly, as did his stamina. True, the blisters on his hands hurt a great deal, but he knew that they would soon become as calloused as Hamish’s hands.

  Twice, they had passed small islands at a distance of a few kilometers. One was low-lying, barely a beach, consisting mostly of sand and gravel. The second rose from the whitecaps surrounding it like a mushroom. Trees waved in the breeze from the crown of the island even as the relentless sea slowly undercut the rock. Soon, it would crash into the sea and become another pile of loose gravel. The voyage was tedious, short periods of hard work interrupted by long periods of boredom and make work, like cleaning the worn wooden deck with soft pumice stones and seawater. Hamish informed him that it kept the wood smooth and splinter-free, but he wondered if they would just eventually wear away the wood until the lower decks were exposed.

  There was time for relaxation. In the evenings after mess, the crew often sang songs as Hamish played his lute. The gruff red head played surprisingly well and sang with a sweet tenor voice that contrasted with his surly attitude. A few times Tad joined in, but the others did not welcome his off-key harmonies. Most of the time he helped Sasja prepare vegetables for the next meal.

  Peeling potatoes or carrots while sitting on the fantail, he and the cook spoke often of food and women, though Tad knew he was somewhat lacking in experience where women were concerned. Once, with the vegetables peeled and Sasja seemingly in no hurry to go back below decks, he spoke of his home. He did not speak of it fondly.

  “I was born to misery and spent most of my life on a small farm on the island of Coris, just above the equator. It was always hot and dry, a hard country. There was little rain and most farms were irrigated from the few small rivers that ran from the mountains to the sea. Every day I ran around with a hoe, moving mounds of dirt to divert the water onto the crops designated for irrigation that day. By the time I was fifteen, I figured I had moved enough dirt to make another Coris.

  “One day I just stood watching that small river heading to the sea, a dirty brown trickle really, put down my hoe, and followed it. I joined up with the first boat I saw and never looked back.” He held up one of the potatoes he had just peeled. “Sometimes I wonder if a potato I’m peeling came from my father’s farm.”

  Tad joined in. “I grew up on a farm—my uncle’s. My parents are dead. Uncle Wilbreth raised beans, wheat, corn, fruit, and potatoes like these. I accompanied him to Delphi on a Caravan bringing farm goods for trade and decided to stay. Farming just wasn’t in my blood.”

  Sasja nodded. “Aye, the sea’s in mine. Yours?”

  Tad shook his head. “No, I prefer the land. The sea’s beautiful, but I prefer dry soil under my feet.”

  “Well, there’s all kinds, I suppose. Me, I can’t stand dry land for more’n a week at a time. I feel like I’m all hemmed in, kinda claustrophobic.”

  Tad thought of the dark Catacombs beneath Delphi. “I know that feeling.”

  “Why did you leave the city?”

  Tad had decided on a story and tried it out on Sasja. “I got in trouble with one of the Regents. He threatened me with prison, so I left.”

  “Wise move. Out here, the Regents hold no sway. There’s only the weather, the Captain and Krauther, the First Mate.” He chuckled. “I’ll let you decide who to answer to first.”

  Tad looked at the slightly luminescent wake behind the ship. Bulls Eye’s golden reflection rippled like a flag in the wind. He tossed a bucket of peelings overboard and watched as small fish jumped and splashed eager for a free meal, chased by larger fish just as eager for theirs. It was that way on land, too, he surmised. Big fish ate little fish. He raised his head and glanced up at the night sky. The Milky Way was just a smear above the horizon. Was there an even bigger fish out there beyond the stars, he wondered? He felt like a little fish out of water.

  By the third week, Hamish seemed to have gotten over his fear and his dislike of Tad. He began to instruct Tad in the art of knot tying, a seaman’s pastime. At first, Tad didn’t know the difference between a loop and a bight, until Hamish explained.

  “A loop is just a rope crossing over itself. A bight is just a turn in the end of a rope. Here’s a Sheep Shank,” he said while tying the knot. “It’s very useful. If you find a rope with a fray but can’t cut it out, a Sheep Shank will isolate the weak section, or shorten the line if it’s too long.”

  Watching the complicated method of tying ropes, Tad asked, “Why not just cut the rope if it’s too long?”

  Hamish sneered. “At sea, you never cut a rope if you can help it. You never know when you might need a long length and don’t have it.”

  Hamish tied each knot slowly, going through each step and had Tad repeat the process until he could tie it quickly.

  “Be sure to set the knot by pulling it tight or applying pressure before you use it. Otherwise, it may slip.”

  Tad could see the usefulness of some knots—Reef Knot, Sheet Knot, Sheep Shank, Double Sheet Bend, and Cleat Hitch. Others were mainly for decoration, such as the Monkey’s Paw, the Folded Fan and a Blood Knot, but he persisted until he was proficient, if not expert, in tying them. More than the instruction in knot tying, Tad appreciated the camaraderie. Hamish was dull-witted and sharp-tongued, but he took his job seriously. When Tad asked him about his past, he paused before replying.

  “I come from a village in the mountains south of Delphi. It was a small village where everyone was related. There weren’t no school. I learned my reading from canned goods. I tended our small flock of mangy sheep and boney elan while my dad drunk himself into a stupor, if I was lucky. If he ran out of liquor before getting drunk, he usually found a reason to beat me. My Ma put up with him until she fell over dead one winter while cooking. Come spring, I lit out and headed for Delphi. I figured to find a job and
get rich. Huh! I worked at a tannery cleaning the hides of sheep just like the ones I ran away from. I got tired of that and stowed away on this ship. The Cap’n found me, slapped me around a bit and put me to work. Now I’m one of the crew. I got a place here and I like it.”

  “And you lashed out at me because you thought I might try to take your place.”

  Hamish smiled. “They said you was the king’s companion. I figured that meant you had book learning, but you can fight, too. I just know how to tie knots and rig a sail.”

  “Your job’s safe. To me, a ship is just a mode of transportation, a way to cross the sea. I don’t think I could ever feel at home on one.”

  “Not me,” Hamish decried. “I don’t care if I ever see land more’n once a year. I don’t like dirt or the smell of it. I’ve had enough of it.”

  The small crew warmed to their passenger and began to teach him ways to perform his job on the ship more efficiently. One lesson he learned was always to do it right the first time and do it safely. It was easy to climb the rigging on a clear day with little wind, but in a storm or heavy blow, each step had to be precise and well-placed before the next or a long drop to the deck or the churning sea would follow. Stowing cargo was also important. A poor job lashing the cargo could crack the hull in a rough sea. Even the captain pulled him aside from time to time to show him how to navigate by the stars. He excelled in lessons on the use of a compass and sextant. More difficult to learn was how to judge the waves and wind.

  “You watch the way the waves are breaking, see, and anticipate the next one. You try to ride its crest and use the wave’s energy as well as the wind. Wind and wave have to work in harmony for a smooth ride, just like a crew.”

  “You like the crew you have?” Tad asked.

  The captain made a face. “Nah, they’re all useless clods, except maybe Cookie. The sea take ‘em all.”

  Tad laughed. “Don’t tell that to Hamish. He’s insecure enough already.”