Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  “All right then, but stay below.” He glared at her as she saluted again and retreated to the main deck, then below. “Bloody nuisance and a bloody waste of time! This trip’s costin’ us a fortune, and all so she can parade around the city actin’ like a lady! I don’t know why I ever agreed to this.”

  ≈

  Edan had travelled on foot and horseback, by wagon, and even in a coach once. Of all these, he had expected boat travel to be most like a coach ride: small spaces, closed in and jerking about a little as the boat bumped along the waves.

  This wasn’t anything like that.

  The boat was huge, and it moved not at all like a wagon, but more like a great wallowing animal. It rolled first one way, then another, and never in the direction he thought it would. The deck lurched and bobbed and tipped until he thought the whole boat would roll right over. He knew it wouldn’t, or at least he hoped it wouldn’t. He stumbled and grabbed one of the ropes tied to the little pin things along the railing; the rope moved. He lost his balance and very nearly pitched over the low railing, grabbing the rope with both hands and letting out an involuntary yelp. Flicker didn’t help, screeching in panic at the end of her chain, terrified of the water rushing past in foamy confusion.

  “Easy dere, young frien’!” the tall, black-skinned first mate, Chula, said, his voice booming out like a foghorn as his huge hand grabbed the scruff of Edan’s shirt, lifting him and setting him back down on the deck. “Don’t be grabbin’ a slack halyard like dat. Grab a stay or a ratline, or even a taut halyard, but neva a slack one.” The man’s hand clapped him on the shoulder.

  “What’s a halyard?” Edan asked, changing his grip to a taut rope only to discover that it wasn’t rope at all, but braided wire that was sticky with tar. Flicker started to land on the blackened wire, but he jerked her away; setting the boat’s rigging on fire would not be good. “How do you tell one rope from another?”

  “A halyard’s a line, not a rope, young frien’, and it’s used ta raise a sail.” Chula indicated the four men pulling on a rope to haul a triangular sail up another wire at the front of the boat. “Dat be de forestays’l, and dey’re haulin’ on a halyard to raise it, see?”

  Edan squinted forward. The rope the men pulled looked just like any one of a dozen others strung every which way like a crazy game of cat’s cradle. His confusion must have shone on his face, for Chula laughed.

  “Too much all at once, ay? Here, den. Tim-boy!”

  A boy of perhaps twelve ran up, balancing himself on the rolling deck so naturally that Edan gaped. The seamage’s sprite hovered over the boy’s shoulder, and Edan shortened Flicker’s leash as he felt her tug.

  “Yes, sir!” the boy said, snapping a salute and snatching the seasprite back by the collar of his blousy shirt. “You called, sir?”

  “Aye, Tim-boy, I did.” Chula clapped the younger lad on the shoulder and nodded toward Edan. “It’s time you two met. Tim, dis here be Edan, de lightkeepa’s ‘prentice. Edan, dis is Tim. He’s a fine cabin boy an’ can teach ya all ‘bout dis here ship; what line does what, and what not to grab ta keep ya from fallin’ over de side. Tim-boy, show young Edan ‘round, if you be pleased, an’ make sure he knows what’s what.”

  “Aye, sir!” the boy chirped, grinning and nodding to Edan.

  “Thank you, sir,” Edan said, trying to smile his gratitude. He found it difficult to do anything but hang on.

  The tall first mate nodded to Edan. “I’ll only ask one boon of ya, young Edan, and dat’s ta keep tight hold on dat little fire demon of yours. You let dat little beastie catch dis ship on fire, and we’ll all be very properly bugg’ad, you understan’ dat?”

  “Yes, sir! Don’t worry, I won’t let Flicker cause any trouble.” He tugged the gold chain and Flicker landed on his shoulder. Her flaming hair wavered in the strong breeze, the heat of it curling his own.

  He regretted having to bring the firesprite along, but the alternative was unthinkable. “If she stays here, it’s in a cage, Edan,” his master had said. “I can’t watch her constantly, and if she gets into the wrong thing, the whole tower could go up like a…well…like that volcano you’ll be visiting. You take her along. Who knows, she might even help you pass your trials!” Edan doubted that she would be a help — she always seemed to be getting him in trouble — but he was fond of her, and the thought of her locked in her cage for days on end hit too close to home; the lightkeeper’s tower had been like a cage for him after he failed his trials. Chula’s voice recalled his attention.

  “Good!” The tall man looked suddenly grim. “If I fine’ holes burned in de sails, I’ll be baitin’ a hook wit’ her! You make sure she know dat!”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, casting a glance at Flicker, who sat and crossed her arms under her tiny breasts, giving a petulant humph of disgust.

  “Don’t worry,” Tim said, grinning and chucking Mouse under the chin, which earned him a scowl. “He’s threatened to do the same to Mouse a dozen times, and hasn’t yet.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Tim.”

  “Edan,” he replied, shifting his grip on the sticky wire to shake the proffered hand, surprised at the force of the boy’s grip. “Sorry, there was tar on that thing.”

  “No worry. A dab of rum on a rag’ll take it right off.” Tim grinned and pointed to another rope right beside the one he’d grabbed that had nearly sent him over the side. “Grab that one; it’s a running stay. It’s leeward, so it’s not loaded, but it’s tight enough to keep you on your feet.”

  Edan nodded and shifted his grip again, finding the new line clean and stable. Silently, he tried to decipher what the boy had said. How can a rope be loaded with anything? he wondered, thinking of loading a calcinator with potash. Maybe loading a rope was to put things on it to stiffen it, like with the tar. He decided to ask later. “I saw you with the seamage before. Are you her apprentice?”

  “Me?” Tim flushed and grinned. “Blimey, no! I was just…She saved my life. I mean, I’m in her service, but I’m not her apprentice or anything. I don’t know if seamages have apprentices. I think it passes on from your parents, or at least it did for Mistress Flaxal.”

  “It’s usually the same for pyromages. But sometimes someone has the gift, like me, but not from his parents. Mine sent me to live with the lightkeeper, and I became his apprentice.” He quickly pushed the melancholy thought from his mind; his parents were no longer a part of his life, by mutual agreement.

  “And now you’re going to be a real firemage! Wow!”

  Tim’s eyes were wide with wonder, but Edan couldn’t make himself care. He was too concerned with holding on and staying upright as the sailors raised even more sails. A huge wave crashed into the back of the boat, lifting it and tilting the deck steeply. Edan grasped with both hands at the line Tim had shown him. The man at the wheel yelled an order, and several men pulled or slacked lines. The long pole on the front of the boat pointed down the wave as they turned, racing forward in a spray of white water.

  “Is it always — I mean, does the boat always move so much?” Edan jumped in surprise as water splashed up through holes below the railing at the edge of the deck, soaking his shoes. Flicker shrieked in his ear; her terror was infectious. “Water’s coming in! Are we sinking?”

  “Just a little spray comin’ through the scuppers,” Tim said, looking at him as if he were daft. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

  The seasprite let out a peal of laughter and shot aloft, evading Tim’s grasp and orbiting Edan and Flicker in a streak of gossamer-crystal wings.

  “Here, Mouse! Stop that.” Tim snatched at the seasprite, but Mouse was too fast and darted away, zipping through the rigging like a mad hornet. “Don’t pay Mouse no mind,” Tim said dismissively. Then he pointed toward the man at the wheel. “We’re turning downwind, so the waves come up behind us and we take a little spray. It’d be worse if we were beatin’ into it. But this is nothin’ compared to one of the mistress’ smaller schooners. They really take spray! Wet d
ecks all day!”

  “But how does it keep from sinking, when water can come in?” Edan asked. Tim’s explanations weren’t making much sense, he thought. They only made him want to ask more questions.

  “Here, why don’t you come below, and I’ll show you.” Tim strode across the deck like he was walking down a street, completely ignoring the pitching motion. He stopped at the door to a small raised house in the middle of the deck near the back of the boat, and motioned for Edan to follow. “Come on! We’ll see if the cook has any dough raising,” he said with a wink.

  “All right! I’m coming!” Frustrated by his own unmanageable fear, Edan released his handhold at exactly the wrong moment. The boat lurched as an errant wave slapped it from the side. Spray from over the rail spattered his shirt and water surging through the scuppers doused him to the knees. He pitched forward, windmilling his arms, fighting to stay on his feet. Flicker screeched in terror, tugging at her chain, as the two of them slammed into the side of the little cabin. Edan grasped desperately, but there was nothing for him to grab, and as the deck tilted back the other way, he fell flat on his backside, drenching the seat of his pants.

  “Hold fast, there, mate!” Tim said with a smile, leaning out of the cabin and offering a hand. Edan took it and managed to struggle to his feet. Tim guided his hand to the door jamb, and Edan gripped it with white-knuckled ferocity. He stepped into the small cabin and fell, rather than sat, onto one of the bench seats beside a table that was built into the wall.

  “Thanks,” he said, pulling Flicker’s chain until she landed on the table top. He had never seen her looking so…quenched. She sat sprawled on the table, panting in fear.

  “No problem.” Tim closed the sliding door and grinned at him. He hung onto a bronze pole mounted at the head of the small stair leading down, looking entirely comfortable. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll get your sea legs soon enough. It is a bit rolly today.”

  Tim waved his hand around the small, cozy cabin. “This here’s the cuddy. The deck watches take their meals and stow their wet gear here, kind of like a mud room in a house.” He pointed to the corner across from where Edan sat; rain coats and pants hung in a row, swaying with the motion of the ship. Below them, boots were stowed upside down on pegs. The entire corner had a high edge built up from the deck like a square wooden bathtub to contain dripping water. “That’s the wet locker. We don’t track seawater down below if we can avoid it. Kick yer shoes and socks off, and dry yer feet and pants with a towel from that bin, then I’ll show you yer cabin.”

  “Thanks,” Edan said, unlacing his shoes and removing his sodden socks. He grabbed the bronze pole for support and hoisted himself from his seat. He noticed Tim looking at his feet, and didn’t have to ask why.

  “Wow! How’d you get those scars? Are they burns?”

  “Yes. I got them the first time I tried to pass my trials.” He didn’t like to talk about that; it reminded him of his failure, of the fear that had betrayed him.

  “Do they hurt?” Tim asked, his eyes as big as hen’s eggs.

  “No. They’re old, and they were only skin deep to start with.” He raised a pant leg to show that the scars ended halfway to his knee. “My master paid a healer to tend the worst of it, but left the scars to remind me of what it means to fail when you’re working with fire.”

  “Wow!”

  Tim fell thankfully silent. Edan put his shoes on two empty pegs and hung his dripping socks on a hook. He started to ask where the water would go, but saw that the bottom of the wet locker was lined with porcelain tiles, with a drain through the side of the cuddy to the deck. He took a towel from the bin and patted himself dry, then handed it to Tim, who dried his feet and hung it from a peg.

  “See? This way below stays clean. If we track saltwater through the ship, it’ll draw moisture and mold will grow. This makes things tidier.” He indicated the stairs and descended, grabbing the bronze rail for support on the way down.

  “I see,” Edan said, shaking his head at his own earlier worries. Of course, water coming over the deck wouldn’t fill the ship and sink it; it would just flow away. His fear had made him a fool…again. The last time he’d let fear affect his judgment, the result had been pain and failure. He clenched his jaw; he would not let that happen again. He tugged Flicker’s chain and followed Tim down the steps.

  “Sorry if my questions are stupid. I’ve never been on a boat, er, ship before. I’ve only seen them from the lighthouse.” He looked around at the bottom of the steps; a wood-paneled hallway ran left and right, lit by gimbaled bronze lamps that rocked gently, casting odd shadows on the walls. Ahead of him, two doors led into the forward portion of the ship. To each side of him, hallways opened to lead toward the back of the ship. The ceiling was startlingly low.

  “Those two hatches lead to the main hold. If weather’s rough and the deck’s awash, you can walk through the hold to the crew’s quarters forward.” Tim beckoned and turned down the right-hand hallway.

  Edan bounced off one wall, then the other, as he followed. “This weather isn’t rough?”

  “Oh, no! This is good weather! The whole deck’s awash up to your hips in a real blow, and everyone’s tethered on with harnesses and lifelines. I’ve only seen weather like that once, but the captain wouldn’t let me out on deck.” He opened a door to the right and stepped over the low lintel into a large room set with a table and benches. “This is the main mess.”

  “Looks pretty tidy to me,” Edan said, stumbling onto one of the benches as the ship lurched.

  “Ha! Good one!” Tim slapped him on the shoulder and laughed.

  Before Edan could ask him why that was funny, Tim pointed toward a shuttered counter with another door beside it.

  “That’s the galley. Mealtimes, the cook serves up food through there, and we all eat together. Deck watches take their meals in the cuddy, but I said that, didn’t I? Come on, let’s see if we can nip a bit.”

  Tim beckoned and Edan rose to follow, but the ship lurched again and he barked his shins on one of the benches. He gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself to ignore it. Pain was nothing: it was transient, only a distraction.

  “Hi, Cookie,” Tim called cheerfully as they stepped through the door into the galley, which Edan quickly discovered meant the kitchen. And what a kitchen!

  Around three of the walls were built-in cupboards, their hip-height tops made of end-grain butcher block set with a railing to prevent whatever was being chopped from rolling onto the floor. Above the cupboards, pots and kettles hung from hooks, clattering as they swayed. A center work table, also topped with butcher block, was set with a cold box, and an impressive rack of knives was snugged down into a custom holder to prevent them from flying about with the ship’s movement. But the most impressive sight was the huge iron stove that dominated the right hand wall, and actually swayed with the roll of the ship so that the stove top was always level. Huge pans and pots and an immense blackbrew kettle were secured to the top of the stove with a lattice of little bars that clamped onto a metal rim. Heat emanated from it in waves, warming the room pleasantly. For the first time since boarding the ship, Edan felt a bit of comfort, relaxing into the accustomed heat. Flicker lounged on his shoulder, her eyes closed, a look of bliss on her little face.

  “Ho, Tim! Who’s yer frien’?” A rotund, dark-skinned woman in an incongruously flowered apron and not much else, stepped around the central table. One hand hefted a knife as long as Edan’s forearm, and the other held a joint of smoked mutton. She set the latter on the table’s surface and applied the former, cutting slices of meat from the joint so quickly that Edan wondered how she could do it without losing a finger, given the pitching deck.

  “This is Edan, the lightkeeper’s apprentice. Do you have any — ”

  “Oh, so you de boy who wanna be a firemage! Ah! We all be hearin’ much ‘bout you.” Her grin stretched from ear to ear, crinkling her dark eyes into wrinkled pits of mirth. She looked him up and down,
and the smile faded. “You too skinny. Here!”

  Moving almost too fast for Edan to follow, the woman cut two finger-thick slabs off the joint, fetched two small loaves from a cooling rack beside the stove, split them with a long serrated knife and applied an impressive slab of creamy white cheese to each before laying on the cut mutton. A slather of mustard completed her preparations, and she handed over the two sandwiches.

  “Dere now! Outta my galley a’fore I chop you two up fer stew!” She laughed so loudly that Flicker yelped in alarm.

  “Thanks, Cookie!” Tim called, giving Edan a nudge toward the door.

  “Nice, um…meeting you, Cookie,” he said. He didn’t want to appear rude or ungrateful, though he wasn’t really hungry.

  “Ha! If ya weren’t so skinny, I’d have you in de pot! On wi’cha!” She snatched up a sharpening steel and gave the knife in her hand four quick strops before reapplying it to the dwindling joint of mutton.

  Edan followed Tim through the door, pulling on Flicker’s chain to urge her to leave the sweltering confines of the galley.

  “Cookie’s a soft touch,” Tim said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Just don’t touch anything in her galley. You could lose a finger, and I ain’t lyin’.”

  “I don’ t doubt it,” Edan answered, and sampled the sandwich. It was delicious, the creamy cheese blending nicely with the strongly flavored mutton, the mustard biting his tongue and accenting both perfectly. “How does she do all that with everything moving so much?”

  “Oh, Cookie’s an old hand. She never misses with one of her knives.” He took another bite of his sandwich and tugged at Edan’s sleeve. “Come on, I’ll show you yer quarters.”