Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  Up at the seven count, and at sound of the bell, Azona’s crew were by his side as Azona stared at Seedle with unbelief in his eyes. Seedle’s own crew was exhilarant, “You have him mate, you got him. He is hurt, do you know? Now finish him …”

  All through the eleventh round Seedle drove at full force. Twice more he knocked the man down to the cheers of the crowd. Now exhausted, Seedle was moving on smoke fumes. Those prize fights were too recent, he was tired, and he was used to pacing himself. He was now fighting on heart alone. But so was Azona.

  “This is it, Seedle, this is the round. Pour the meal, this is your fight, we are counting on you.”

  Full ahead; Seedle smashed his fists into the man. Under those arms, around to the inside, hook … hook … hook …

  Up on his toes went Azona, then again, then once more. Azona dropped to his knees and staggered up and looked into his eyes. At the two minute mark Seedle saw the blood on his lips and smashed a jabbing left, then a right cross. Azona spun around as Seedle set himself, tapped his gloves once, twice, then from nowhere a blow came right on him and everything went black.

  Seedle was staggering to his feet when he heard the crowd screaming. Did he … did he …?

  His corner-man was there exclaiming, “Damn, Seedle, what happened … so close. You got up one count too late.”

  Another was beside him saying, “Outstanding! Outstanding!” It was Commander Teak.

  Then he saw Azona half stagger to him, and say, “Bes-s-s faught I effer haff …” as they embraced in good sportsman fashion.

  Chapter 42

  WITHIN THE WEEK Seedle set out aboard the Ivial. Three weeks later he engaged in another prize fight while in port, winning by knockout in thirty-four rounds. Four weeks later they were in port and he took a challenge by a fellow four marks above six feet, two hundred and sixty pounds. Seedle took his share of falls and many hard blows to the head, but it was the big man who declared unahka in the fiftieth round. After waving his hand in surrender, he took two steps and fell on his face.

  Back at home port, Gates, Seedle’s handler from the Azona fight, met him leaving ship with duffle on shoulder. Bruises were still green on his face and the handler asked, “Are you fit to fight, boy, we have a spot for you?”

  Enthusiastically, Seedle replied, “Of a certainty. Another shot at Azona? I itch for return with the fellow. I have been a’thinking …”

  They were walking side-by-side as they talked, “No, he is out of your reach for now. He dropped Rayburn in four rounds for the title last week. You have to work your way up, see? No, we have another for you to tangle. A week from now, if you have hunger for it, but we need to know, now.”

  “I will do it, but for now I am thirsty …” Seedle pointed to a pub, “… a tankard is calling my name, and her sister as well.”

  The man was a swarthy fellow named Hatcher. He had been beaten once by split decision with thirteen wins and no draws, ten wins by knockout. He was considered to be a fine technical boxer, but of a south-paw style, very rare and often frowned upon.

  The match was for ten rounds in the mid-card, a good position for an up-and-comer. Seedle had done well and many eyes were upon him, but he was still looked upon as a wild-card. Had his fight with Azona been a fluke?

  Although Seedle had thought much of his fight with the now-champion, there was much he needed to know about this new style of boxing. Once more in the ring, he put all he had into the fight, but the fellow was good, real good, and the left-handed style kept Seedle in a constant state of confusion. The rookie, however, threw no blames and treated the match as a game challenge. Some might have thought him to not take the fight seriously enough, but Seedle was experimenting and learning.

  By end of the tenth round, Seedle had scored two clean knockdowns to Hatcher’s one. But the decision went to Hatcher due to superb tactics and strategy. The score was not unanimous, but it leaned heavily his way.

  Despite the loss, Seedle was not unhappy, he had learned a lot. Gates, on the other hand, was not pleased. Back in the ready room, the man began a tirade of what Seedle did wrong, when Commander Teak spoke from the doorway of Seedle’s ready room, “Gates! That will be all.”

  Seedle and Gates both looked to Teak, how long had he been standing there?

  Gates was partly taken aback, “But he needs---”

  “I will do it.”

  “Sir …?”

  “Gates, you are dismissed.”

  Confused, the handler left the little room. Seedle had no idea what to expect. Teak removed his uniform jacket and looked to Seedle’s hands. The gloves had been removed, but the wraps were still in place.

  “How are they?”

  “Sir?”

  “Your hands, sailor, those things you have been punching with, how are they?”

  Seedle shrugged, then remembered to sit erect, “Sir! They are fine, sir.”

  Teak showed a slight smile, “At ease. Right now you a boxer, I am your handler. We step out of that door, and you stand straight and tall. Right now you can chill down and we will talk shit.” With expert skill, he took Seedle’s right hand with unbelievable gentleness and asked, “Does this hurt?”

  “No sir.”

  “And this?”

  “No sir.”

  Teak performed a complete examination, removed the wraps and examined again, “Looks like your hands could go again.” He stepped around to wash his hands, “But you get some rest.”

  “Has Gates given you any help, advice …”

  “Sir?”

  “Never mind.”

  The commander put his jacket back on, “Stay as you are. A man will be in to rub you down and soak your hands. Do you like this?”

  Seedle smiled, “Yes SIR!”

  “You are a sailor first, give no loss to the fact. Do your job.”

  Teak pointed a very deliberate finger, “You will hear from me.”

  “Yes sir!”

  The commander left the room and within minutes a fellow came in to rub him down.

  The Ivial left out for a month, then returned. Seedle had heard nothing from anyone and while maintenance was done on the ship, he accepted a challenge from a grizzled tavern salt called Boker.

  The money laid down was heavy and one of Seedle’s mates whispered in his ear, “He has killed two men for the prize, he means to kill you.”

  “But why is the course? Is it not for a bit of sport?”

  “The Boker does not see it thus. It is a personal thing for him. It seems your pap laid him a good one, more than the once, and he in his years as Boker was still a pup.”

  Seedle took a knowing look and said, “My thanks to you, mate. It is a tankard I owe you.”

  The mate grinned, “Just win, my payin’s are on you for the next few. It will be I who puts up the tankard for you.”

  There are those who revel in the jeers of a crowd, but Seedle was of the cheering sort. To him it was always a game, a bloody one at times, but a game never-the-less.

  Of a surety, Boker went in with obvious intent to cause mortal harm. The bashing he delivered to Seedle’s head brought pain and horror to many who saw. Down went Seedle, and down again. More times than Boker, Seedle took the fall. But each time he answered the count.

  Seedle’s nose was broken again, his left eye swollen shut, and several cuts grew on his face. But what astounded the spectators most, was when after round sixty-one he began telling jokes. Enraged, Boker swung harder than ever … then he started making mistakes.

  “Did you hear the one about …” as Boker swung a roundhouse which could have busted wood. Seedle bobbed under and levied another one of his chopping hooks to the belly. How many such blows had he delivered? Did it matter? Not to Seedle. He had a plan. “Chop the tree,” his pap always said, and he had found the cut.

  Two hours the match lasted, then three, then four. It was round two hundred and eighty-two, at the four hour and fifty-three minute mark when Boker hit the ground and just lay there.

&n
bsp; When the referee made the count, a wobbling Seedle raised his hands in victory and looked right into the eyes of Commander Teak.

  ___________________________

  Seedle, Teak, and an older man named Char’Li were inside a tavern storeroom, Char’Li was examining Seedle’s hands.

  “What do you think of him, Char’Li?”

  “Quick on his feet, good hands … damned good hands, can take punishment like the sides of a battleship.” Char’Li looked Seedle square in the eyes, “But you need to keep those hands up. You think you can take it, and now you can, but you will offer one punch too many and it will do damage,” he put a finger to his own head, “up here. I seen it too many times.”

  Char’Li slapped Seedle on top of the head, then looked to Teak, “Tough as steel,” then looking back at Seedle, “but steel can be bent, or broken if constantly hammered. You think good, boy, but you do not have enough good thoughts to choose from. You need more.”

  “What do you think, Char’Li?”

  The older man stepped back and thought, “Yeah. I can work with this. But I will not take shite. My way or else. No more of this prize-fight shenanigan. We learn science.”

  He looked hard to Teak, “And he only fights when I say.”

  “He is still a sailor. He has duty to perform.”

  “Aye, yes, Poseidon’s asshole he is a sailor. Do I not know it? Did I not put down thirty? Did I not lay the skill upon you?”

  “Yessir, you did.”

  Teak gave Seedle the eye, “Do you lift what we are laying down? If you want to be a boxer, this man is the best trainer there is. The fleet will pay his contract, he will go where you go. He knows the life. But you do what he says, when he says, and the way he says. He is not your chum, he is your trainer and handler. The choice is yours, right now. What say you, sailor?”

  Seedle smiled, “Sir! Yes SIR!”

  It wasn’t easy, but Seedle trained hard. There was some little time for tavern and girl, but not much. His next fight was another mid-card for ten rounds, but he won with a knockout in the second. Twice more he fought ten rounds, winning the first by leading decision and next by unanimous decision.

  Seedle was at every match he could attend and studied everyone. Char’Li was practically grafted to his side, but the young man was not upset, rather he was a sponge for knowledge. His won his sixth fight by knockout in the fifth round. Later that evening, he watched Azona loose his title to Hatcher by split decision.

  Six weeks later, Seedle got his rematch against Azona. The previous title fight had been good and clean, but close. It was decided if Azona could take the fast and hard punching Seedle down once more, he would get an immediate rematch.

  But this time Seedle was seasoned and had learned to adapt his fisticuff style to the sport-boxing ring. The match was launched to a lightning fast pace as Seedle took it home for a clean knockout in the fourth round. Azona’s boxing career was done.

  Three more fights, two set for twelve rounds and one for fifteen, and Seedle took each in eight rounds or less by clean knockout. His tenth fight saw him challenging Hatcher for the Cruiserweight Title.

  The fifteen-round fight was the highlight of the year. Hatcher was meticulously dissecting every opponent and was being called the Boxing Chessman. Seedle’s arms were bigger and punching power more explosive. Now at a solid one hundred and eighty pounds, he was said to be the most well conditioned athlete in Vedoa.

  Many were wondering at Seedle’s training methods which involved swimming and punching in the water. But who wanted to swim in monster infested waters out in the ocean? Was he crazy?

  It was obvious from the first bell Seedle would have to take it to the champion, as Hatcher fought an intelligent defensive fight all the way through. By now, Seedle had learned the importance of scouting and teamwork. He knew all about Hatcher, but the same was true in reverse.

  Four times Seedle scored a clean knockdown. In the ninth round he caught the champion in the corner, and when the bell rang many thought several ribs just had to be broken. But Seedle graciously gave credit where credit was due … Hatcher’s technical skill must be seen and felt to be believed. By end of the fifteen, both men were still standing. Once more, Seedle and Hatcher stood for a decision.

  The crowd was breathless as the judges held up score cards. Hatcher took the match by one point. Some words crying foul rose up among the cheers, but it was Seedle himself who squelched the accusations. Advancing the champion, he cheerfully said, “I will bet you a barrel, when next we fight I take your measure.”

  To knowledge, Seedle and Hatcher had never traded speech with the other. The champion took pause, then replied, “Should you make addition of sweet cake, you shall have made bargain.”

  “Aye! Then a bargain it is.”

  The two then laughed before the crowd and enjoined an embrace.

  There were no words to the negative by Char’Li or Teak. Study was made and strategy laid. Seedle was now proclaimed the top challenger for the Cruiserweight Title, but navy is navy and duty is to be done. Each took fights before a rematch could be held with both men in port.

  It was Hatcher’s thirty-first fight with Seedle at sixteen when the match was held. Once more fifteen rounds were set, but this time the match lasted only past the eleventh bell, as Seedle caught Hatcher with his patented right hook and took the victory.

  Looking back across the years, Seedle was hard put to task to decide if this was his favored fight. Indeed, it was a highlight. Hatcher was one of only two men to defeat him in the ring, and the only one to do it twice. He had come back to take win over each, but to be the favored?

  One other man met him twice. In his third defense he was off game and the fight went all the way to the fifteen. The decision left him hard to breathe in waiting, but it was strong in his favor. He could not be contented, however, and himself insisted on a soon rematch. He was granted such, and took the win with a knockout in the seventh.

  But there was something going on which he did not discuss with anyone … his hands were beginning to shake, just a little, after fights. It did not last long, but it was there. And there was another thing, a thing of personal nature which was messing up his mind, rather, his thoughts and emotions.

  During the three years he worked with Commander Redding, he stayed pretty much in port. It was during this time he focused hard on his boxing career. His physical conditioning made him the talk of the sports community, and as his body matured his fighting weight settled in to a steady one hundred and eighty-five to ninety pounds.

  Always smooth of temper and an endless source of humor, Seedle included joke telling into his fights. One fellow found himself laughing in the ring … just before that Seedle-Hook knocked him out. Outside of the ring he was just another fellow in the navy. Petty Officer Seedle O’Shelton was a favorite of fellows and fan alike. A favorite with all but the heavyweights, that is.

  The heavyweights had been giving some flack of how they were the supreme fighters, and were taking Seedle’s popularity personal. For years the Big Boys, as they were called, had reigned as the top dogs in Vedoan Athletics. Many were the cruiserweights striving to break the two hundred and five pound mark. Although technically, anyone could fight in higher weight classes, it was rarely done.

  It was commonly believed bigger was better. More muscle mass meant a more devastating blow and greater resilience. A few years back, some fighters began consuming powders given to folk who had lost much weight due to illness. The body mass increase was sometimes huge, but if a person was not careful, it led to fat gain. A man, or woman, for that matter, needed to work the muscles overly hard to get what was being described as swollen muscles.

  Seedle had already been approached with powder pumping, but he had no interest, “I like it natural … thank you very much. Becoming slave to diet has no appeal to me.” He would then flex his arms, “Aye, I am happy with what I have. Should I take craving to extra, I will just take another piece of fish or potato.”


  Often, Seedle would answer such suggestions with a genuine grin, “Aye, mate, but you cannot play against nature without paying a cost. I wager we shall see a sorry lot of result to those who have played that game.” With a wink he would sometimes add, “Just look to middle of many these would-be short-cutters, you may see my point right off.”

  There were none of these heavyweights assigned to the shipyard, and it was rare of a time Seedle may share the air with such. But it was not long after he settled into assignment with Redding, that he and some mates took evening at the Happy Richard Town Tavern.

  The reigning heavyweight champion, a two hundred and thirty pound fellow named Stanton, and some cronies were sitting at a table playing the tiles. Char’Li was with Seedle, as always, and Azona made appearance to talk old times. Upon entry, notice was made of Stanton in the corner, but the tavern is large and Seedle’s group moved to far end.

  No blemishes would have marred the evening had the Big Boys minded their own pleasure, but winds of mischief was in their sails as Stanton and friend swaggered to loiter near Seedle’s table.

  Stanton asked his mate, “What of a cruiser who makes to be a battleship?”

  His mate laughed, “A sunken shell?”

  Seedle ignored the remark as he continued a story he was telling of an incident in Courtney County. Azona passed an irritated glance to Stanton, and then focused on Seedle.

  “What you call a cruiserweight who cannot make the size?”

  “Aye, that one is easy … a swabby.”

  Char’Li glanced to Seedle.

  Seedle laughed congenially to his mates. As if Stanton was not there, he asked, “What to call two heavyweights standing in a pub?”

  It got quiet.

  Seedle slapped his hand on table good naturedly, “Why, dumbbells, of course.”

  There was a tittering around the room. Azona was startled, but then a broad grin creased his face.

  Seedle asked, “What happens when a heavyweight walks into a gymnasium?”

  Azona replied, “Bless me, I do no know. What does happen when a heavyweight walks into a gymnasium?”