"I'm sorry, Jaim. Numbers were always easy for me. Would you like me to go over them again?"
"It's like trying to read Cincar, as far as I'm concerned. I'll never get it. My father thought this was a good idea. The first chance I get I'll probably run the ship aground."
"I doubt either of us will ever get the chance," Pryor said, sounding as unhappy as his brother. "You see the way the captain looks at us. The other day he told me I'd be more use as fish bait."
Mathew didn't know what to say. He liked both boys and wished he could find some way to help. What Jaim had said was true, however—the charts and celestial observations he made daily in plotting their position presented little difficulty for him. Even as a young boy, Mathew could often recall being invited to sit in as a fourth at cards with Truemen Palmer, his wife, and Father Thomas. Once they explained the odds and probabilities to him, the game seemed easy, though it did require sharp concentration. Performing the calculations themselves came quite naturally.
"Look, there's no use going on about it," Mathew said. "Let's try again together."
Using a crate for a makeshift table, he unrolled one of the charts and once more attempted to explain how to determine their position using triangulation. In a few minutes Jaim looked hopelessly lost, and Pryor was not much better. A footstep behind them attracted their attention and they turned.
"Hard at work, gentlemen?" Zachariah Ward asked.
"Yes, sir," Pryor mumbled.
"Why so glum, then?" the first mate asked, observing the boys' faces.
"It's all this math and angles—it's giving us fits, Mr. Ward."
Zachariah picked up the sheet Pryor was working on and scrutinized it a moment. "Perhaps if you allowed for the declension of the sun you might have a better result.
This course you've plotted will take you directly to Melfort as opposed to Tyraine."
"Melfort?" Pryor said. "But isn't Melfort three hundred miles to the north—"
"And inland?" Jaim said, slumping down to sit on the deck with his back against the table.
"My point exactly," Zachariah replied.
Pryor looked miserable. "I don't know, Mr. Ward, maybe the captain was right about using us—me, that is, for fish bait."
"I doubt any self-respecting fish would take the time to eat you in your present state of ignorance," the first mate replied. "However, I do have an idea. Just the thing to lift your sagging spirits. Being that this is Mr. Lewin's last day with us, Captain Donal and I have arranged a little contest."
"Contest?" Pryor asked.
"Indeed, sir, indeed," Captain Donal said, coming back over to join them as Jaim scrambled to his feet. "A race, if you will. The afternoon watch versus the evening watch, to determine the champions of the Wave Dancer. Pipe the hands up, if you please, Mr. Ward."
Mathew and the two boys looked at each other excitedly. In moments both watches poured onto the deck and assembled amidships, waiting for the captain to address them. Collin and-Father Thomas came up to see what the commotion was about. Even Vickers was there, his foot still heavily bandaged.
"Men," the captain called out, "if the winds hold fair we should make Tyraine on the morrow. As you know, our guests will be leaving us there. Now at dinner last night, Mr. Thomas put the question to me as to which watch contained the better men. A discussion arose between Mr. Ward and myself—on purely an academic level, mind you—with Mr. Ward maintaining one position and myself the other. This matter, of course, needs to be settled definitively."
Several of the older hands smiled knowingly in anticipation of what was coming.
"We therefore propose a race," Captain Donal went on. "Two teams of five men each, starting from aft on the quarter deck, to the top of the mainmast and back again."
"If you will cast your eyes upward," the first mate called out, "you will note, in anticipation of your zealous efforts, an attractive yellow scarf now flies from the topmost tackle."
Some twenty heads looked skyward at the same time to the pinnacle of the mast. Mathew looked up along with everybody else, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. A yellow scarf was clearly visible at the top of the mast—just visible, he thought.
"This scarf, an item of considerable value, has been generously donated by Mistress Lara Palmer as a pennant to the victorious team that brings it safely back—along with, I might add, a kiss from the lady herself and a silver elgar for each man from the captain."
A cheer went up from the men.
"You will have two minutes to select your teams," the captain shouted over the cheering. "I suggest you young men join your respective divisions," he said, speaking to Pryor and Jaim.
Both boys, their faces all smiles, scrambled down to the mainmast where the rest of the crew was assembled.
Mathew caught Lara's eye, put his hands on his hips and elaborately mouthed the words, "A kiss!"
She stuck out her tongue.
Before he could say anything else, seaman Biggs approached him.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Lewin, but would you be good enough to run for our watch?" he asked. "Your friend is going with the evening watch, and it will even things out a bit."
Mathew saw Collin standing with the men on the starboard side. "Well, I'm not sure it will," he replied, "but if it's all right with the captain, I suppose I can give it a go."
A quick glance at Captain Donal indicated there were no objections, and he accompanied Biggs to the port side. Jaim, Weldon, and Brown were waiting there. Remem-
bering the dizzying view from the mainmast top, Mathew wasn't at all sure about the wisdom of his decision.
Father Thomas walked over to join Captain Donal and Zachariah Ward.
"All right lads, take your places," the first mate called out.
After a brief conference, it was decided that Mathew would go first, then Weldon, and Brown, with Jaim and Biggs bringing up the rear. Each watch shouted good-natured jibes at the other as they lined up, waiting for the captain's signal. Mathew saw that Collin would be first for the evening watch. Captain Donal stepped to the middle of the deck and raised his hands for silence. The remainder of the crew had all come up, along with Brenner and the cook. People seemed to be everywhere as the excitement built. Some were hanging from the rigging, shouting encouragement.
"What are the rules, Captain?" someone called out.
"Only these: You climb to the top of the mainmast as fast as you can and get down the same way. Each of you must touch Mistress Palmer's scarf. Last man to run brings the scarf back and claims the prize."
That brought another chorus of cheers and whistles.
"Good luck to you all, and may the best team win."
"Don't worry, we will!" Chalmers called out from the other side.
"Here we go, lads," the captain bellowed. "One, to be steady . . . two, to be ready . . . three, and you're off!"
Mathew dashed forward, running as hard as he could for the mainmast shrouds. He and Collin reached them at about the same time and began to climb. Cheers and encouragement broke out throughout the ship, and he fancied he could hear Jaim's high-pitched voice screaming below him. Up and up they climbed. Collin reached the crow's nest first, with Mathew only a few feet behind him. Mathew gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts as they passed the yardarm. Opposite him, Collin cursed when his foot slipped, giving Mathew a narrow lead. Still higher they climbed, past the topgallant yards and into the next set of shrouds that led to the royals, and from there to the very top of the mast. Mathew's shoulders were beginning to ache, and he tried not to think about the ridiculous thing he was doing, nor how high he was. Just below him, he could hear Collin coming up fast, making up the ground he had lost. He knew his friend would catch him in a moment.
When Collin drew level with him again at the royals, his face grimacing with the effort, Mathew spared a glance at the people far below, and regretted it as soon as he did. It slowed him enough that Collin overtook him, and Mathew sa
w that he would reach the scarf first. Seconds later Collin did just that and started back down. Mathew reached up, touched the scarf, and followed as rapidly as he could. From the deck the cheering and shouts drifted up to his ears.
Collin was now twenty feet below him and descending quickly, increasing his lead. Recalling how Biggs and Chalmers got to the deck in the storm after they secured Vickers, Mathew decided his only chance of keeping the race even was to do the same. As soon as he reached the royal yardarm, instead of continuing downward through the shrouds, he quickly slid out using the footropes to the mainstay brace and swung himself awkwardly out onto it. With a deep breath and a prayer, he wrapped his arms around the stay and started to slide. The deck came at him with frightening speed, and he had to squeeze his limbs for all he was worth to slow his descent. He heard Collin curse when he shot past, reaching the deck with a lead of at least three full seconds. He hit the ground harder than he would have liked, turned, and charged down the port rail toward his team.
Weldon tore off after Mathew slapped his hand. While Mathew doubled over and gasped for breath, his teammates slapped him on the back. Captain Donal spared him a brief, admiring glance. Both Father Thomas and the captain seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as the participants.
On the opposite side of the deck, Kessington took off
toward the mast. He was lithe and quick, and by the time he and Weldon passed the mainsail, they were almost even. Scrambling upward, they reached Lara's scarf at the same time, with Kessington perhaps a hand span ahead. Both men came down the main brace so fast, it almost made Mathew ill to realize he had done the same thing. The shouts from the crew were deafening. Even Vickers was jumping up and down on his good leg, screaming as loudly as the others.
Brown and Fullers, the ship's cook, went next. Mathew had high hopes for his side on this pairing. Fullers was a short man with a large belly, while Brown seemed relatively fit. However, it was soon apparent that for all his bulk, Fullers climbed like he was born to it, while Brown had difficulty negotiating the shrouds. Nevertheless, he made a good effort, reaching the deck only a few seconds after Fullers, who came pounding down the side, his belly bouncing with every step.
Jaim and Pryor took off like two arrows shot from the same bow. Although Pryor was the older and stronger of the two, Jaim was clearly faster. Mathew's heart went to his mouth when Jaim let go of the brace on the descent and dropped the last fifteen feet to the deck, reaching it ahead of his brother and then running down the side like a madman. If Mathew and Brown hadn't caught him, he'd surely have been unable to stop. Jaim collapsed laughing on the deck as his companions congratulated him.
It was down to the last man, and the race stayed even as Biggs and Chalmers, two topmen, left their starting positions. By now Mathew was yelling as loudly as everyone else. Both men moved up the shrouds at an astonishing pace, barely even touching the ropes. They climbed past the crow's nest and the topgallants, then up into the royals. The day had begun to warm considerably, and Mathew could feel his shirt sticking to his back. He cupped both his hands on to the side of his head, squinted, and could see that his teammate had a half body length lead over his rival, certain to get there first. But just as Biggs reached out for the yellow scarf fluttering elusively in the breeze just beyond his fingertips, he lost his footing and at the very last moment Chalmers shot by him to grab the prize.
A collective groan went up from at least half of the ship as Chalmers swung out to the main brace and began to slide down hand over hand. After reaching the deck, he trotted up to the captain, waving the scarf triumphantly above his head.
Lara stepped forward to receive it, and Chalmers succeeded in surprising everyone there by sketching an ungainly bow to her, to which she replied with a deep curtsey. Lara placed the scarf around Chalmers' neck, tying a loose knot in the front, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. This brought another round of cheers from the men, louder than before.
Captain Donal dutifully passed the elgars out to the victors. Both teams met in the middle and shook hands, congratulating each other according to the custom. Pryor and Jaim, Mathew noted, appeared considerably happier than when they were calculating, accepting good-natured claps on the back from the crew and nods of approval from the captain and Zachariah Ward.
Mathew turned around to see Collin.
"Sneaky. Very sneaky indeed, using that brace, Mr. Lewin," his friend said, grinning.
Mathew grinned back, and they shook hands.
" Ton my soul, sir," Collin added, doing a fair impersonation of the captain, "I've thought it before, but I'm almost ready to concede that you may actually have some small possibilities."
"I think I'll go below and wash some of this tar off my hands and change my shirt," Mathew said. "I assume you've already made plans for spending that money when we reach Tyraine?"
Collin tossed the silver coin up in the air and caught it.
"Oh, I imagine something will come to me."
Lara watched the crew slowly disperse as they went back to the routine of running the ship. She also watched
Mathew's head and shoulders disappear down the com-panionway behind Collin.
Something had changed.
She knew him better-than anyone in the world, and she could tell that something was different. It was not just in the way he carried himself—straighter and more confident. It was in his voice as well. She'd heard it when he told her to get behind him in the stable—unlike any tone he'd ever used before. Initially, she'd attributed it to the situation, but the difference, however subtle, had held. Mathew was no longer the self-conscious boy she'd known all her life in Devondale. The problem was, he acted one way in public, and another in private. When they were alone, he seemed distracted and distant.
She heard the jokes about him being seasick, and knew how they affected him. He was so afraid of being embarrassed, so unsure of himself. Of course, he refused to talk about it.
Ever since the frightening incident with Vickers, the crew had noticed the change as well. His whole attitude around them was different, and they responded by treating him with deference and respect. If he was aware of it, and she had no doubt that he was, he chose not to mention it.
Typical, she thought.
She knew that men tended to hold things in. Bran had been that way. So were her father and her uncle—at least according to her mother. But she had come to expect that Mathew would be different. From the time they were little, they always had an unspoken communication with each other. Her mother and father had it. Lara supposed that Mathew and Collin did as well. At home in Devon-dale, everyone more or less expected that she and Mat would get married one day. Perhaps, she thought. But some things needed to change first—like talking to her when he had a problem. At the moment he seemed to be retreating into himself, except in public, where he managed to appear quite at ease. Only she knew how much of the facade he showed to others was real and how much was an act.
Last night she'd known exactly where to find him— alone in the bow of the ship. He was holding the ring in his hand and staring straight ahead into the ocean at something, but when she looked, she saw nothing there.
For the rest of the day Lara contented herself by walking on the deck or reading a book Captain Donal had loaned her. She saw Mathew only briefly. He came up on deck for a minute, but went back down again with only a brief wave to her. On the opposite side of the ship, Collin saw her, put down the rope he was using to practice tying knots and wandered over to talk. They smiled at each other.
"Have you noticed Mat acting a little strange lately?" he asked.
"Um-hmm," she replied, looking at the companion ladder where Mathew had just gone down.
They turned then, as Father Thomas walked toward them. He was wearing dark green breeches and a light yellow shirt open at the throat.
"Are you enjoying the day, my children?" he asked.
"No," Collin replied glumly, causing the priest to raise his eyeb
rows.
"Indeed? With the flush of victory still upon you, I would have thought your spirits might be high. And you, my dear," he said, noticing Lara's expression. "Are you similarly afflicted?"
"Yes, Father," she replied.
"Ah, perhaps we should talk . .. assuming you wish to, that is," he suggested. The casual manner of his speech suddenly disappeared.
"It's not us, Father," Lara said. "We're worried about Mathew. He's been acting strangely for the last few days."
"I've noticed only that he appears more sure of himself, but that can hardly be a problem."
"It's this whole business with the ring—the explosion and what happened in the forest," Collin said. "And there've been other things too—little things."
"Tell me what you are referring to, my son," Father
Thomas replied, reaching for the rail to steady himself as the ship rode over a swell.
"Well, that night, back in Elberton, when those men attacked Mat, there was something else. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now ... I'm not so certain," Collin said.
"What do you mean?" Lara asked, looking at him.
"There were three men, as I told you—Will Tavish, who worked at the inn, a fat one, and a skinny rat-faced fellow. The fat one was a large man, bigger than the cook on this ship, I'd say. They had Mat cornered. I never heard any of their names, except for Will. The skinny one already had a sword out and took a swipe at Mat's blade. Mat just avoided it.
"I started running as soon as I saw what was happening. Before I could get there, Rat-Face saw an opportunity and lunged. Mat was quick enough to parry him, but he riposted on the fat one instead. It surprised everyone. The man let out a howl and rushed at Mat, knocking them both backward.
"Now this is the odd part," Collin said. He lowered his voice and looked at each of them in turn. "At the exact moment the man jumped for Mat, all of the street lamps along the block went out. A second later, the fat man came flying backward. It had to be at least eight feet, is my guess. Everything was happening so fast, but now that I think about it, I don't know."
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 33
