by Alex Paul
“I’m Asher d’Will.” The stranger stood a finger shorter than Arken. Tendrils of curly, brown hair sprawled around his head like runners escaping the pot containing his mother’s climbing plants. His hair wasn’t very long, and Arken realized he was one of the few cadets he’d ever met that already had short hair. It confused him, because surely this Asher wasn’t married!
“Arken Freeth.” They shook arms in the Lantish manner, forearm to forearm, followed by a chest-bump salute.
“How do you say your last name?”
“Freeth, ‘free’ ending with a ‘th.’”
“You must be an excellent swordsman to be sparring with that boy Gart tomorrow,” the boy said.
“Sparring who?”
“Gart.” Asher pointed to names posted on the bark. “There’s your names. The other boys said they couldn’t believe your bad luck.”
“Not again.” Arken couldn’t believe it. Why wasn’t he fighting Han? He read the list, but Han wasn’t on it.
“Again?”
“I fought him a few days ago and narrowly defeated him. He’s going to want revenge now!”
“There’s no way out of fighting him?” Asher asked.
“Swimming,” Arken offered.
Asher laughed at his joke, which made Arken feel good. His jokes did not often get a warm reception.
“Well, we’re cabin mates, and I’m training to be a ship’s healer,” Asher said. “I’ll help you recover if you’re injured.”
“Can you raise the dead?” Arken asked.
“No, but I salute their memory.” Asher raised his left arm and thumped his chest with his right fist in salute. “I just learned. Did I do it right? I’m from Tolaria.”
“Tolaria? How old are you?”
“Fourteen.” Asher’s legs were long compared to his overall height, and his chest was round and full like Arken’s. His green eyes sparkled with life and excitement, and the corners of his mouth seemed permanently ready to smile.
“I didn’t think I recognized you from the Academy.”
“I’m the son of the Tolarian ambassador,” Asher explained. “We arrived a week ago, and then the ship arrived with news of the war a few days after us.”
“Where did you sail from? Is your family safe?” Arken asked.
“We left our capitol, Baltak, when the Amarrats approached our borders. My father, mother, and little brother came here. All my other relatives are in Baltak, under siege.”
“Are they safe?”
“Father says even if the Amarrats lay siege, they can never conquer our city. There’s a natural well within the walls, and the king has stored five years of food.”
“Five years is a long siege,” Arken said.
“If your country transports its army to Tolaria and uses it to attack the Amarrat supply lines... Now that we’re allies, I’m sure we’ll defeat them,” Asher added in a cheerful voice. “We can isolate them between two forces once their supplies are exhausted.”
“Then I’m sure we will,” Arken said. “We’ve never lost a war.”
“A good record!”
“Your father is an ambassador? What is he doing here?”
“He came to oversee the wedding of Prince Dahl to our Princess Sharmane,” Asher explained. “Then, after the wedding, he’ll be the princess’s chief adviser. Father says the war has made the wedding more important than ever. It will guarantee the alliance of our countries.”
“How did your father become ambassador?”
“He’s our king’s brother.” Asher’s eyes squeezed shut slightly, as if trying to see that Arken understood. “Did I say that correctly in Lantish?”
Two sailors asked them to move so that they could get to a rope.
After they left, Arken continued. “Yes, absolutely.”
Arken had never met a foreigner this important, only Arbat traders and Senalese sailors when he’d traveled as a youth with his father during the summers when the Academy was closed. He had spent hours with the children of such men while his father negotiated the price of cloth or crops to take back to Lanth on his ships. Arken had learned to steal and escape in the Senalese markets.
But this boy was a high-born prince, the son of the king’s brother. Then Arken realized Asher wouldn’t be so friendly once he learned he was a commoner! Arken’s initial joy at finding a friend slipped away. He would never have any friends except his equals, the common sailors, and they would never truly be friends because he was an officer.
“Well, we better get to our cabin,” Arken said matter-of-factly as he hardened his heart.
“I’m excited! I think we’ll be the best of friends as cabin mates, don’t you?” Asher asked as he followed Arken.
“I suppose so,” Arken said, as he waited for the sailors to give them permission to step over the rope they were now dragging across the deck. Arken worried that Asher would soon feel otherwise.
“Come on, you two.” A sailor’s head rose from the ladder well in the center deck leading to the cabins. “You’re the last I need to nursemaid to your cabin.”
“If it turns out you don’t want me for a roommate, that’s fine with me,” Arken lied as they walked toward the ladder.
“Why wouldn’t I want you for a roommate?” Asher asked. “You’re the shortest boy aboard besides me! You’re perfect.”
“Because I’m a commoner,” Arken blurted out. There. Might as well get it over with, he thought.
“The other boys hold that against you?”
“Yes.” Arken looked down.
“Well, I don’t care.” Asher shrugged his shoulders, rising up on his toes at the same time to make himself taller than Arken. Arken realized he did the same thing when he was trying to be taller. “In fact, it’s good! We’re both outsiders. We need to be friends.”
“You two stop chatting and follow me to your cabin,” the sailor cautioned in a raised voice.
“You hold your tongue or you’ll find it removed!” Asher snapped at the sailor.
“Yes, Master. Sorry, I forgot my place.” The sailor looked startled, as if Asher had slapped him.
“Anyway, we were just coming.” Asher turned to go below.
Holy Kal! Arken thought as he followed Asher, his backpack bouncing against his back. He needed more self-confidence like that!
“I’ll show you how to go down the ladder,” the sailor said as they approached. “You squeeze the ladder railings with the inner edge of your sandals and press here with your hands.” He dropped down and landed softly. “There, that’s how it’s done.”
“You try it first.” Asher’s voice sounded worried.
“All right!” Arken handed his quiver and pack down but kept the bow on his back. He climbed down a few steps, and then squeezed as hard as he could, but he dropped too fast. Before he could slow himself, his bow hit the deck, forcing the top into the back of his head just as his feet slammed into the deck, making him bite his tongue.
“It’s not too hard, Asher!” Arken yelled up as he tasted blood. “Grab as tight as you can, though, and keep your tongue in your mouth!”
“I’d prefer just walking down the main stairs to the galley, and then finding you after,” Asher shouted down. “I’m not very strong.”
“It doesn’t need strength, just concentration,” the sailor shouted back. “Surely you can concentrate!”
“Right!” Asher climbed down after throwing his pack, and then got his feet in position. He released the top rung, slapped his palms against the side of the ladder, and plummeted down.
Arken realized his low back no longer hurt. He had felt something pop when his feet hit the deck, and now the dull ache in his back had left him.
“Can’t stop!” Asher screamed as he leaned his body forward to get a better grip on the ladder with his hands. But he got his face too close and smacked his nose against a step just as his feet hit bottom. He rolled violently backward and slammed into the passageway wall.
“Ow!” Asher held his nose.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Blood covered his face.
“Are you all right?” Arken asked as he and the sailor knelt down by Asher.
“No, I’m not as strong as you. I hit my nose—look!” Blood spurted from his nose despite his efforts to pinch off the flow. Arken felt bad. What a way to start your first day at sea!
“I’m so sorry, Master. My fault,” the sailor said.
“Not really.” Asher stood up. “It’s my fault. I’m not strong enough.”
“You’ll get used to the ladder,” the sailor said.
“Look at my nose!” Asher exclaimed.
“It’s bent to the left!” Arken said.
“I know how to fix it, sir,” the sailor volunteered.
“Then go ahead,” Asher answered.
The sailor grabbed Asher’s nose and wrenched it down and away from Asher’s face. It made a loud clicking sound.
“You oaf! That hurt!” Asher shrieked in pain.
“It was broken, Sire. You have to straighten those right away. You’re fine now, though. Please forgive me!”
“It’s straight again?” Asher looked at Arken.
“Yes.” Arken started laughing. “It’s fine.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because you look so funny!” Arken covered his mouth to stop laughing. “Blood streaming from your nose, tears running down your cheeks... You don’t look like a healer to me.”
“Forgive me, Sire,” the sailor insisted.
“Forgive you? I want to you run through with a sword!” Asher threatened. “Would you loan me yours?”
The sailor stepped back in fear. Asher began laughing, and the sailor realized Asher wasn’t serious, which made Arken laugh again as well.
“Oh, ow, that hurts even more!” Asher pressed his palm on his mouth to stop laughing. “Can’t laugh!”
“Welcome to the King’s Sea Service.” Arken pulled Yon’s red scarf from his tunic pocket. “Tilt your head back and pinch up here.” Arken touched the bridge of Asher’s nose. “Put this scarf under your nose.” Asher pressed the scarf on his nose, and Arken realized the scarf had been lucky after all.
“This cloth stinks!” Asher protested.
“Imagine if you smelled it with a properly functioning nose,” Arken teased.
“Why did I volunteer to be a sailor?” Asher moaned.
The ladder was at the junction of two passageways, and they followed the sailor down the one on the starboard side. They passed other cabin doors that were closed, but they could hear cadets talking and laughing inside. It looked to Arken as if there was a center row of cabins about six feet wide with a narrow walkway only about two feet wide, and then cabins on the port and starboard sides of the ship. He counted as he went down the passageway and decided there must be about six cabins in each row.
Asher held his head tilted back as he walked before Arken, but Asher’s nose still dripped occasional drops of blood as they followed the sailor. The low ceiling forced him to stoop as they walked.
“Finally! An advantage to being short!” Asher said in a nasally voice.
The hallway darkened as they moved forward, but it eventually grew lighter. Overhead, grates in the deck above formed sanctuaries of light, but between the grates the hallway was barely bright enough to see. The deeper they went forward, the more it smelled of mildew and sea salt.
“I didn’t know ships were this dark,” Asher said. “The one we sailed from Tolaria was much brighter below decks.”
“You get used to it,” the sailor commented. “All warships are like this.”
“It’s as hot as an oven down here!” Arken felt like he was walking by the bakery where he stopped once a week to pick up bread for Arlet. The thought reminded him he wouldn’t have this chore for a moonth and, to his surprise, he felt sad.
“It’s always hot below decks,” the sailor explained. “Tomorrow we’ll rig canvas to funnel cool air down here. It’s still bad, but you’ll get—”
“Used to it!” Asher interrupted in his new nasal tone. Arken felt like laughing but remained silent, not wanting to offend the sailor.
“Here you are, Cabin Twelve.” The sailor opened a door barely lit by a grating above. The grating ran past the door and into the cabin’s space, giving it a small degree of light.
Asher peered in. “It’s barely bigger than the hallway!”
“You’ll get used—” The sailor didn’t finish his sentence, because both boys erupted in laughter. “Just trust me and go inside.”
He waited outside the room because the cabin was so small there wasn’t room for the three of them. Arken and Asher entered a room only six feet wide and six feet long.
Arken inspected the floor-to-ceiling closets on both sides of the cabin door. Beyond the closets, two hammocks hung over desks with stools. The hammocks swung with just enough space between so their occupants wouldn’t collide. The room stunk of wet wood, sea salt, and sweat.
“These are the shortest hammocks I’ve ever seen in my life!” Asher exclaimed. “How does that Gart fellow fit in one of these?”
“You mean the big boy that used to be salcon?” the sailor asked.
“That’s the one.” Asher nodded.
“Oh, he doesn’t. He gets a longer room more toward the center of the ship. They just stick the tiny boys in these wee cabins.”
“Oh, great!” Asher complained.
“Rules are simple. Always keep your room picked up. And no food allowed in the rooms; it attracts rats,” the sailor said. “Relieve yourselves on the stern netting.”
“Stern netting?” Asher asked. “On the ship coming here we had proper restrooms.”
“Not for sailors on a warship, and you’re just above sailors here. Only officers have privacy.”
“Does anyone fall into the sea while using the netting?” Asher sounded worried.
“Only the ones that don’t return home!” The sailor joked.
Arken didn’t laugh. He realized the netting might be the perfect place to kill Gart and Narval with his bow. He could fire at them as they hung helplessly over the side. They would just splash into the sea and disappear.
“One important rule for you: no running in the lower passageways,” the sailor added.
A bell on deck hammered out a loud ringing.
“That’s odd; it’s the ship’s alarm!” The sailor’s eyes went wide, and he darted to the door and looked down the passageway. “Can’t be an attack, we’re too close to Lanth!”
“What should we do?” Arken asked. The bell’s insistent tone penetrated the ship.
“Maybe we’re sinking. Come with me.” The sailor sprinted down the hallway. “Leave your packs and that bow and quiver of yours.”
Arken dropped everything on his hammock and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake leaving the bow behind. What if they were sinking? He’d hate to lose his bow. But he had to obey orders.
“Wait for us!” Asher shouted as he and Asher sprang for the doorway at the same instant. For a second, they jammed shoulder to shoulder in the opening. Arken pulled back, letting Asher go ahead.
“Can I keep the cloth?” Asher yelled as he ran down the narrow aisle way. “My nose is still bleeding.”
“Sure,” Arken said.
The sailor waited at the ladder’s base, hurrying other boys upward, shouting, “All hands on deck!”
Arken’s heart pounded as he climbed the ladder. If they were sinking, would the escort ships save them, or would they have to make their own way to land? And what about smokers? They could be anywhere.
CHAPTER 11
THE DRAGGING
These hot days consume my energy and leave me listless. I have tried to use the necklace and see life with my future husband, Prince Dahl, but I have no visions. I feel petty for my distress over my future husband when my family behind me suffers at the hands of the Amarrats, but there it is. Petty it may be, but it is my destiny and it worries me.
—Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria
>
The bright sunshine blinded Arken for a moment, and when his eyes adjusted, the lack of water rushing in over the sides surprised him. Instead, the cadets were gathered on deck listening to Lar. Arken spied Gart and Narval, and he lead Asher to a place safely away from them.
“What are they doing?” Asher whispered as they approached the knot of boys. Han stood on the command deck next to Lar. His hands were bound in front of him by a gastag rope. They had removed the gastag strip holding his hair back, and his red hair flowed down to his shoulders.
“Han made a lewd joke in the Queen’s Trackers’ presence,” Lar began. “All cadets take note, by captain’s order, any future lewd remark or gesture will result in punishment by at least ten lashes at the mast.”
The boys gasped as one, and the Trackers, who were standing by Mistress Calna, looked shocked as well. Hands covered mouths. Ten lashes could kill a man. Arken thought he should object, but he knew that protesting a convicted man’s punishment could result in receiving the same sentence. The cadets’ faces looked angry, but no one spoke.
“Since Han was not aware of this rule, the captain will show his mercy and only require a dragging.”
“Any words before punishment, Han?” Lar seemed very angry, and Arken wondered why he would be upset with Han when Lar himself had laughed at the remark.
“I’m sorry to have offended the young women,” Han apologized.
“Very good of you.” Lar glared at Mistress Calna. “I’m sure all of us know your offense was not intentional. But that evidently has no merit in your defense.”
“He’s mad at Mistress Calna,” Asher whispered as he elbowed Arken.
“Proceed with punishment.” Captain Dunn’s deep voice chopped through the silence.
Two sailors escorted Han up the stairs to the command deck.
Lancon Koman stood at attention on the command deck in his dark blue tunic, and yelled, “The captain has granted cadets permission to mount the command deck and watch punishment.”
The cadets stormed the stairs and filled in behind the helmsman. Han stood shivering at the stern railing. His chin quivered, and Arken wondered if he was going to cry.
