Zypheria's Call (A Tanyth Fairport Adventure)

by Nathan Lowell

  He grinned at her. “We’ll make a sailor of you yet, mum.”

  She snickered and looked down the pier. “Where’s this place?”

  He pointed to the harbormaster’s office and then counted three buildings to the left. “That’s it, mum. Harris will fit you up right. Just tell him you’re going to North Haven and Ben Groves says you need some warmer clothes.”

  “Seems simple enough.”

  “It’s nothing complicated, mum. Warm is warm and dry is dry. There’s precious little that’s warm or dry about sailing these waters. Harris knows.”

  “For me?” Rebecca asked.

  “Same. Some jerseys and maybe a slicker.”

  “I thought you said she wouldn’t be out in rough weather,” Tanyth said.

  Groves grinned. “Well, there’s rough weather and then there’s rain, mum. They don’t always go together.”

  Rebecca grinned and Tanyth had the uneasy feeling that the younger woman was actually looking forward to rough weather at sea. With a quiet chuckle to herself, she set off down the pier, Rebecca trailing along in her wake.

  Chapter Nineteen:

  At The Chandlery

  Tanyth didn’t know quite what to expect from a chandlery. The door opened with the requisite jangly bell on a spring, but after that her shopping experience took a left turn. Inside the door she found, not a shop, but a warehouse. The ceiling disappeared into the shadows above, with only the occasional beam and cross-brace visible in the gloom. Huge spools of rope stood around like spindles in some giant’s sewing box. Folded bolts of canvas, piles of chain, and barrels of all shapes and sizes formed a higglety-pigglety maze that she hesitated to enter. The place smelled of tar and rope, of wood and lamp oil.

  A man’s voice boomed from deep in the maze somewhere. “Just a minute!”

  She heard footsteps echoing in the rafters and a barrel of a man with shoulders like hams and hands like a fistful of sausages loomed out of the dark. “What’cha need?” He squinted against the light coming in from clouded windows at their backs.

  “Are ya Harris?” Tanyth asked and watched his face crinkle in consternation.

  “And who else might I be in Harris’s Chandlery?” He turned his head and squinted against the light. He took a few more steps forward until he was close enough to get a good look at her. “Mum? Miss?”

  “Excellent. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harris.” Tanyth held out her hand.

  His huge paw engulfed hers and he gave it a firm shake but didn’t pull her arm from the socket as she first feared. “You be in the right place, mum?”

  “I believe so, Mr. Harris. Mr. Benjamin Groves recommended you.”

  He face lit up at the name. “Ah, lil Benny, sure. I know the lad. He’s first mate now on his da’s vessel.” The way he said it, Tanyth thought he couldn’t have been prouder if the young man in question were his own son.

  “Indeed he is, and the Zypheria’s Call is heading to North Haven soon.”

  “Oh, aye. She and every other dog’s body with two feet of mast and a good bilge pump. It’ll be a race for certain.”

  “We’ve taken passage, and Mr. Groves suggested we need some warmer clothes and sent us here to be outfitted.”

  Harris blinked several times and worked his mouth open and shut once before actually speaking. “Well, mum, this here’s a ship chandlery. We don’t stock much in the line of ladies’ fittin’s if you know what I mean.” He frowned at each of them in turn and shook his head. “No, mum. Nothin’ fine enough for you ladies here.”

  “I’m not lookin’ for frills, Mr. Harris. Benjamin seemed to think I needed a watch coat and some wool lined canvas trousers.”

  Harris stood straight, pulling his head back, and eyeing her up and down. “He did, did he?” He scratched his chin in thought and squinted his eyes at them again, stepping a half step away to get their measure. “Well, you seem to be comfortable enough in trousers, mum.”

  “I am that, Mr. Harris. I do a lot of walking. Trousers work better for me.”

  “Not real lady-like, mum.” He seemed to realize that he’d spoken without thinking and hurried on to say, “No offense, mum.” The look of horror on his face might have been comical in another circumstance.

  “None taken, Mr. Harris, and you’re right. Isn’t lady-like, but it’s practical.” She smiled. “I’m kinda known for bein’ a practical old boot.”

  Half his mouth curled up in a grin. “I see, mum. I do see, indeed.”

  “So can you help us? I hate bein’ cold, and Mr. Groves assures me that the voyage north will be nothin’ if not cold.”

  “Oh, aye.” Mr. Harris nodded several times. “Yeah, it’ll be cold and windy and wet, like as not.”

  “So I’m led to believe, Mr. Harris.” She let him stew in his own cogitation for a time.

  He looked them up and down again, rubbing his chin in what looked like a well-practiced gesture. Finally, he pressed his lips together in a line and scowled fiercely. “Yeah. You really ain’t much smaller than average. I should have a watch coat that’ll fit ya.” He headed into the dimness and raised a hand in summons. “Come on back. Let’s see what I got here to keep a body warm.”

  He led her through the maze of crates and barrels. She saw that skylights high in the roof of the building let in a substantial amount of light. Even from the floor she saw the seagull streaks and grime on the outside that blocked a good portion of the sunlight. The place only looked dim because she’d come in from the full light of day. Her eyes adapted rather quickly to the lowered lighting.

  “Here we go, mum. Miss.” Harris held a door open and she found herself in a dim side room filled with piles of large boxes. Harris fumbled with a match and got a lantern going, which he hung on a bracket on the wall. “Slip off your coat, mum, and let’s see if I got sommat that’ll suit ya.”

  She did as he asked. He took it from her, hanging it carefully on a peg in the wall as if it were some fine cloak rather than a somewhat ratty wind breaker.

  He measured her with his eyes again, then pursed his lips and began rummaging in an open crate. He emerged holding a coat so deep blue, it appeared almost black in the lantern light. He held it aloft in one meaty paw, turning it so the light caught black wooden toggles down the front. “Hmm, yeah. Maybe,” he said. He turned to Tanyth, handing her the coat. “Here, mum, try this ’un on.”

  Tanyth was surprised by the weight and nearly dropped it before she got a good grip.

  Harris huffed out a short laugh. “Quite a lot heavier than that wind breaker you’re wearing, eh, mum?”

  “Indeed it is.” She swung the coat around her body and thrust her arms into the sleeves. The heavy coat wrapped itself around her like a warm hug. Her fingertips just showed at the ends of the sleeves, and when she held the front closed, there seemed to be too much fabric.

  “Just a second, mum,” Harris said and showed her the trick to crossing the fabric over itself. “See? It wraps around here in the front a bit,” he said. “Keeps the wind from blowing in between the buttons.”

  She pushed the sleeves up to free her hands and soon found the knack of using the wooden toggles as buttons.

  Harris stepped back and looked at her. “That’s a tad largish on ya, mum.” He shook his head and scowled. “Might fit your...um...helper.” He looked at Rebecca who merely shrugged and helped Tanyth slip out of the heavy coat, wrapping it around her own shoulders and sinking into its folds.

  Harris eyed the toggles critically and nodded once. “Yup. Fits there. I think there’s a size smaller here somewhere.” He all but disappeared head first back into the crate of coats, one foot off the floor and waving around in the air.

  “Ah, hah!” The woolens muffled his cry but he struggled up out of the box, his prize clutched in his hand. He held it out to her. “Here, mum. Try that one!” His face, reddened from the exertion, beamed in jubilation. “I knew there was an extra small in there somewhere.”

  She took the second. It felt almost as he
avy as the first, but she was prepared for the heft and slipped it on without difficulty. The sleeves fell below her wrists but above the base of her thumbs. She had no trouble finding the buttons or getting the front of the coat closed. She felt as if she cuddled in a big, blue blanket.

  Harris smiled and nodded, tugging the sleeve and straightening the collar. “That looks right smart, mum. Right smart.” He stopped fussing at the coat and looked at her askance. “How’s it feel, mum?”

  “Delightful,” she said with feeling. “This will do nicely.”

  Harris turned to Rebecca. “And you, Miss? ’At suit ya?” He gave her coat the same tug and critical inspection he’d given Tanyth.

  She held her arms out from her sides a bit and looked down at the coat. “It’s quite warm and seems to fit fine.”

  Harris looked closely at her face. “You look familiar. What’d you say your name were?”

  “Rebecca,” she said, offering a hand.

  Harris took the hand and shook it, not looking away from her. “You remind me of somebody. You got a family name?”

  “Marong,” Rebecca said, her voice low.

  Astonishment swept across Harris’ face and he tugged on the young woman’s hand, using it as a lever to turn her left and right. “I’ll be...” he said. “You’re Richard’s daughter? His youngest?”

  She pulled her hand away and brushed it down the front of her coat with a small shrug. “Please don’t say anything to him,” she said.

  Harris beamed and nodded. “’Course not,” he said. “Course not.” He cocked his head this way and that. “I’ll be hung for a horse thief,” he said, “but you’re the spittin’ image of your mother. You know that, don’t cha?”

  Rebecca blinked, her eyes wide. “You knew my mother?”

  Harris grinned and nodded several times, still peering at Rebecca’s face as if it were some precious painting he wanted to memorize. “Oh, aye. Victoria. A wonderful woman. Too good for your father, I always said.” He seemed to come to himself with that comment and gave himself a shake. “Ah, that is...” He looked down and pulled a large blue bandana out of his pocket, wiping his face with it and blowing his nose before continuing. “Yup. Spittin’ image.”

  He glanced at Tanyth with something like longing in his eyes. “You ever met her mother?”

  Tanyth shook her head.

  “Pity. Lovely woman.” He glanced down again and blew out a sigh. “Too many tides come and gone now,” he muttered. “Too many tides.”

  He stood like that for a moment, but before Tanyth could speak, he started rummaging in a crate across the room, mutterin’, “Trousers, trousers.” He soon came up with two pairs of dark blue pants that matched the coat. “Here we go, mum. I’ll just step outside and give you ladies a bit of private. You try them on and lemme know when it’s safe ta come back, yeah?”

  She slipped the jacket off and laid it on top of an unopened box. “That sounds quite proper, Mr. Harris,” she said.

  He slipped out, closing the door behind him with a bang.

  It took on a couple of minutes for them to discover which pair of pants fit whom. The smaller pair was too small for Tanyth but the larger pair slipped over her hips with a bit of room to spare. The smaller pair fit the slim-hipped Rebecca without a problem.

  “We’ll need belts to hold them up,” she muttered, “but they’ll do.” She pulled the trousers off and laid them on top of the coat, before slipping her own tinker’s pants back on. “All clear, Mr. Harris,” when they’d made themselves presentable once more.

  He bustled in and looked back and forth between them. “Fit, did they?”

  “Yes, Mr. Harris. Quite well. What’s next?”

  He pursed his lips and looked her up and down a couple of times, his eyebrows raising and lowering a couple of times. “You’re not fishin’ so you don’t need boots...” He eyed her short, gray hair. “You got a hat?”

  “Nothin’ suitable for a windy day, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah, ha!” He dug into a box and pulled out what looked like a pair of knit sacks. He gave one to each woman. “Try ’em on.”

  The bag turned out to be a hat that pulled down over her forehead and around her ears with a lot of material left to spare.

  “Fold up the edge, mum. Make a bit of a roll of it.” He pulled out another hat and showed her, pulling the hat on his own head.

  She did and found that the hat fit snug around her ears, gripping her head without binding. Rebecca looked snug in hers. Tanyth looked at Harris and he beamed in response.

  “Just so, mum. Just so.” He looked back and forth between them. “Anything else you ladies need?”

  Rebecca said, “I need some warm sweaters. Perhaps a sailor’s jersey? And a slicker.”

  Harris’ mouth twisted in a grin on the side of his face. “Got just the thing, just the thing. He crossed to the back corner of the room and lifted the lid on a smallish crate. He pulled out a fistful of jerseys, and fumbled through the pile until he found the one he wanted. He glanced at Tanyth. “How ’bout you, mum? Finest wool. Softer than silk.” He held the fabric out for her to feel.

  She brushed a hand across it and was surprised by the smooth texture of it. “What kind of sheep gives that kind of wool, Mr. Harris?” she asked, almost unable to pull her hand back from the soft warmth of it.

  He grinned, showing a gap in his teeth that made him look more rakish than he had before. “Not sheep, mum. Goats. Special kinda goat gives this really fine wool.”

  “I’ll take two,” Tanyth said. “And two for her.”

  He nodded and started shuffling through the pile, holding up the turtle-necked jerseys against each of them until he was satisfied with the sizes, muttering to himself the whole time. He soon had four picked out and stacked up with the rest of the clothing.

  “And a slicker, ye say?” His head tilted back and forth. “You plannin’ on bein’ on deck in the rain?”

  Rebecca grinned. “I’m workin’ passage, Mr. Harris. Mr. Groves said it might get wet.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You are? Working the deck on the Call, ya say?” He looked back and forth between Tanyth and Rebecca.

  “Yes, sir. I am.” Rebecca’s voice carried a ring of steel in it.

  Harris’s smile, when it came, lit up the small room. “An’ jes’ like your mother, too, so why I should be surprised...” He slapped a thigh for punctuation and started pushing crates around. “I got a shipment of ponchos in the other day. Be just the thing, I’m thinkin’. Now if I can just remember where they are.”

  He struggled and fussed and furrowed his brow, examining the floor as if the answer might be in the grit between the boards.

  “Ah! Of course.” He banged out through the door and returned almost immediately, pushing a crate across the scarred floorboards with a dreadful grinding. “Forgot to bring it in,” he muttered, a little breathless from his exertion.

  He grabbed a pry-bar from a nail in the wall and soon had the cover off and pulled out a drab green bundle of fabric that smelled of linseed oil and sheep’s wool. He grabbed one corner and shook it out revealing a kind of tent. He held it out to Rebecca. “Put that on.”

  She took it and held it up, turning it this way and that. “I’d be happy to, Mr. Harris, but how?”

  He guffawed. “Pull over. Stick yer head through the hole.”

  With that bit of instruction the purpose of the rectangular garment became clear. Rebecca opened the wide bottom and pulled it over her head, sliding her arms into wide sleeves. A hood of the same fabric covered her head and neck, leaving only her face exposed in the front.

  “This will keep me dry?” she asked holding her arms away from her body and looking down at herself. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Well, dry is a relative term at sea, miss,” Harris said with an apologetic shrug. “Drier than without but if it rains enough, it’ll soak through. The linseed oil in the outer cover will shed water a bit and the lanolin on the wool inside will hel
p more.”

  “So sailors wear these?” Rebecca asked.

  Harris rubbed the palm of his hand across his lips. “Well, mostly no, Miss. Truth told, they can’t be bothered with ’em. They’re good in a little rain, but they get heavy fast and then when you’re wet through...well, you’re wet.”

  Tanyth frowned a bit at the logic. “So, what do they do?”

  Harris grinned. “Well, mum, they get wet. Out there, wet’s pretty common. The trick is to stay warm.”

  “What would you give to a new deckhand, Mr. Harris?” she asked.

  “A pile of cotton undershirts and a tin of liniment,” he said without a beat.

  The two women shared a glance and a frown.

  “Can you explain that, Mr. Harris?” Rebecca said.

  “Wear a couple of the cotton undershirts. Toss on one of them goat wool jerseys over it all and add a windbreaker like your watchcoat. They’re actually good at holding water off you for a while. Light rain, you pro’ly won’ notice. When it gets really damp, you’ll get wet through but the cotton will hold the water close to your skin.”

  “How’s that help?” Tanyth asked.

  “Your body heat will warm it up. You’ll be wet, but as long as it stays next to your body, it’ll be warm enough. Just keep workin’ and get out of the wet clothes as soon as ya can.”

  “And the liniment?”

  “Rope and salt water will dry your hands out somethin’ dreadful. Liniment will help keep them from crackin’ and bleedin’.”

  “Bleedin’?” Rebecca said, her voice rising to almost a squeek.

  “Oh, aye. Liniment will help keep your skin from dryin’ out. That’ll keep it from getting’ chapped and cracked. Salt water in the cracks hurts like blazes. Liniment. Yes’m. Benjamin didn’t mention it?”