"Well, Onvice. Now is the time to earn your pay." Dagmar hoped it sounded encouraging and enthusiastic. Not his despair. Even Vaska gave a nod of welcome. The old sea dog seemed a cantankerous bastard on most days, but had been in good humour since Tryphon had gone down.
"Yes sir?" The curly-haired boy looked more petrified than bashful as the wind ruffled his hair like his mother's hand. He coughed to make his voice sound less boyish, more like the man he would become. "What am I to do?"
"Take command when I'm asleep, unless our esteemed fleet commander, Captain Van Reiver, wakes and assumes command."
"Me, sir?" he squeaked, eyes widening in his round face. Harcux rumbled a chuckle, and Vaska cracked a rare gap-toothed smile on his lined face as they all leaned closer.
"You, sir. There are no other officers available." Dagmar looked at Harcux and barked a mirthless laugh. "As a junior officer, use experienced sailors like big Harcux here. After all, it is their life at risk too." Harcux' smile vanished as Vaska bared his few remaining brown teeth and thumped him knowingly with his elbow.
Hadly cleared his throat, and Dagmar ignored him. "Don't worry about looking foolish or indecisive. It's better to look daft and live, than put pride first and have a bigger disaster. Remember, this is not a class at naval college. It's our survival." The boy frowned but listened to each word, absorbing every point. His inexperienced eyes were scurrying over all their faces, desperate for hope. He looked at the other men, expecting mockery, but it wasn't there. Some had seen him fight. Others were despondent. Their situation was desperate enough. Endured by stoicism and humour which cost nothing, Dagmar considered, but it wouldn't save them.
"We're in enough shit, and it'll get worse, sir," Grimm noted. "Denying it won't put bread on the table, or heal us."
"I'll do my best." Onvice piped.
"Right," Dagmar spoke again, "I'll let the doc finish, before we move people about to balance the boats as you suggested." The others said nothing. "Can we get a sail up?" he asked the silence. He looked at Hadly and found the man staring abeam. He looked back as Vaska shrugged and spat over the side with a frown at Harcux. The big man looked at Grimm. The cox'n gave a half-hearted shrug. Great, if we find some room, they can become a theatre show, Dagmar thought. He cleared his throat, "Well?"
Grimm's eyes were distant before he spoke, rolling the words out like an inn-keep with a drunk. "I reckon we use a pair of oars to make a basic 'A' frame and lash a third, or a pair as a spar. It depends if we've enough line, and a pair of shrouds to take the strain. I'd suggest splicing oars to use the two-boat beam, but we ain't got the line to double-splice unless we're hiding some."
"Aye, it'll only be useful if the wind is behind us and we'll need to drop it in a blow." Harcux speculated.
"It's better than nothing," Vaska countered. "We've the anchor lines and can use them as lower lashings."
"Hmm." Dagmar looked at Grimm and considered the mechanics of the situation. "I can use the sunjammer crystals to boost any gust or adjust the heading with the wind as the usual perk. It will be inelegant but should add a few knots."
"Even better. I suggest six men per boat and lash the mast before the crystal cupola as its hefty framework, and the injured can shuffle aft. Vaska and Harcux can sort a boat. Panon, Paska and a few others can lend a hand in this boat, Valant, Carilon and the rest as muscle. Our marines can keep watch with Jenkans." The others nodded, aside from Onvice who reddened and Hadly looking at his feet. The quartermaster studied the splashes he made when flicking his feet up and down. Dagmar felt his blood boil, but why would the boy flush?
"What have we overlooked?" Dagmar asked. The cox'n could be speaking Babylonian for all the sense he made.
The cadet shifted in discomfort, glancing at each of them. "Erm. What do we use for a sail?" All eyes looked at him, making the boy flush to his hair roots. Everyone within earshot stared, dawning horror spread to every face. Grimm swore, banging his head with a meaty hand, as Dagmar looked skywards.
"We've no sail at all? For fuck's sake, what next!" Grimm thundered. Harcux flashed an incredulous look to Vaska, who shrugged, suppressing the urge to cackle at the predicament.
Vaska grimaced, he waved at the centerline which once housed the mainmast and sail. "I thought you'd have us sew coats together, Cox'n," he said deadpan. "No-one said anything aught."
"Oh, for fuck's sake! Sew coats? Have you shit your brains out, you daft old fart?" Grimm snarled, before feeling a tap on his arm.
Merizus rose and dragged a sizeable package wrapped in a warm oilcloth from under his backside. "Try that tripod, less yammering, huh?" His lined faced cracked wide with a smile.
"Huh?" Grimm said. Everyone looked at him. "What's this?"
"Tryphon's Kingdom battle-flag. I didn't want it burned. I had Ephraim snag them while we checked through the aft castle before we left. That was where we found the QM and cook hiding in the pantry. We lobbed the West Spires one in the barge with the bags. Luckily, he lobbed the king's one in our boat. Shame about the grub, though."
"You bastard! Fuckin' bitch-dog teat lickin' cunt!" Harcux spluttered, forming an unhealthy shade of beetroot before he calmed at a nudge from Grimm. "You saw us lookin', and had one stuffed under your saggy, wrinkled apples soakin' up marine cockrot?"
Paska grinned from the other boat, as the big man fumed, and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Aye, I almost split my stitches watchin' you mince around like a pot-bellied bear wantin' it's cock sucked," Merizus said unmoved. Dagmar saw him wink to Trevir, who rocked in the bows, puce with mirth. Not that funny, Dagmar thought, but it kept morale going.
"Unfurl it and lay it out best you can. If it's big, cut the fucker in half." Grimm instructed Vaska, who raised an eyebrow at Harcux' tantrum. It seemed to Dagmar, Merizus didn't give two shits either—and long, hard sideways ones at that—for what Harcux thought, but the Marine's expression hardened at cutting it up. Don't start fucking fighting, Dagmar thought and cleared his throat again. Discipline in a disaster was a rare thing and precarious at sea.
"Do you want to die out here? It's no use having a shiny flag among whiffy corpses in a rotting hull."
"I'd rather not use our flag as a sail, sir." Merizus said as Grimm looked on indignantly. Hadly snorted and earned himself many an evil eye. Dagmar didn't blame the men. If he hid, while others fought and died, he wouldn't blame any man who clobbered him.
"Better as a symbol to save lives, rather than reminding them of the disaster. I'll make it an order if it eases your conscience? I don't want us becoming bird food, right?" Dagmar was polite with the sudden tension but unyielding whether the QM, the marine, or sailors liked it. "Some of you may injure the fucking birds." It took a moment for Dagmar to realise he'd said it and not thought about it.
"Aye, sir, I get the idea. I don't like it, that's all," the big man lamented, then realising his bellyaching was pointless, grumbled to silence by chewing on a fingernail.
"Well said, Magus. The sooner, the better," Robsin pushed his way into their conversation and hauled himself into the boat and stood amidships. "Two men with burns are lucky to be alive. Four more are in terrible shape, two being amputees, and Hatch who had my last coagulant potion. Several others are little better, which will be the same thing soon."
"Have you any suggestions, Doctor?" Dagmar proffered the formal request for something to say for duty's sake.
"I will remain with the more critically injured in the other boat. Carla and Merizus can keep an eye on the men aft. Move the wounded aft with care and check on them every half hour."
"I see, that makes sense." Dagmar looked to Grimm, who jerked his head at the two seamen. "Did you hear, Onvice will take charge next door?" Robsin nodded, his expression showing the instruction was irrelevant. "Mister Hadly here will oversee supplies with Rufus. Prioritise our food to keep us going. Any suggestions you have, make them."
"All right, I'll do that later. It will be something beyond picking at dressings a
nd offering feeble platitudes."
Dagmar nodded. Reaching inside his robes, he handed Hadly a small scroll.
"A supply inventory, I take it?"
"Aye. I don't suppose you or the boy can navigate?" Hadly snorted and adjusted his wig as though the act was beneath him. Dagmar ignored him and looked with greater hope to the boy.
"No, sir. We were due navigation classes next month with First Mate Sithric and then supervised tuition with the second mate."
"Damn, that reminds me. Do we have charts and gubbins?"
"By gubbins, sir, do you mean navigational tools?" Trevir asked. Dagmar turned and raised an eyebrow, and the marine shifted, then wilted. "The second mate's case is in the forrard locker with his charts and bag. The captain's kit is back by Cephill, I think."
"It's under the canvas by the carpenter." Rufus pointed. The mention of his name had woken the man. Peering through the jumble of limbs, Dagmar could see a long smear down the strakes along with a missing splinter of pale timber. It would be something else to consider when he next went to the dome.
"Would you like me to get it?" Trevir offered.
"Please. Stash it in the empty locker under the crystal please, it's the driest place." Dagmar looked to Grimm, who was observing, and he returned his stare. "I'll try to snooze while you raise your mast, then I'll be fresh for this evening." He nodded aft at Van Reiver, "Let him sleep. If the sky clears, we need to get a fix and confirm our course."
"Splendid, sir. I'll keep the kiddies quiet, ugly grubby buggers they be one and all," Grimm said with forced humour and made ushering motions with his hands for the named people to get on with it. Dagmar watched them check over the injured before Grimm returned to his seat. He nodded to Dagmar and reclined, closing his bulbous eyes for a moment of peace and repositioned his foot to a new, but still uncomfortable position. Dagmar considered what steps to take next when he looked at the clouds. Better still, where he could nap in peace.
20
An uncomfortable hour later, Dagmar capitulated. He suffered every ache and twinge from the Tryphon engagement in silent misery, but the fidgeting and clatter of equipment across the boats would keep the dead awake, then make their deaf grandparents complain. The cauldron of discontent thickened with the curses of suffering men as they squeezed up around seamen precariously raising oars overhead and threading ropes into gaps and bandages. Tempers were short, anger flared, and politeness had long since flung its sea chest over the side in a strop and fucked off into the drizzle. Wishing he could follow it, Dagmar threw back his blanket. Hungry sunken eyes stared back at him. Other men whispered, heads bowed in a circle around Hadly. Others moaned and clutched bandages.
Knowing the crew looked to him and knowing Hadly was carping waste of breath, he tried to stifle his despair. To not cringe at the injured and as they suffered and moaned. He breathed several times, each breath shallow to keep panic under some modicum of control. To his untrained eye, Harcux had the activities under control, with Grimm alternating barking instructions, or growling curses. Even with the rudimentary meal and attempted nap, his head throbbed, deep abominable lances of searing agony to make his eyes water. Dagmar rubbed at his temples, trying to ease the torment. It was possible he'd cracked his skull in the attack, but Robsin had no cure for that.
Dagmar would worry later when there was nothing left but waiting for the end. He leant forward to look at his friend and offer a prayer to thank the Sun Goddess Selionmael for granting the steady rise and fall of Van Reiver's chest. If only his friend would awaken, and if the clouds cleared, they'd a chance. With so many wounded, he'd take any glimmer of a miracle. He thought of praying and paused, unwilling to beg an unseen divinity. Perhaps he wasn't desperate, or hypocritical enough? Fuck it. Fuck them all. If they'd offended any heavenly power, the least the bastard could do was come down here in glorious personage and tell them.
Carla smiled, "He seems to be okay with having the arrow removed. Doctor Robsin said his relaxed breathing was positive."
"That's a relief," Dagmar returned her shy smile with one of his own. Enthused by fresh hope and her attempt to project hope. He felt stress peel away from his soul like the layers of an onion, and his bleak mood lifted higher than he thought possible. Maybe the gods acted without prayers? That would be a fine argument for an afternoon with a clear head, a glass of wine and a magnificent meal. Food, shit. His stomach growled, forcing him to speak up to cover the noise. "That's excellent to hear with all of us depending on him."
"What do you mean?" Her large eyes widened in alarm as the smile faded. She looked about, scanning the seas as though for fresh danger. Dagmar saw the hand playing with Van Reiver's hair stop and clench into a fist. Dagmar leant closer.
"Sorry, I don't mean to scare you. I know little about sailing a small boat. As you can see, I rely on the men and their expertise. I don't know how long we can remain in a decent condition, with dozens of wounded and few resources."
"I guessed that, but what else happened? Aren't we doing well?"
"We're surviving, and so far, we haven't lost too many of the injured. We have a good supply of water. However, without fresh food and shelter from the elements... it limits our options. We're vulnerable. The faster we find a refuge, the faster the men get treated and we can plan the next step. I imagine that is what the huddle is next door."
"I see. Sorry, I never considered that." She admitted.
"There is no need to apologise, Lady. None. There's plenty to ponder with hindsight."
"At least you thought about using the canvas covers from your dome to give me some privacy, it would embarrass me otherwise." Carla coloured, but smiled in gratitude, remembering her need to change among other memories.
"No problem," Dagmar grinned, inclining his head in acknowledgement. "It was one thing I remembered from my training and unlike the masts, not something to wander. We magus have our ways."
"I bet you wish you had taken The Academy Advanced Navigation Course, eh, Lieutenant?" Carla's father spoke for the first time beside them, in clipped aristocratic tones. "Or allow my daughter to act earlier, eh?" He opened his eyes to stare at Dagmar. Scouring him with steely grey orbs that missed nothing, despite his gaunt appearance. He pressed his daughter's hand, smothering her fist. She hugged him tight and fussed until he sat snug and upright. Dagmar blinked at the unexpected interruption and rotated his gaze upon the old man, who looked haggard and unshaven.
"I'm glad to see you join us. Do you know our naval academy?" Dagmar refused to react to the criticism and well-enunciated voice, although a glance at Hadly may prove his daughter correct. The man nodded as he settled upright and hacked a coarse wheezing cough. "Yes, the A.A.N.C. may have helped. However, I would not have learned the incantation with the unique twist I applied to escape from the nasty magic users who blow little bitty boats into pieces." Dagmar expected a stinging rebuke, but to his surprise, the man frowned and took it on the chin.
Carla gave her father a disapproving nudge. "Father, that's not the way to thank our rescuers. I told you what they have endured and done for us. It has been a trying time."
"Yes, my dear. However, I cannot complete my mission by drifting on this putrid orange filth. God's teeth and toenails. Since we sailed, it's been a debacle!" The old man interrupted, staring at Carla, a comatose Van Reiver and then Dagmar. Ignoring the glower, Carla glanced to Dagmar and gave an apologetic shrug. Sighing, the man continued with excessive sincerity. "Carla is correct. Despite bobbing on the damn sea again, I owe you our thanks, and indebted we are.
Dagmar pointed to Van Reiver. "That's who to thank. You were lucky he spotted you and ignored superstition." The man looked for a long moment at Van Reiver. Thoughtful, he flicked his eyes back to Dagmar, then longer on Carla. "We said worse things earlier," the sunjammer observed. "So, feel free to add any we omitted from our armamentarium. You mentioned a mission for our principality—I presume as a courier?"
"Indeed," he replied in a blink, giving Dagmar a stern
look. "I do not suppose it matters now, I am more than a messenger. I am Baron Canute of Pallach. I serve as senior adviser to Prince Gildan, his son, Duke Coutray, and as occasion dictates, our esteemed King Cartmel in Aquitaine." Dagmar blinked. He hadn't expected the man might be one of the most senior nobles in the principality and famed across the three semi-independent nation-states making up the Kingdom of the Twin Spires. His clothes were unadorned, but well-tailored. Lacking the frippery, the nobility lavished upon themselves. He knew that cost all too well, with it almost bankrupting his father—a squire to Gildan—twice in as many years.
Dagmar gave Carla a baleful stare, "You have been keeping secrets. Edouard is correct with your covertness. He said you were important, but omitted your father was a member of the prince's council. It would have been significant to Captain Bullsen."
"He knew," Carla interjected with a wan smile. "He agreed to downplay matters, and the recovery was the priority."
Baron Canute gestured her silent with a brusque move of his hand. "My daughter adhered to my wishes, excluding her conversation with your captain and second mate. "Keeping secrets is my job. My visit to Ardover for our advanced staging was supposed to be a quiet one. My instructions were clear and explicit to all."
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 18
