THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1)

by S. D. Howarth

  "Or the dock master's relatives." Cephill growled, hauling the flask across from Harcux.

  "Heh," Grimm grunted, then turned around to him, the move awkward as he took care manoeuvring his foot. "Do you recall where the masts for these boats went, Cep, while you're about?"

  "Nope?" Cephill scratched his armpit for several seconds, his oval face considering, "I'd assume you'd know."

  "Does it happen often?" Merizus asked.

  "Odd bits and pieces vanish in port. Either it's a lad liftin' stuff, and blamin' it on dockyard workers, or they snatch anythin' not bolted down under guard. The masts and sails from the boats are unusual. It suggests collusion aboard Tryphon, or someone paying off Hadly's books."

  "I heard that! My prices are fairer than you would get."

  "Uh, huh?" Several throats cleared and coughed together.

  "They'll be on some relatives' fishing boat," Panon mused, ignoring the quartermaster. "They'd see our inspection and it wouldn't take 'em long to chip off any maker's stamps."

  "Water under the bridge, don't tempt the fates," Merizus attempted to divert the mood and looked hopefully around. "Anyone for dominoes?"

  Grimm noticed the survivors in both boats studying the horizon with excessive dedication and heard Merizus sigh, feigning mournfulness. He looked to Grimm, almost pouting with disappointment.

  "Serves you right for playin' with cursed pieces," Grimm scoffed, unsympathetic to the sulking. He'd heard of those gaming pieces. Their reputation wasn't good for players with the coin in hand. Merizus's fortune differed much from the others' resentment.

  "They're not cursed, they're lucky." An indignant Merizus growled at the unconvinced sniggering. He glared around and the mockery redoubled. Hadly smirked.

  "Given how fast we scarpered, how d'you get 'em aboard?" Grimm asked. He watched faces and glanced at Harcux, who shrugged, also perplexed.

  "I didn't. I'd loaned them to Moffan for his rokja cards."

  "—And you had to bring them here and give them back, you ginger cocksucker!" snarled Trevir at Moffan.

  The sailor rolled in his seat by the sunjammer dome in the other boat, laughing in near silence. Trevir fumed, fingering his belt knife, making the seamen switch jeers from Merizus to baiting him. Harcux winked at Grimm and smirked.

  "Next time, Moff, drop the tricksy fuckers overboard." Grimm barked. "Consider it an order, or we'll drop you as the anchor!"

  .*.*.

  An hour later, Moffan shuffled to Grimm and tapped his shoulder. "Cox, is the doc' awake?"

  "The old guy's flat out. Do you need him?"

  "Travia's had it."

  "Shit—Checked him for a pulse?"

  "Yeah, twice. I'm doin' it as the doc showed, but he's been rough since he had his arm off."

  "All right, mate. I'll get him." Grimm gave a wan smile and looked at the hunched seaman opposite, miserable and wet, swaying to the rolling motion. The man looked up, and Grimm made a nudging motion at the doctor. Nodding, the seaman did as bidden.

  "What now? Is there no rest for an old man?" Robsin snapped, his face pinched as he woke.

  "Sorry, Doc," Grimm kept his voice down. "We've lost another." Grimm jerked his head toward where Moffan pointed at the lolling figure. With a drawn-out sigh, Robsin struggled upright. He staggered across the duckboards and leant over to place a wrinkled hand to Travia's throat.

  "What do you want to do, wake everyone, or put him over?" Robsin's look was all business.

  "Any preference?"

  "The latter, less disturbance." Grimm stared for a long second, shocked by the pragmatism, then agreed.

  Cadet Onvice stood. Face pale, he asked, "Shouldn't we say something? It isn't honourable or decent to just let him slip away." He was too shocked to realise Grimm ignored him during the decision making. Hadly looked about to say something, and Grimm threw every ounce of bitterness into his stare in a silent roar. Hadly looked away, feigning indifference, and fussed at his wig.

  Robsin grunted, he looked to Grimm while shuffling across to Moffan and put a hand on his shoulder. "You were his friend, I recall?" Moffan nodded, unable to speak. "Any words?" Moffan shrugged, taking time to think, his face saying everything.

  "My friend. You were an unselfish man and we'll miss you," he croaked. With Rufus and Cephill's help, they moved Travia to the seaward side and lowered him over.

  "Magnificent words, better than a prayer. He would appreciate them," Robsin empathised. He nodded to Grimm and returned to this seat with a cursory glance around the remaining injured. Moffan nodded and stared over the side at the body that drifted behind before sinking from sight. Moffan's head drooped, and several pairs of eyes looked to Grimm with the same question. Who next?

  "Harcux, Vaska. Have you checked the lines?" Grimm fretted on something other than a life wasted. More would follow, and from the mood, the lads needed something to do. Something they could work at.

  "Aye, not too long back," Vaska said. "Slight play on the fuckers, natural stretch, but we can tighten 'em."

  "Fair enough. Keep an eye out, okay?"

  "Aye, aye, Cox, go nap, we don't need yer." Harcux smirked. Grimm ignored him.

  "Are you all right, sir?" Grimm asked Robsin, as the doctor shuffled to get comfortable and shivered with the chill.

  "Tired." The old man said, his voice barely audible. Robsin closed his eyes and rubbed his chest. His face to Grimm looked grey and lined. A pervasive weariness of hours of cleaning, cutting, bandaging and sawing had taken a heavy toll on the doctor. His actions put paid to his reputation of a slacker and for Grimm it was a shame the respect the men now showed the doctor might prove futile.

  Grimm lifted the sodden coat from his lap and held it out to the seaman he'd asked to nudge the doctor and inclined his head at the old man. The seaman draped it over the doctor's legs. Robsin remained still, already asleep. The deckhand glanced back, pale eyes in a brutally scarred face mirroring concern at the helplessness of their predicament. Robsin looked haggard and was moving slower and clumsier than ever. The seaman and Grimm noticed it, but what could any of them do?

  "Our cadet can watch over things," Grimm oozed false cheer and looked around. "Nadam, you awake, you eastern prick?" His bellow made several men jump.

  "Aye, Cox, you northie goathumper." Nadam retorted with a venomous sneer, then grinned from a clean face compared to the rest of the men. He gave Grimm a look full of disdain, "What may I do for you on this dreary day?"

  "Tell a story. I need a laugh!"

  "Don't we all? Some of us have to look at Valant." Nadam smirked. He curled his lip, deciding on which saga to narrate. He flapped his hands for silence and stumbled his way to the rudimentary mast and gave a theatrical bow. Clearing his throat, he flicked the hair from his face. Clasping a shroud and swaying with an easy rhythm, he orated. It was a convoluted—if unlikely—tale about a young prince, a beautiful elderly gipsy singer with three pendulous breasts and a randy three-legged goat tied to a broken cart with a fondness for cherry pie.

  Grimm reclined, listening to the ribald tale, and threw a furtive glance at the doctor. Robsin slept on a seaman's shoulder with the faint breeze ruffling his thin grey hair. Trying to ease his foot, Grimm listened to Nadam's eloquent singsong voice as it rose and fell in timbre and feigned excitement. It didn't take long for the men to laugh and clap. For a moment Grimm forced aside all worries and injuries. Merizus gave a drowsy smile of contentment, patted Grimm's shoulder with an anvil-like fist, and closed his eyes. Then snored. Grimm sighed. Survival by raising the colours. What a fucking laugh.

  22

  Edouard Van Reiver returned to consciousness. He felt a wave lift the boat and slap the stern down, jarring his injured shoulder. Wincing and gasping at the white-hot pain surging through his body like lightning across an oppressive sky, he struggled to pry his gummed eyes open. His first view was Carla, staring at him, her worried face close, breath hot on his cheek.

  "How are you? Back with us?" Her words were
a delightful melody to his ears, her husky voice just carrying over the noise of the boat rolling and the groans of the injured and seasick. Her eyes were dark with rings of exhaustion.

  "I've felt better." He grimaced. Pity, it hurt. He enjoyed her eyes looking at him. Then pain swamped him, deep searing stabs of pain radiating from the arrow wound. That, and the dozens of minor aches he only now noticed. "What's happening?" He pushed through his misery. Back to duty. Fucking duty.

  "The wind's gettin' up, sir," Grimm said, voice harsh as he propped himself against the boat's side. Despite his efforts, his feet kept sliding off the boat's ribs and duckboards. He gestured at the figure glowing red through the exposed section of the canopy. "Mr Dagmar's trying to buffer the motion."

  "He's having limited success, then?" Van Reiver said as Grimm grunted confirmation. His stubbled features showed grim lines in a face pinched white. Van Reiver looked at the lurid sail in surprise, but soon comprehended its usage. "Is it loose?"

  "No, just slack a tad. We don't have the line to reef it if we want shrouds. It's worrying me sick we'll lose it if we untie the bottom. It's all we've got."

  "Let it flap, or it'll tear us apart." Grimm seemed to want to protest, but nodded. The cox'n shuffled upright, pointing to Harcux and Paska. The seamen shoved their way in each boat to the masts and tore at the lines, allowing their temporary sail to flap madly in the wind. Almost immediately, the twisting motion of the lashed boats subsided.

  "Bollocks, I should've considered that," Grimm said, rubbing his eyes. To Van Reiver, he'd aged five years in a day.

  "It could have been worse," said Van Reiver, glad it proved his hunch correct. He winced as another jarring lurch banged his back against the planking, sending flashes of pain tearing up and down his back as though someone was ripping his spine from his body. "Bitch!" This was with Dagmar buffering the motion—how fucking bad was it going to get?

  Dagmar slid over in a semi-controlled crash a few minutes later. "Sorry, Edouard. I didn't think to take the flappy thing down." Van Reiver waved the apology away and wished he could clear his mind, eradicate the fug. He felt too groggy to do any serious thinking.

  "I should apologise to you. Bullsen placed you in my hands, and I royally messed up." Grimm chuckled as Dagmar frowned. Van Reiver hung his head for a moment and heard someone whisper, "Jimi." They all felt bad about the boy, but the crewman weren't the ones in command. Nor had ordered the boy to his death.

  "It's not your fault, Edouard. You were hurt." Carla justified.

  Grimm was blunter when Van Reiver looked up, "Don't be a plonker, sir. Nought you could do. Anyway, yer need to earn yer keep."

  "Oh?"

  "We need you to tell us which way to go," Dagmar said, and blushed a shade only a fraction paler than his eyes.

  Grimm added, "Mr Dagmar and the doc have kept us goin', but I dunno how far we've drifted from big T."

  Van Reiver looked to Dagmar, who shrugged. "We've lost another, and more are hanging on by their fingertips. The baron isn't looking good, which is also a concern."

  "What bloody baron?" Van Reiver snapped, giving the sunjammer a look. Three slow angry words: intimating Dagmar would soon bark, cluck, or howl. All three were possible considering the rubicund-eyed bugger's penchant for pranks. Dagmar grinned wickedly through his spectacular mottle of bruises. His eyes flicked sideways to their sleeping passenger. Well, that explains the concern. Shit. What was he missing? Then Van Reiver remembered her letter and his initial conversation and everything from yesterday came flooding back. His groan took some time to finish, and before it faded, a pulsing headache replaced it, bedded in behind his eyes.

  "My father," Carla whispered, flinching when Van Reiver could bring himself to look at her. "He's not well, and Doctor Robsin can do no more," Carla added, bleeding bleakness.

  Van Reiver bit back a thunderous comment. He clicked his mouth shut, feeling stupid, as Dagmar flashed a warning shake of his head. "It seems I've missed a few things," said Van Reiver. He looked at her in a fresh light, deciding some thoughts needed to remain private. "How is he?" He forced the words out, keeping his anger contained, and squinted at the bundled form.

  "Poorly. He was conscious earlier, but spent an hour coughing blood before falling unconscious again."

  "Great." Van Reiver cursed inwardly with every rude word he'd discovered. "It's best he rests. I'm sorry we couldn't get him healed before this debacle happened." Carla nodded, her expression suggesting that any hope was a denial of reality. Van Reiver lifted the blanket and peered under the dressing that lay heavy on his skin, like soggy lead. Instead, she lifted his hand and returned it under the blanket.

  Grimm snickered as Dagmar leant across and lifted him higher, while whispering, "Robsin put the lady in charge of you. So, do as you're told as she outranks us."

  "Uh-huh, she doesn't in a prince's boat!" Van Reiver growled, trying to laugh. Instead, he shuddered, feeling gut-punched, and rolled forward.

  "Idiot!" Dagmar needed help from Carla to straighten Van Reiver back upright. The sunjammer made sure they padded the navigator's side this time. "Now, behave yourself! You're setting an awful example, and I've talked up your good points."

  "Bastard lump of a foul deformity. That's a low blow!" Van Reiver scowled.

  "He's right, sir," Grimm waded in, supporting Dagmar.

  Outnumbered, Van Reiver slumped, feeling his blood and all his warmth rush to his face. No-one laughed. Carla kissed his stubbled cheek and settled a blanket tight across his lap, tucking him in as though he was a baby. Grimm puffed out his magnificently sideburned cheeks and turned to Dagmar, who strained not to laugh as he fingered a damp cuff. Van Reiver glared, daring them to speak. Neither man did. Several of the less polite among the men jeered and Van Reiver could have swore, Hadly tittered, which didn't help, yet Carla didn't laugh. She looked serious, the line of her jaw tight, her eyes sombre.

  Mind drifting, Van Reiver asked. "What time do you make it, Cox'n?"

  "Early evening, sir. Not much sign of either sun to tell." He looked across at the senior deckhands and heads bobbed in consensus. "It darkened, then the wind sprang up. I think delaying the grub was a terrible idea, as this ain't calming."

  "Chance one now? I'd better get back." Dagmar said and was off down the boat before an answer. Several low oaths followed to show Van Reiver his friend's popularity.

  "We might as well," Van Reiver said and peered around for the first time with clarity. While the situation remained desperate, their lives continued at a slower pace. Cadet Onvice tried to appear alert rather than miserable, but looked his age instead. He glanced at Hadly and the thin man ignored him, his eyes never leaving the sunjammer. Men nodded to him—including those who'd jeered—but no other officers were present.

  "Is this all the officers?" He asked Grimm, adding a faint emphasis to officers.

  "Yup, no sign of any others an' we were the last out. Your lady friend saw Bullsen fall before Tryphon heaved her guts up." Van Reiver felt his shoulder twinge with guilt at each death. He grunted as a horrible sourness filled his mouth. Later, he would speak to Rufus, as he'd been close to Jimi—like an uncle to the ship's boy. The order Van Reiver made had saved their lives at the cost of the boy. Fuck! He knew he'd make the exchange again with double the guilt, another brutal pain in his collection.

  Grimm handed a small breaker to Carla, who removed the lid. Neither commented on his shaking, which was no minor mercy. Grimm broke the silence. "Small sips, and in all seriousness, don't blame yourself. Everything was one colossal fuckup."

  "I'm all right." Van Reiver gasped after wetting his lips. "Sorry, I had a moment—the abdabs, as we call them. How's he taking it?"

  "I think we all did—have a moment, that is." Grimm said, seeming to refuse on general principle to use the dumb term, then became serious. "Rufus ain't takin' it well—not speakin', I mean. Gloominess would be a ray of sunshine to the bugger, and he never was a cheerful man. Skillon and the other stewards went up
in the captain's barge, which won't help as they were close. But what can anyone say when we're in shit up to our armpits right good 'n' proper. We've all lost friends. I'm gutted about Tryphon, but we've been lucky. It's a shame the lads aren't healthier and we don't have better supplies."

  "Next you'll be prayin'," Cephill scoffed from the tiller of the other boat, his round face morose, his eyes humourless. The petty officer's face looked grey to Van Reiver, the dark blue tattoos on his neck and arms added the barest glimmer of colour to the tall man's appearance. Hard men, burning themselves out, while people like Hadly sniggered and Rufus suffered.

  "If we get back, I might," Grimm said deadpan, making several men laugh. Only Carla and Van Reiver saw him wink, and the navigator had to force a smile. Van Reiver knew he was lying through his teeth, but he'd throw a coin to a temple himself, if it would get them home alive and well. Any fucking temple.

  23

  Dagmar slipped under his sunjammer cupola, feeling that a tremendous weight had lifted. His friend had not only survived the arrow removal but should be well enough for a navigation fix. Stay clear for a few hours, he wanted to say to the sky. Pray, if only it would make it so. Ha, what had prayers wrought so far?

  "Mr Onvice?" He called, poking his head back into the elements.

  "Yes, sir?" The diffident voice barely carried over the rising song of the ocean.

  "Nudge Rufus, wake Hadly and arrange a quick meal. We'll chance the weather." The adolescent saluted. Saluted him of all the things and shuffled astern with small feet tapping and sloshing on the duckboards. Dagmar had to clutch hold of the bronze sunjammer mounting, as one rougher wave tossed them more than usual. He peered ahead through the red glass and saw the weather looking miserable, more than dangerous. "Is everyone awake?" He called, glancing over both boats.

  "Dorad isn't," said one man in the other boat. "He's still with us—just." The voice trailed away as reality sunk in.