"The baron's hardly breathin', and—bollocks—the doctor isn't," Merizus announced ominously from the rear of their boat. Dagmar frowned, checked the crystal setting was correct, his spell locked, and retraced his way aft. He nudged the doctor and felt an eerie worry grow. The old man's arm dropped to hang limp. "Doctor Robsin, are you all right?" he asked, concern growing, shaking the shoulder harder and making the old grey head loll puppet-like.
"That's all we fuckin' need." Merizus muttered. Dagmar exchanged a bleak look with Van Reiver and pressed his hand under the doctor's chin. He could feel no pulse, just cold flesh, greasy with spray on the neck. He stood up and shook his head as he stared at the hanging grey head.
Dagmar scratched his head as he heard Van Reiver ask, "How?" Dagmar sensed the futility and withdrew his hand from the cold flesh.
"He was complain' of feeling tired," Grimm said. To Dagmar, the cox'n seemed shocked by the latest death. "The piss-pot's had some rough days, and he's no youngster, but I figured he was knackered. Sorry, I thought he needed a kip and let him nap."
"Either that or there wasn't enough grog for the old afternoon farmer," someone muttered. Dagmar thought it might have been Valant from the tone. From what he'd overheard of the man, his mouth would open and flap away when everyone else would maintain a veneer of dignity. Grimm must have thought the same as he took Dagmar off guard when he launched to his feet.
"Fuckin' stow that! Any more like that and it'll be your last!" Grimm erupted, faced flushing. He shook off a protesting grab by Merizus, yanking his arm aside to make Dagmar jerk his head away, and pointed to the corpse. "Lazy? Many of you here owe it to him, and him alone! Face it, bitch-cunts, how many of you would cut guts open to get arrows out, or cut away burned flesh? Well? Anyone? Any other wanker want to open their mummer?" No one spoke, men refused to meet his eyes, and most looked shocked at the outburst. Carla sat, mouth agape, incredulous, and Dagmar knew exactly how she felt. He should say something, but what?
Only Harcux responded, and that was to cut Grimm off, as the cox'n transcended into incandescence. "You can sit down! It doesn't honour his memory, does it? When you go jumpin' up and down on the clubfoot, he spent an hour stitchin'! It does our morale fuck all good if one of us has to do it again with you shriekin' and wailin' like a fuckin' girl giving birth to twins. Big-headed fuck-ugly quim-lickin' twins at that—"
Goddamnit, Harcux—" Grimm snarled, colouring an ominous shade of purple as he struggled to free himself from the tangle of legs.
"Sit, or, I'll, make you." The seaman's tone was flat, clipped, precise. No threat, just implacability. Harcux closed, blocking the light.
Dagmar cleared his throat, but Grimm ignored him, looked instead to Van Reiver. At the navigator's nod, Grimm thudded down, his expression twisting as he refused to look at anyone. Dagmar blew a tense breath out, secretly glad no-one else interfered with the angry man's self-recrimination.
"Now you look like he did, five minutes ago," said Merizus, jabbing a thumb at the second mate, "Tetchy today, aren't we, missing yer din dins?" The big marine punched him on the arm.
"Now this is not the way to behave in front of a young lady." Dagmar chided, picking up on the attempted humour and forcing the peevish, foppish tone he'd perfected to annoy Van Reiver. "Between his swearing and your cussing, we'll develop a reputation as uncouth apes. Fopdoodling donkey-lickers all!"
Van Reiver looked at Grimm and rolled his eyes. Dagmar saw the cox'n resisting the urge to swear. It was inhumanly difficult not to let rip, and a few oaths slipped out to Dagmar's bitter amusement. Grimm caught Carla staring at him and rested his chin on the upper strake to find a convenient piece of horizon to glower at. Dagmar smiled, he could imagine him wondering what the fuckin' fuck was a fopdoodle? He ignored Grimm and turned to Van Reiver.
"Well, oh esteemed foul-mouthed leader, what should we do? Keep him, or put him over to feed the amber's denizens?" Dagmar queried deadpan.
Van Reiver considered Dagmar. The crew studied him with wicked amusement, struggling with whom the sunjammer referred to as he felt his smile fade..
"Take his coat and put him over with respect. We will toast Robsin when it's calmer." Dagmar frowned, closing his mouth with a click as the bemused expressions faded. "Gabriel, do the coat, please." Van Reiver said. Dagmar gave him a long look and bobbed his head in understanding before bending to the macabre undertaking. Don't make fun of dead people in shitty circumstances, he thought, prying the soggy woollen coat away.
"Why the coat, Edouard?" Dagmar heard Carla ask. She was looking outboard and Dagmar wished he could. The old man seemed tiny between his hands. Slumped back, Robsin seemed asleep, with his thick grey hair tossed playfully around by the light breeze.
"It is something we can use for the wounded. It's macabre, but if you do all you can to save yourselves, you have a chance."
"Is that something from the college my father mentioned?"
"It is. It may seem like tempting the fates, but our West Spires Navy likes us to have an idea how to survive if set adrift. Most you forget in a week, but what sticks is common sense. Why didn't you tell us everything when we brought you aboard? You knew we were a Spires warship as our standards and ship's name are visible?"
"He instructed me not to. I'm sorry—I mean it. He was unhappy enough I used my letter and spoke to you, then Captain Bullsen," She apologised. "His journey outside the usual diplomatic channels. I don't always accompany him on his foreign travels. However, with his deteriorating health, I had little choice, and it was all arranged at short notice.
"The prince should send someone else, but my father thinks he is being clever to hide his illness from the prince. It is a mistake. Both the prince and his son are always keen to utilise his dependableness—if that is a word. If my father remained unconscious, and had they not attacked you, I would have had a further conversation with Captain Bullsen. He knew who we were, but nothing else."
It now made sense to Dagmar as he concentrated more on listening than the coat. Funny or tragic? He could well imagine Van Reiver resisting the urge to cackle at how everything worked out—a comedy worse than a cheap show at a rowdy tavern. It explained some of the mystery to what he had guessed. Had the proximity inspired his dream? Should he ask on that? He stood up with the coat, but looking at the damp cloth in a miserable drizzle, he decided not to. What would be the point when they couldn't do anything?
"I'm not enjoying the trip. Adventuring is not heroic, as it seems in sagas. The hours of hunger, discomfort, toileting and sleeplessness when at the mercy of the ocean in an open boat. My father spoke to Dagmar, and that has been the longest he has been awake for days. I'm now released from his instruction." Not knowing what else to say, she shrugged, although it was more of a twitch of her shoulders.
Dagmar could see why she'd remained quiet and appreciated her reasoning. The sunjammer guessed his friend still thought he'd been correct all along. Were they clever replies—something to distract? What a distraction and what a time to second guess matters. Shit! Dagmar handed Robsin's coat to Carla, and with helping hands it took only a moment to place the old man into his watery grave. With a last look astern, Dagmar retreated under the dome. Hearing Carla clear her throat, Dagmar leaned out of his dome and listened.
"He is an important man, with a critical mission. With what had happened to us, his request was not unreasonable." Carla broke the uncomfortable silence.
"Do you know what his mission was? I'm curious, that's all."
"I know who he was to see and where, but I'm not privy to the content." She held Van Reiver's eyes. "They did not trust me for that—a future baroness—not a baron with a portfolio. Do you believe me, now?" Dagmar saw her eyes narrowed as her mouth hardened to match her tone. That was interesting. That question rankled with her and could be useful to consider later on. If there was a later on, Dagmar pondered.
"I do. I have to ask, your ladyship. What was the earlier disturbance?"
Carla sighed,
clenched her teeth and sighed again, before looking at him with burning eyes. "Your idiot quartermaster lost my father's case. The thing that has cost the lives of two ships crews—for a wig. His damn wig! I apologise for becoming angry, I just wish your men had left him in the pantry we found him hiding in for what he has cost our prince."
"And you doomed another ship for the games of nobles." Hadly sneered. Van Reiver turned and saw the man glaring, face twisted in utter loathing and dark fury.
Dagmar cleared his throat, when to everyone's surprise, Hadly snatched up their solitary ankhbow and pointed it straight at his chest.
"Get in here and cut them adrift," the quartermaster hissed. Men moved, but the man's tone stopped everyone. "If anyone pulls steel or looks like being clever, I will shoot. Get in here, Magus. Now!"
Dagmar did not like the expression in those cold grey eyes and unable to concentrate on a spell with the surge of anger and fear rushing through his ravaged head, he used his best weapon and his mouth spoke a solitary word. "No."
"What?" Hadly shrieked. Many a man sucked in a breath and held it as the quartermaster waved the weapon, knuckles whitening on the trigger.
"I said no, you deaf, gutless, cunt-faced afterbirth excuse for a human."
Time froze as Hadly's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish as men sniggered, then he glanced sideways to Carilon and Valant. "Get him aboard."
Valant blinked, paused and passed Carilon a blade from his belt. His expression flickered with a moment of unhappiness, before lifting a rusty cutlass and pointed at the lashings. Damn, Dagmar never knew they had all the steel and never considered checking. He gulped, struggling again to conjure the spell from earlier.
"Don't." Hadly hissed and jerked the crossbow to the extent of his reach, with the bolt not shifting aim.
Dagmar looked to Van Reiver and his friend shook his head and bent forward, coughing. Valant stood and stepped between frozen men and pointed with his cutlass to where Dagmar should move to. The sunjammer slumped his shoulder, as Van Reiver sat back with a click and a tight cough. Then he whistled.
Every eye turned as the second mate pointed a steel tube with a vicious barbed quarrel at Hadly's head from five feet away.
"Put the safety lever on and slowly lower the weapon." Van Reiver stated, expression unreadable.
"You're blu—" Hadly began, when Van Reiver thumbed his tiny safety lever off with a second metallic click, stilling the sneer.
Valant froze, face uncertain. Then the men surged as though released. Harcux pulled Valant's free arm and snatched the sword as Grimm surged up to deliver a thunderous punch to the deckhand’s head. Paska snatched the bolt from the ankhbow as the boats rocked and Cephill ploughed from the tiller into Carilon and Hadly, flattening everyone into a twitching mound. Rufus rose, clever in hand, eyes darting and wild, as Carla bounded up, dagger ready to defend her father. Cephill levered himself up, dragging Hadly with him in a headlock. The seaman glanced at the angry, flushed face, and crunched it into the nearest thwart. Holding him in a crushing headlock, Cephill dragged the quartermaster aft while tugging his own blade free.
Dagmar found his rage, unearthed it from the pain and ripped it open. He stepped forward, kicking a leg out of the way, and raised his hand. The static crackle of energies stopped everyone dead and drew every eye.
"Put the fucking cutlery down, get the grub ready and sit Hadly at the back." Dagmar hissed, feeling his face flush with fury and incredulity. "Any fucks speak to him, or think of doing anything this stupid ever again, I will turn into bloody mist." Dagmar drew in a breath as no-one moved and vented it. "Now!"
It was the stupidest, most pitiful mutiny Dagmar could comprehend, and barely so at that. In the space of two minutes it was as though it had never occurred other than a gap around Cephill, and Hadly and Valant dribbling blood. Several men in both boats exchanged fresh bruise comparisons as they resumed conversations. Dagmar glanced astern again and saw Carla return Van Reiver's smile. This time a genuine one illuminated her face. "I think your funny friend Dagmar knows more. Perhaps my father discussed eventualities. It would be like him to consider eventualities upon plans and further possibilities. You should speak with him as he refused to break a confidence." She frowned, crinkling her nose. "Is his name really Gabriel?" She did not sound impressed. "He doesn't look like one, and it's not very 'magusy'."
The sunjammer glared over his shoulder as he calmed himself and saw Van Reiver nod as though Dagmar wasn't mere feet away with a colossal headache. Bastard.
"He loathes it. I use it when he becomes nonsensical and needs scuttling. I never understood the whole personal name and surname thing, and he seldom uses the former. One name and rude words are enough for anyone. His family expected he would follow his father to court, but he chose a more unexpected vocation."
Carla smiled impishly, as though brokering a truce. "Maybe I should call him by it, too?" Van Reiver grinned back. Still offended, Dagmar resisted a retort, as it wasn't a bad way for Van Reiver to take his mind off his shoulder. It wasn't amusing that they bonded by insulting him, yet Dagmar knew how injuries muddle thoughts. That included him and he checked the crystal before resting his head against the chill glass and attempted to numb the pounding gripping his skull as the sound of his blood rushing around his skull all but deafened him. Gods, if he cast another spell it could kill him—what use was a mage that couldn't do magic?
"How are we for water?" Van Reiver asked Dagmar when the sunjammer stumbled aft. Dagmar munched voraciously on his food and handed Carla one of the few wooden plates with her meagre meal. Soon she would be one of the healthier survivors, despite her recent rescue. Both men observed Rufus' generosity and agreed with the cook's initiative. Tighter belts for everyone soon, especially Grimm, with his crude attempts to bait Rufus to life.
"Fine. I had Onvice sort it first. We've finished one barrel and have a couple left. We may go short for a day if we have two powders curing together and it's scorching, but I think we're okay. Food is the issue, and we're being careful with what we have."
"Sounds very fine. Well done. A cracking idea getting a sail up."
"It isn't something I can take credit for," Dagmar dismissed, glancing back at the glowing stone on the mounting unconsciously. It called to him, an unbreakable link that forced him to rub his temples.
"No, but you could have made some daft choices if you didn't let people get on with their jobs."
"What good would that do? We both know I'm no sailor. They do too." Dagmar looked up and shrugged, eyes elsewhere, somewhere deep inside himself. Dark, brooding and silent, it differed from his usual ebullience and mockery.
"Dunce." Van Reiver glared in mock ferocity, trying to lighten his friends' mood, and failed. "I was trying to compliment you. I'm proud of what you've done, keeping us going with what happened last night. You helped the others and performed impeccably. I'm not calling that scratch an injury, though." He inclined his head at Dagmar's face.
Dagmar disagreed. "Hah. Ha-ha, ha. Shithead. Behold, oh master of the great fleet." The sunjammer waved his arm around and returned to his eating. He looked up and gave Van Reiver a quizzical, almost vexed look.
"What?" Van Reiver stared in suspicion.
"Next time, don't make yourself a giant target. Then I don't have to do this sailor stuff. I don't have a clue and it's stressful!"
Van Reiver grinned, seeming to resist laughing thanks to his shoulder. He flicked his eyes to Carla. "Very droll. What's the story there? Buddying up to senior nobility, are we, Squire?"
"Yeah, right. He was ill before someone attacked them the first time." Dagmar saw Van Reiver's surprise. "A sick man like him shouldn't travel. However, that's their problem. Our problem is the dispatches he carries are for someone in authority. I presume his mission is peripheral to Tryphon's, as he's one of our prince's senior advisers. So, mind yourself. I mentioned our survival would come first, and I glared while griping about their covertness."
Van Reiver raise
d his eyes, ignoring the drizzle. "What else can we have go wrong? It was supposed to be a fast patrol, before becoming the command ship for the blockade!"
"Steady, don't tempt providence. We're still missing a priest, and there's plenty of time, I hope. The lads reckon that dropped us into the old witch's cauldron, rather than random misfortune and Gerad running us into a fog bank with whatever he was doing in the cupola." Dagmar frowned, "Or should that be the other way around? I'm still puzzled by it. What about them?" Dagmar nodded past Van Reiver to the sullen quartermaster and blanked his face at the lie. That conversation could wait.
"We'll take him back for trial. Maybe I should have fired, but he could have hit you. I'm not sure I have the stomach to executing him and that rabble-rouser, Valant, in cold blood, It isn't like we can hang the buggers as the latter would break the bloody mast. The young fly-swallower is easily led, and we need his muscle. I can live with making use of him. I'll move a few people around and make sure no supplies are nearby: Between mutiny, cowardice, theft and spreading discontent, the careers of the others are over. Cephill should have reported his suspicions earlier, rather than allowing it to get to this."
"True, but injured folks have been busy and tired. No actual harm done, and what is one more fuckup we bimble through?"
"Aye, I know, but it's the next one that worries me as people die. We command, right, Dag? No more debate."
"Right." Dagmar clapped Van Reiver on the uninjured shoulder before rising to check on the men and move the unreliable away from anything dangerous. Ha, would that include himself?
24
"Shit!" Van Reiver uttered for the third time, glaring at the chart Jenkans and Lukas were pinning for him hours later. The pencilled 'X' he'd marked on the damp parchment seemed indifferent to his glower. It stared back, unmoved by curses. A compass rose of indifference. The winds rose around them to tease and tug the corners of the sail while jostling the boats to the discomfort to all aboard. "How the fuck's that happened?"
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 21
