“Your word?” asked Pun’kin, who was often about five seconds behind the conversation.
Curtis rolled his eyes. It was a rare opportunity for him to know something someone else didn’t. “He promised, Pun’kin. He swore in. So did you.”
“Oh, right,” Pun’kin said, nodding happily. Garret surmised Pun’kin had forgotten that he’d sworn in. Pun’kin wasn’t dumb, he was just carefree. Garret envied him most times. Although not always, like the last day on the training ship when Pun’kin had forgotten which pipe was which under the head and had consequently gotten sprayed with poop juice.
Garret shoveled the sausage and eggs down his hatch. They piled up, warm and heavy in his stomach. The drink was coffee that morning, but Garret had water, and he drank as little as he could to make more room for food.
“Hey, hey!” Fishy had turned in his seat and was yelling at a distant table. At the table sat a lone sailor. He was slumped like a tuckered-out sled dog. His entire crew had left him. The guy didn’t respond to Fishy’s yells, so Fishy turned to a whippet-thin guy at a closer table. “Hey Harry, what’s that guy’s name?” He pointed at the solitary guy at the distant table.
Garret was sitting at the end of their table, so one of the mess stewards decided to start with him. “Apricots?” the steward said, dipping a ladle into his vat of stewed fruit. A sweet and tangy aroma arose from them.
“Load me up,” Garret said, pushing his bowl closer. While the steward was scooping, Garret grabbed another piece of bread and buttered it as thickly as if he was icing a cake. The steward left, and Garret dug into the apricots, shoveling the explosively sweet and tart fruit into his mouth.
“I wonder how they can afford to feed us this much?” he asked Theo, who was sitting across from him, and beside Fishy.
Theo shrugged and smiled.
Fishy was still trying to find someone who knew the loner’s name, but he took a moment to return to the earlier conversation. “I heard about a seaman who tried to jump ship in Boston last year. The police brought him back.”
“What did he do?” asked Curtis, who was motioning the steward to give him another scoop, even though his bowl was about to spill over.
“He jumped ship,” Fishy replied. Then to a guy at another table, “Do you know that guy’s name?” he asked, pointing to the loner at the far table.
Curtis was still struggling. “No, I mean, why did the police bring him back?”
Fishy squinted at Curtis. “Because he jumped ship.”
“But, I mean, did he break a law or somethun?”
Fishy shook his head. “The police brought him back ‘cause they knew they’d get paid for bringing in a deserter. There are bounty hunters who make a nice purse waiting for us to jump ship so they can haul us back.” He reached and tapped someone else on the back. He pointed at the loner. “What’s his name?”
“I’d like to see ‘em try that with me,” Curtis said, looking down at his biceps.
Fishy rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He stood up, cupped his hands and shouted over the breakfast din, “Hey you! Guy sitting alone!”
Now that everyone on the entire deck was staring at the lonesome kid, he turned large, frightened eyes on Fishy. He was a pale, wispy kid who looked like he might blow away in a strong wind. None the less, he had stayed while his friends left.
Fishy motioned. “You’re not sitting by yourself. Get your stuff and get over here.”
The kid was pale as a ghost and painfully shy. “Oh no, I’m fine,” he said at his empty table.
“Like hell you are,” Curtis bellowed. “Get over here!” Then he added, “Starboard watch!”
Most of the deck took up the chant for a few moments. “Star-board! Star-board! Star-board!”
Curtis meant well, but he was huge. Now too terrified not to obey, the boy collected his food and silverware and scurried towards Garret’s table, though opposite Curtis’s corner. Garret scooted one way and pushed Pun’kin the other, but Fishy had already beat him to it, sliding away from Theo.
“Scoot over Minnow,” Fishy said to his brother, Theo.
Theo’s face fell, but he did as his brother asked and slid away from him.
“I’m Twitch,” Twitch said.
“Sweet Cheeks,” Sweet Cheeks said with a nod.
“And you are?” Twitch added.
“Burl,” said the ghost of a boy as he sat down.
“No, no,” Pun’kin blared. “Your Navy name.” He gestured at the now empty table. “What did they call you?”
Burl shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They left.”
Floyd looked mildly at Fishy. “Guess you’ve got another one.”
“Another what,” Burl asked, eating an apricot so daintily that Garret was afraid the boy was going to extend his pinky finger.
Fishy rolled his eyes. “Great.”
“I’m Pun’kin,” Pun’kin said with a big grin, grabbing Burl’s hand and shaking it hard enough to rattle the boy’s teeth.
“Pun’kin?” Burl asked.
Twitch batted his eyes and mimicked Pun’kin’s drawl. “Cause when he was born he was kinda orange so his Mama said he was…” Everyone at the table chorused, “Cuuuuute as a little pun’kin!”
“I’m Floyd,” said Floyd.
“He’s impossible,” Curtis grumbled.
Floyd chewed speculatively on a sausage and nodded at Burl. “My nickname-defying abilities are legendary.”
“So how much did they get for ‘im?” Pun’kin asked.
Everyone stared at Pun’kin, except Twitch who got it immediately. He rolled his eyes and said to Fishy, “The deserter. How much did the Boston coppers get for him?”
Fishy grinned at Pun’kin. “You wanna know how much you’re worth to the Navy, is that it?”
Twitch frowned at that, but kept eating swiftly and methodically. It was like watching someone perform surgery on breakfast. Sweet Cheeks was a bit more laid back, about eating and pretty much everything else. Pun’kin was eating like he always did, so fast it was a blur. Garret squinted at him, trying again to discern any chewing between the shoveling and swallowing.
“Five dollars?” Pun’kin guessed with his mouth full.
Everyone laughed, including Garret. “The Navy’d pay at least six for you,” Garret said.
Theo raised his hand. “Ten?”
Fishy howled with laughter. “Ten dollars, going once… going twice… sold! One Minnow for ten dollars!”
Theo dropped his eyes.
“Fifty bucks,” Fishy said at last.
There were incredulous mumbles around the table. Garret blinked in surprise.
Pun’kin sputtered, “But… but…”
Curtis stuffed the rest of Floyd’s remaining egg into his own mouth while Floyd wasn’t looking.
Garret thought about that. The Navy paid them twenty dollars a month. Were it not for Garret’s recent artistic blacksmithing contracts, he would have thought twenty dollars to be a princely sum. But considering the Navy paid for all the food he could eat so he could send his money home…
“Fifty dollars,” Pun’kin repeated, scratching his head. “If you could catch one deserter a month and do it all year that’d be… uh… a lotta money.”
“Fifty bucks, the Navy pays to get deserters back,” Fishy said, playing with his food. “The Navy took that fifty outta his ass. That and more. They catch you and haul you back, you wish you’d never been born. Chained up in the brig is the nicest thing that happens.”
A sudden chill went through Garret. The thought came out his mouth before he thought better of it. “I wonder if that’s what’s gonna happen to them? The ones who left. Do you think the captain lied?”
All eyes were on Garret, except Sweet Cheeks who was pursing his lips hard and looking at Twitch. Twitch glared at Garret. “Captain Maxwell is a Navy man. Born and bred.” Twitch pointed his spoon at Garret as if it were a dagger. “Don’t say that again.”
Only then did Garret realize the entire deck had gone quiet around them. Garret had spoken in low tones, so there was no way the hundreds of men could have heard him. They must have quieted for another reason. That was when Garret became aware of someone standing behind him. The rest of the men were turning to look past Garret.
“Captain on deck!” barked the XO, Commander Sharpe.
Everyone began jumping to their feet and snapping to attention. Garret reflexively did the same, but caught his foot on the bench and fell flat on his face trying to turn and snap to attention at the same time. A strong hand grasped his arm. Blue and gold sleeve. An officer. The powerful grip hauled Garret to his feet.
Garret found himself face to face with Captain Maxwell. Even without his gold trim and buttons and his imposing hat, the man would have cut a striking figure. This close, the sheer intensity of his personality was uncomfortable.
Garret thought he was going to wet himself. Oh Jesus. Did he hear what I said about him? Even without the man’s steel-colored eyes on him, Garret would have distinctly remembered the morning’s ultimatum.
Oh my God, he’s going to throw me overboard.
Maxwell gazed at Garret as if sizing him up. “At ease men,” Maxwell said to the deck. In the quiet, the clank and huff of machinery from below became audible, but his voice carried well. His expression was forceful, but not unkind when he said, “Enjoy your breakfast, men, that’s an order.”
Slowly, they all sat, and after a few seconds, conversation resumed, though nowhere near its previous volume. All except Garret, who was still facing the Captain. Behind the Captain stood the XO and a couple of petty officers. They seemed at a loss as to what they were supposed to be doing. Garret understood the feeling.
“Your breakfast is getting cold, sailor,” Maxwell said to him.
“Aye sir. Uh, thank you sir.” Garret turned awkwardly and sat.
Maxwell stepped to the head of Garret’s crew’s table. They all stopped eating, even though he had just told them to continue. Garret’s head was still spinning with the rush that comes from thinking someone is going to drown you, so he had to listen hard when Maxwell started speaking to them. His voice normally carried, but he lowered it now, so that he was speaking to only their table.
“Men, I want all of you to know how proud I am of you.” He looked around the table, and made certain to look at Garret when he said, “All of you. You’re stern stuff.”
Relief flooded Garret. It was followed immediately by an almost painful rush of gratitude. He did hear me. And he’s not mad. Not many people, at least not many people older than Garret, had treated him that way before. It made him feel small as a mouse and big as a mountain at the same time.
He reminds me of Mr. Fix. Which was ridiculous. Mr. Fix was loud and happy. Captain Maxwell didn’t look like he’d ever smiled.
Maxwell looked as though he had more to say, but seemed to change his mind when he looked around the table, “I notice there is one more man at this table than its normal complement.”
Garret didn’t know what “normal complement” was, but everyone got what he meant. They all froze. The ghostly boy, Burl, looked like he’d died sitting up.
“Who’s out of place?” Maxwell asked.
Burl made a half-shrug as if he was trying to raise his hand, but couldn’t. Then he said, “Me sir.” It was barely audible.
“Where is your assigned mess table, seaman?”
The boy, who was now whiter than his uniform, pointed back at his empty table.
“It’s my fault, sir,” Fishy said haltingly. “I told him to come over and sit with us because he was by himself.”
Curtis, Garret noted, did not volunteer his involvement.
“I wonder,” the Captain said to Fishy, “why no one beat you to it.” He walked down the side of the table, and patted Fishy solidly on the back on the way past. “Well done sailor.”
Garret could feel the bewilderment radiating from Pun’kin, the volcanic pride welling from Twitch, and Theo’s eternally absorptive gaze. Sweet Cheeks’s expression was guarded. The rest of them were just relieved.
Garret and his buddies didn’t talk much for the rest of breakfast. They just sat together in a companionable silence which had seemingly sprung from nowhere. They ate until they were stuffed, and watched their Captain visit each table on the deck, one at a time, and talk with his men.
W
Garret liked the gunnery officer. Nothing short of perfect performance was going to satisfy the man, that much was clear, also his hands were big enough to choke the life out of all nine of their necks at once, but beneath his bushy beard (which he was not supposed to have) he had a kind face and a cavernous, robust laugh that made Garret want to work hard to please him. But right now Garret was working hard just to keep from smiling. He and Twitch were standing at attention inside the citadel. The rest of their gun crew were loitering around the gun a few feet behind them.
The Russian bear raised a bushy black eyebrow at Twitch. “So you’re the only gunner’s mate here, aye?”
“Aye sir,” Twitch replied. “Well, the only one on our gun. There are three more of us down the starboard side.”
“So I’ve noticed,” said the bear. Garret detected sarcasm. The gunnery officer made a noise deep in his chest like locomotive clearing its throat. “Most of them tell me you help them out. Some of them tell me you horned into their business.”
“Aye sir,” Twitch said openly. “When I saw powder going into a gun before a shell, I stuck my big horn right in the middle of their business. No disrespect, sir.”
The Russian crossed his arms, making even Curtis look small when he did it. He was almost smiling when he said, “Know it all, do you?”
“Aye sir. Most of it, anyway.”
“Cheeky bastard, aren’t you?”
“Aye sir,” Twitch said happily. “Cheekiest there is.”
As Garret stood at attention, struggling to keep a straight face, Bert ran down the deck behind the gunnery officer. The cat had a confused, mildly panicked expression on his face as he ran past. He was being chased by a couple of rats.
Huh, Garret thought. Maybe he sat out in the rain too long and his brain shrank when it dried.
The Russian rumbled in his chest again, addressing Twitch. “So how does a cheeky bastard who knows most of it end up back on a training ship with a bunch of seamen recruits?”
There were snickers behind them.
“Well sir,” Twitch said sincerely. “I got caught with my britches down.”
The snickers turned into smothered laughter.
“In what way, Gunner’s mate?”
Twitch was grinning. “In the literal way, sir. I got caught behind a bar with a girl and no clothes when I was supposed to be on duty. I didn’t know.”
“Gunner’s mate,” the bear rumbled, “how on earth could you not know that you were supposed to be on duty?”
Twitch was still grinning. “Well sir, when she took her shirt off, I kinda forgot about everything else.”
As Garret listened to Twitch, a strange realization crept on him. Twitch is lying. Twitch would never miss duty. The world would grow old and crumble, the oceans would dry up and leave all the ships stuck in the mud, but Twitch would report for duty on time.
“Well you have a job now, gunner’s mate Big Horn,” rumbled the Russian. “Train your friends how to operate this gun. I’m making you the gun captain. Assign positions. Drill them until they can’t stand up. I and my subordinates will help you as we can, but it’s your responsibility if they succeed, and yours if they fail. This is your crew now. Make the Navy proud of you.”
Garret didn’t know whether the Navy would be proud or not, but judging by the look on Twitch’s face, he was going to drill them long past the point of not being able to stand.
Garret tried to think back to bootcamp, to the first time they’d seen Twitch’s gunner’s mate patch. Twitch had ro
lled his eyes and given some sort of excuse about being promoted early because his father was in the Navy. He’d said it was embarrassing and he didn’t feel like he’d earned it. Within a couple hours, they’d decided he wasn’t stuck up and accepted him.
Whatever the truth had been, Twitch would rather risk getting caught lying to an officer than reveal why he’d been sent back to training, somehow without getting demoted. Or hell, for all Garret knew maybe Twitch had been demoted.
The Russian bear began to walk away, but turned back. “Get started. This is now part of your morning duties. And keep your clothes on this time, aye?”
The crew laughed.
“Aye sir,” Twitch said. “None of them are pretty enough for that.”
One thing Garret knew for sure, he’d never ask Twitch about the truth. No one else would either. In the Navy, your past was your past, and everyone was better off if it was left that way.
Without even clearing his throat as preamble, Twitch spun to face them, walked to the gun and patted it lovingly.
“This is our gun,” he said. “You may make love to her only when I’m not here.”
Mischievous smiles all around.
“What does that do?” Pun’kin asked, pointing to a pair of random tube-like apparatus running parallel to the side of the gun.
“Those are recoil cylinders,” Twitch said. “This gun weighs three and a half tons, and when we fire her, she’s going to recoil three feet at about three thousand feet per second. If you’re standing behind her, you won’t do much more than paint the deck. Those two cylinders help to dampen it. They’re full of a mixture of water and glycerin. Sweet Cheeks and I will show you how to change it later. For now, first things first. What are we going to name her?”
They looked at each other. Before anyone could suggest anything reasonable, Pun’kin yelled out, “Beulah May!”
There were sighs.
“Does that have a hyphen?” Floyd asked.
“Sounds like a three hundred pound chippie,” Sweet Cheeks put in flatly.
“Hey,” Pun’kin yelled. “Beulah May was my grandma’s name!”
Ironclad Page 10
