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"Frozen Again: 'Love Never Ends"
Act VI
Chapter 12
"A Pirate's Life for Me"
5 AM, just before daybreak on the Arabian Sea…
… In dreams you know the place so well…
This patch of ocean voyage had become known as the 'Spice Route,' for obvious reasons—ever since the seventh century traders had traversed it. Records of this area's sea traffic stretched into first century Roman Empire connections and even further back into the Ptolemaic dynasty.
Amidst the whirring sound near the boom cradle lower deck of the ship's steam-powered engine, Hans had to shake himself awake. He had been experiencing strange hallucinations of murmurings nearly every early morning since they had been at sea. But this morning they were intense and ceaseless whispers in his ear, as if issuing some kind of urgent warning.
Prince Hans Westergaard was surprised at himself. He usually never felt more comfortable anywhere than he did on board ship when it was most far-flung on endless oceans. It was out here, far past the horizon, far away from the angry derision and spiteful disdain of his family—who, even back in those lonely, dark days practically disowned him in the Southern Isles—on the deck of many fine naval crafts in his past, where a young Hans found he excelled at each task.
His discarded soul had longed to find a place to belong all his worthless life. So, in the Søværnet Navy, Hans Westergaard applied himself dutifully to his maritime endeavors, where he survived his state of being a virtual outcast, and was accepted as a commendable sailor and comrade.
There has, for centuries, been some hidden fascination for men about being able to sail far beyond one's cares or troubles, where painful memories were left at home, which every sailor found alluring. The boy who had become a Navy 'man' at just the age of twelve, was no different in his yearning to be free, and forge his own life's destiny—wherever and however it took him.
But that solitary life had been transformed by the love of an extraordinary woman who showed to him the forgiving love of Christ, and miraculously gave the misguided prince a true place in her heart to belong.
"Are you already awake, man? It's too early! I thought traveling by sea was supposed to be a soothing, calming, lazy sort of affair, mon ami. But between those swells and those wild waves and the inebriated captain of this vessel - who seems to purposely make us hit every one of those breakers, mind you – I think I preferred riding alongside the tigers on the Bangalore roadway myself." Suffering from more than a touch of mala de mer ('seasick'), Prince Ferdinand of Orleans complains of the bracing weather conditions racing across the turbulent Arabian Sea. The harsh winds thrashed and intensified as the days wore on with the small steamer named the 'Hugh Lindsay' while they crossed from the Indian Ocean to the Arabian sea from Bombay Port.
The steam packet was built for quick travel of the East India Company's mail route, cutting the time of a large ship not able to traverse some of the small waterways yet to come by less than half, through the Middle Eastern section instead of going around Cape Horn.
It didn't take much of Hans' natural charm (or was it Colonel Egalité's under the table offer of hard cash?) for the half drunk commander of the vessel to agree to accommodate the two young royals who claimed to merely be commoner students of art on a southeastern exploration and simply wanted to return home to see their ailing parents for Christmas.
Hans did not like telling the fib to the ship's Captain, but an overbearing Ferdinand insisted, believing it better for the pair to travel incognito for less questions and the least chance of being targeted for robbery.
Taken in by the pair of winsome charmers' embellished deception, the old British captain of the 'Hugh Lindsay' agreed to allow them on board his Royal Mail steam packet service between Bombay and Alexandria.
The accommodations may not have been the most luxurious on board a small steamship designed for speed and content capacity for delivering mail more than comfort. Ferdinand and Hans were unceremoniously squeezed into a tiny cabin where big bags of envelope letters and packages the mail ship had picked up from Bombay from the British soldiers at the base were stored.
The two small hammock bunks that the few sailors on board had begrudgingly provided made for a discomfited bumpy ride on these past few days for the tall and lanky princes. Particularly the rather peevishly demanding Frenchman who was more tailored to traveling the seas in the high life of ease.
"How can you just sit there happily scribbling in your little notebook when the entire hazy world is roiling around us, Westergaard?" Pausing in his moaning, Prince Ferdinand lifts the wet cloth from his forehead over his eyes to peek out at his more productive roommate.
Hans was sitting up on his bunk studiously evaluating the laid open maps and papers all surrounding him on the bed.
"I am plotting the distance of our course versus the allotment of time frame remaining for our itinerary, particularly in lieu of the real-time measurements of how long it has taken us to get here along reasonable nautical miles. And then, once we arrive past the Gulf of Aden and are inland of the Red Sea in Egypt, I wish to calculate how many miles of the Mediterranean it will take before we make landfall in Malta." Hans answers without lifting his head. Nor does he put down his mapping pencil and protractor from where he was still assiduously working on the logistics of their journey to bide his time.
"More damnable water! It is a shame the great inventors did not conceive some sort of air travel possible so man does not have to endure rough choppy seas." The bilious French Prince give Hans a condescending bored smirk beneath his well trimmed moustache as the other young man in the room seemed to be enjoying plotting with a nautical map and compass and all those dull cartography tools employed at his fingertips.
"Must you constantly wear that Vise Admiral uniform, even when you do not have it on, mon frère (my brother)? He may not believe me how dreadfully dutiful and mind numbingly dull you have been on this journey thus far." The French Prince grumbles and mocks Hans' industriousness with the ridicule.
"Who will not believe your report of my character?" Hans asks suspiciously, cocking his head at Ferdinand. Hans had been primarily preoccupied with heretofore drawing up the most expedient route of the waterways once they had traversed the Arabian Sea where he had already taken into account the wind propellant to wave oscillation ratio.
"It's too suffocating in here to even speak civilly any more. Look at me! I'm stripped down to my extremely comely underwear, as you have the pleasure of purviewing." Nimbly changing the subject, Ferdinand slaps the wet cloth back over his exasperated eyes at being reduced to such humiliation of wearing his longtailed sleeveless undershirt and linen drawers with laces at the waist to tie around his tight body. He then drops his head back to his, by no means, fluffy enough pillow that felt as flat as his unamused head.
"Do forgive my foul mood, but I tire of languishing here all day, Hans. But what else is there to do on board this humdrum, always whirring, sputtering vessel? It is a shame there are no women aboard this drab postal craft—it's so befitting the stuck-up British." The Frenchman, who had a natural prejudice against the English, mais oui (but, yes), was going a bit stir crazy in the noisy steamship that was decidedly not designed for passenger travel.
Ferdinand Egalité was the kind of man who longed for freedom and liberty – not being cooped up and crammed inside anywhere for an extended period of time. So he was indeed in a foul mood due to his seasickness for the past two days, ever since they had begun to cross the Indian Ocean that merged into the Arabian Sea.
"Egalité. There are many other activities far more worthy than merely amusing oneself by mingling with the opposite sex." Hans corrects his cabin mate with a raised brow as he puts aside his pen and paper, and maps of the area wherewith he was transcribing the distance estimates. The slim man places all his cartography tools on the small end table he had erected from an overturned bucket where many mailbags were propped up on the side to keep it from pushing over when the waves insisted.
"Hmmm… Cannot think of any at the moment." So utterly French, the roguish adventurer speaks flippantly as he tosses his arms above his handsome head and speaks with an experienced flourish that just itched to get under Hans' moral fibers.
"You are incorrigible, considering." Recalling what he learned of Ferdinand Égalité's betrothed, soon-to-be-marital status, Hans throws the words over his shoulder as he gathered himself up from his hammock.
"Considering what, mon ami? Where is it you are going?" Ferdinand's inquisitiveness outweighs his indignance at being called out while he watches his curious companion peruse through the satchel at his hammock side for one of those ingenious bars of soap made from lye and flower extracts rather than just the normal perfumed fat and lard that the naval commander had keenly acquired when they traded with an Asian peddler back in Bombay.
"I require a proper shave. I have been only giving it only a lick and a promise these past few days and am losing the battle with my stubble. There is neither water nor space in this tiny room to do so adequately, so I am going above deck." The redheaded Prince, who could be a bit of a dandy from time to time, brushes a hand lightly over his cheek and chin where stubble was starting to sprout quite unsatisfactorily for the rather finicky Prince's well manicured tastes.
"Oh, you and those heavenly sideburns! I have no idea why some men are so particular about their facial hair. Vain creatures." Prince Ferdinand says in partial self-mockery as he strokes his own thickening moustache and beard with a winsome simper on his regal face.
"It's not vanity! It's just that it will be far too difficult to retrieve this level of perfection if I do not get some semblance of grooming. I have rarely neglected it for this length of time, primarily due to these cramped living conditions. That's all." Knowing his secret fetish could be equated with a peccadillo against the virtue called humility; Hans admits his habitual frailty with a cute pouty expression. He assesses his pretty boy face down his long celestial nose with the thoughtful forefinger and thumb pinching his pointy, albeit stubbly, chin.
"Now who's the one being incorrigible? But I'm sure your lovely lady would no doubt appreciate the end result. So off you go, you hopeless romantic. I must confess, I would rather sleep than primp for my invisible la Belle (Beauty)." Ferdinand ribs, teases and announces his intention to go back to sleep in one sentence as he clamps the moist towel back over his droll eyes. He groans as he turns over on his stomach that was starting to wrench again with the sudden instability of the small light craft on the thrashing waves this early predawn morning.
"Then I'll leave you to it, my friend, whilst I go and 'primp' as you so wittily put it, for my darling Elsa's inclination. She has already stated that she prefers me without a moustache, so I will assume that extends to untidy stubble, hence I must accommodate her even when she is not present." Pulling off his shirt so as not to get one of his few articles of clothing wet while he shaved, Hans gets the last word as he leaves the cramped mailroom with his new single bar of natural Asian soap, his sharpened razor knife, a washcloth, and the small mirror he never left home without.
Now all he had to do was go up on deck to the head, and draw a bucket of fresh seawater to shave his red stubbly chin and trim his sideburns by.
It's the least I can do, keeping myself prepared and proper for your approval, min elsking (my love). Hans smiles to the shimmery ice pendant miniature resting against his manly bare chest that the usual proper gentlemanly over well-dressed man was growing more accustomed to.
As he peeks out the door into the empty lower deck and begins to climb up the wooden stairs, at the last minute, an embarrassed Prince pulls the light shirt he was carrying over his chest.
Taking his role as Kommander of his own ship quite seriously, Hans was still not normalized with walking around the decks half nude, not wearing any covering as he goes up into the public topside.
But, as he was not divulging he was the Vise Admiral of the Sjoforsvaret, even though they were incognito, he needn't keep up with appearances.
As Vise Admiral of the Sjoforsvaret I must be civilly attired when viewed by others, in respect to my rank under Admiral Bernadotte and Queen Elsa, whom I represent.
So even though he was only going to fetch some seawater to perform his morning ablutions on this steamship packet's deck, as a royal representative of two kingdoms, Prince Hans Westergaard would be presentable. Even if his audience was just five rough and tumble sailors in the East India company on this slapdash ship they had hitched a ride upon.
"I wake in the loneliness of sunrise, when the deep purple heaven turns blue. And start to pray, as I pray each day that I'll hear some word from you." Hans begins to sing a soft song to God's miracle of the dawning sky as he emerges from below deck into the teetering moments between darkness and light.
But the sight that greeted his lovesick eyes as he adjusts to daylight takes all his other thoughts away, his golden voice catching in his throat.
The British steam packet named the 'Hugh Lindsay' was not the only ship in these Arabian waters. There was another larger vessel that had, in the Captain's drunken stupor and the crew's inattention, been waiting near the shoals of the island archipelago of Socotra where the Lakshadsweep Sea joined the Arabian. The dense plant and mountainous treeline of the archipelago covered the ring-shaped eroded volcano atoll that encircled the lagoon. It was the perfect disguise for the outlying ship until it was too close upon the island chain for the surprised steam packet to react and move farther out to sea.
In the air stifled cargo hold down below where Prince Ferdinand had been loudly snoring for most of the morning, Hans was not able to hear of any of the scuffle taking place up on the quarterdeck. The raiders – who preferred to be called 'privateers' in this 19th century era – had been lying in wait for the small steamship to slow rudder as it puffed around the colorful island's reef.
The captain of this Chinese junk, one Tauku Abas, was the infamous high-class brother of the Rajah of Achim who was alleged to surreptitiously sponsor his little brother's penchant for plundering ships and smuggling stolen goods into the black markets in Asia.
As a Navy man and former slave on a pirate ship himself, Hans had heard of such piracy, especially at this vulnerable point in the Gulf of Aden. But rarely had he heard of such a blatant raid attempted in the midst of the Arabian sea, as if the attackers had been alerted of their itinerary and were waiting for the Hugh Lindsay to come around the island bend as the ship was pulled in by its undertow currents.
Hans peers through the deck hatch from where he had fallen back to the lower stairs to see a considerable sized Asian man stalking freely across the deck. He was wearing that colorful feather trimmed pirate's hat that the most infamous brigand of this region had become known and feared for.
I've heard of this Asian marauder before. He is said to have more audacity than even you, Captain Houtebeen.
This all passes through Hans' swift mind in the flash of a second as he stealthily slinks his sleek frame above deck and into the faded darkness behind its secondary mast without being spotted. There were seven men armed with guns and swords and clubs who had stormed the steam packet with the intention of hijacking the valuable mail of the British Empire.
These savvy pirates invaded from their larger ship and intercepted the 'Hugh Lindsay' into backing into a corner of the connected islands' shoals. The men of all ages, shapes, sizes and races, used several flying gaffes launched from their ship's forecastle to attach themselves to the slowed steam packet and climbed down to its deck using the rat lines.
The vicious mercenaries silently overwhelmed the small steamer crew and had slit the throat of the helmsman who had collaborated with the pirates in the kind of rotten doublecross that was part and parcel for the course.
In the eerie predawn darkness, Hans makes a mental count in an estimation of each of the pirates taking over the ship and the location of the six tied up or knocked unconscious crewmen left on the deck of the 'Hugh Lindsay.'
The young man of action hunkers down behind some of the captain's finest rum barrels fresh from Bombay's storehouses to assess the situation.
At least I have the element of surprise on my side since those privateers appear contented that the crew have been neatly subjugated.
The crew of the British packet he had been traveling on with Prince Ferdinand had kept their mouths shut – or perhaps they had forgotten – about traveling 'art students' Hans and Ferdinand's presence on board the ship. But either way, it would work in Hans' favor.
"Take control of the steering helm and bring us to the deserted island where we'll hold the ship's British Captain for ransom. Feel free to kill the crew rabble before they give you any trouble and plunder whatever loot takes your fancy, boys. Grab the most valuable parcels and imperative governmental missives on board the ship, while I see if it's even worthy of claiming this old heap for scrap, British garbage." The dark Malaysian man says with dark intent to his fellow pirates.
The merciless upper-class prince turned privateer made it a point to never show mercy to his victims, if just to keep up the reputation as the fiercest scourge of the Southeastern Seas.
But the Danish naval officer, though he spoke no Malaysian whatsoever, could read the body language of the aggressors who were holding weapons threateningly over the poor tied up crew of the mail packet. They were forced to their knees, about to lose their heads to the sharp scimitars of the pirates.
So, though he had no known backup, little hardware of weapons, and a few seconds of time with even less by way of odds, Hans Westergaard was crazy enough to play the hero once again.
I'm not a hero. Just the man she deserves me to be. The handsome redhead thinks to himself the profound contradiction as the other more instinctive side of his quick clever mind was already in process.
In the last glint of moonlight against the emerging dawn, the nimble footed gain races across the ship deck's strakes. From sail mast to mast like a night shadow, the slim, svelte prince stalks the ship. With his sharp shaving razor in his right hand, his dagger blade extracted from his black leather boot in the other ambidextrous left, Hans moves across the ship unnoticed.
Just as the cruel intimidating pirates were about to summarily execute the crewmen on their knees on the deck, Hans makes his presence known in an alarming warcry scream that was purposely meant to disorient the swordsmen attackers and give the captured crew precious seconds of time to hit the dirt at Hans' motioning command for their incredible rescue.
The expert bladesman slashes his dagger clean across all three of the rope lines that were the only things left holding the center mast up in a perpendicular position –
CCR-EEAA-KK! SW-WII-SSH! WWHOOOSH!
The upper mizzen mast of the steamship's sails are masterfully let loose from their secured tackle clew rings and jib stays and the unfurled canvas is snapped hard in the southeasterly wind the 'Hugh Lindsay' was flying.
The sudden action of the free swinging wooden masts smacks five of the seven pirate swordsmen clear off the ship deck, a great deal of them quite badly injured as they are swept over the railing into the choppy Arabian sea.
But Hans had no time for remorse if he was going to single-handedly save these sailors' lives.
So that leaves just two…
Hans' cold calculating mind had no room for pity right now for the wicked men his precision actions had mowed down into the jaws of an unforgiving sea and all the creatures circling around. After all, it was the ruthless pirates who had stormed the steamer's wheelhouse to have spilt the first blood in the water—the unfortunate helmsman who obviously changed his mind about collaborating with the pillaging miscreants a little too late.
The remaining crewmen were still vulnerable, tied upon the deck with those two villainous survivors yet prowling despite the swinging mast's strike.
So Hans secures his knife between his front teeth as he devil-may-care swings across the loosed jib staysail ropes with a momentum filled leap from the upper forecastle down to the main deck.
The daring young man makes an athletic, strong leg muscle propelled pass to squarely kick the second to last buccaneer off the ship and force him to plunge down from the starboard to bounce harshly against the ship's keel on the way down. But not before smashing back into one of the others who was already treading water trying to scale the rudder and hull back up.
One to go.
By now, Hans Westergaard was getting pretty full of himself for so neatly taking down villain after villain without even yet breaking into a sweat. All for his brilliant mind's planning and his toned body's adept execution.
But Lord Abas, the lead plunderer of his motley gang of South Asian raiders, was of course the one wily enough to duck and sidestep both of this rascally European's deft moves that had eliminated the other six members of his commandeering party.
The smirking lone survivor was as cunning as he was wicked. In a split second, the man makes a grab for the soused English Captain of this targeted mail packet and begins to garrote his own knotted tie around the old Captain's neck in a stranglehold lock.
"I'll say this once: LET. HIM. GO. No more blood will be spilled for the sharks to feed on this daybreak." Hans warns in his most serious tone as he simultaneously draws his long Navy sword now and brazenly shows off his swordsmanship skills of its sharpness by deducting a nearby barrel sitting on the deck by a third of its round cylinder.
The Captain's favorite gin that had been secretively stashed there in place of water explodes all over the deck at the British ship commander's feet.
"Ah, seorang yang bijak. Anda ingatkan kamu boleh menakutkan saya dengan helah pedang lawan, orang asing? (Ah, a wiseguy. You think you can scare me with your fancy fencing sword tricks, foreigner?) You are just one scrawny man? I kill him in most painful way possible if you not put down weapon and surrender this vessel to me now!" The tall Asian member of the a Achin Royal line speaks first in his Malay language and then in a broken not-too-bad-attempt at English as he speculates tall and fair Hans to also be of the expected nationality on board this British craft.
But in a split-second decision of life and death, our reformed Hans finds he was not morally prepared to gamble with another man's life. Looking in the grave Malaysian pirate's black pupilled eyes and seeing real danger there, Hans begins to lower his sword. Much to the wide-eyed Captain's relief and the cruel pirate's poker-faced sneer…
BANGG!
A single gunshot fires from the side area distance of the waist section of the ship—the forceful, unexpected impact of which knocks the leg-penetrated Prince of Achin to stagger back towards the edge of the ship's curved railing.
Hans reacts without missing a beat, lunging forward to solidly punch the dreaded gentlemen pirate of the South Eastern seas with all his might, socking him directly in the pirate's soon to be tooth missing, dislocated jaw.
Then Hans pulls the awestruck British Captain, still deafened by the gun blast so close in his ear, to safety. The unforeseen action reaction of which sends the marauding pirate leader Tauku Abas teetering backwards to join the rest of his marooned crew – or what was left of them – plunging into the dark, predator shark and batoid filled waters below.
"Mon Dieu (my God!), you have made a mess of this deck, Westergaard! Good thing I decided to come up to chew out that inebriated Captain for his inept steering skills. Or you would have been forced to make that decision. Fortunately enough, I made it for you. I have utterly no qualms, nor the limits of your high moral compunction about shooting dead violent ship attackers in an premeditated ambush. But this obese old Captain may have gotten in the path of my bullet the way they were in such close quarters. So, alas, I did not have the opportunity to aim to shoot the legendary Pirate Abas between the eyes to claim the glory, if not the reward, on his ugly head." Blowing the gunsmoke from his pistol that just happened to be at his side - though he was by no means well-dressed enough to be at the top deck - strides across the strakes of the mail packet ship where cut ratlines and clews and loosed sails were drooping all over the chaotic vessel.
As he was speaking, one by one, Colonel Egalité 'unties' the crewmembers with Hans' handy knife that is trustingly tossed across the frenzied deck to him by the relieved Dane—still coming down from the unexpected early morning adrenaline rush.
"Cough cough cough! Now I'm ever so glad to have brought you two artists on board! Artists indeed! What an action team you are! You can be sure there will be a hefty reward when we get to Aden's port, for our capture of that heinous criminal of the high seas! We certainly showed him not to mess with we Westerners!" The pompous ship's Captain, totally sober now, was sure to include himself in this takedown and capture of one of the most wanted men in this part of the world. He chuckles merrily as he stoops down to pick up the broken teeth of the infamous Gentlemen Pirate that this simple art student lad, half the ocean marauder's size, defeated.
"Thank you very much, chaps!" Remembering his manners, after the future monetary reward, at last, the British packet Captain of the East India Company's mail service gratefully chokes out as he rubs a sore neck. Then the ship's Captain starts barking out orders for several of the crewmembers that Egalité and Hans had finished untying to make sure they were unharmed.
"Reattach the sails and secure the lanyards before this prevailing wind throws us off course any further or you'll be deducted wages, ye scalawags!"
A small punt with armed maritime officers soon approaches the ship from where they were stationed on the islands of Socotia. The British governed territory had spotted the pirate ship hanging around the archipelago from its lighthouse and had sent their small pickup craft to collect whoever – or whatever – was left of the wanted gang of pirate attackers that these astonishing heroes on board the unassuming steam packet had knocked into the dark swirling water's drink.
"Anda akan terima padahnya untuk ini! Saya harapkan anda akan reput di neraka, orang asing! (You will pay for this! May you rot in hell, foreigner!)" The Prince of Achim yells out viciously up to Hans with a shaking fist as he is dragged up from the raging sea to the police boat and is quickly bound up by the authorities.
The gentlemen pirate, hunted down with a reward offered by his upstanding cousin, Prince Khalid, would be finally incarcerated after years of escaping authorities without any hard evidence thus far to tie him to any scene of a crime. The careful upper crust man made it a point to never leave witnesses.
"Not the best enemy to have made, mon frère. Let us hope that humiliated Prince of Achim never discovers your identity. Best to get some distance between us, oui?" A strangely wary Ferdinand murmurs to Hans under his breath, as if he was genuinely fearful of that southeastern pirate's threats to Hans.
"Is it possible to get the ship operational again quickly, so we can continue our journey vite (quick!), mon chere Captain? I'm sure my friend here will allow you to claim the reward for the pirate's capture – to pay for any offenses to repair your damaged ship – as we are only interested in getting home to our families as quick as possible. And if we all pull together, there is no doubt we can put the sails up and running by teatime! My good friend Hans here is an expert after many summers doing ship art and carving figureheads at the prow for the Royal Navy." The way Ferdinand plainly stated words, and leaving you feeling indebted to him somehow by the time the smooth-talker was done, made Hans smile at how much the Frenchman reminded him of himself in the way he could put his finger on the pulse of another human being and make them feel important.
"See how beautiful his work is? A Christmas gift for his Norwegian modèle back home. That is, if you can get us there in time." With insinuating eyebrows raising, partial tall tale spinning Egalité boldly sticks his hand inside of a shocked Hans' lightly buttoned shirt to display that sculpture in ice of Queen Elsa to demonstrate for the dubious Brit.
"Exquisite workmanship! You truly are an artiste to have captured the woman's expression of vulnerability to perfection…" Mesmerized by the gleaming statuette depicting Elsa of Arendelle, the thoroughly bedazzled captain, who was about to give them a negative response, suddenly does a 180° to the positive.
"Such a beautiful lady… Think nothing of it, my good fellows! It will be my privilege and honor to try to get you as far and as fast as my ship can take you towards your destination, my young friends! I am indebted to you, to be sure, and I'll do all I can to spare not the coals and square knot the ropes for your benefit, boys! That is, if my crew is with me?" With an arm squeezed around each of their straight, broad shoulders, the Captain of the 'Hugh Lindsay' turns to his crew. The majority of Hindi men, freed of their bondage now, were only too grateful to Hans and were willing to go that extra mile to accommodate his request for the rest of their trip together.
"Yes, after I make a quick report to the authorities here on the island, then we can get back on our way. That is, if you boys could lend your expert help in the sails' refitting. If we can get underway again by this afternoon, I believe we still can arrive at Aden's coaling station at the appropriated time I promised you originally. We've got a full day to get there, so hop to it, gentlemen! There's a gleaming lady at the end of this horizon to please." The old man felt invigorated to get to work rather than take a swig out of the bottle that was always around in his pocket when times got tough. But somehow, that extraordinary young man's lifesaving, heroic actions, all for the benefit and love of a gorgeous young woman he was speeding home to, put the old man in the mood for good will that he had not felt the in a very long time.
"Yes, sir." Hans keeps up the pretense of not holding a maritime rank higher than the small ship's Captain, not only to keep up the guise of being mere poet and art students, but also to not take away the authority of the older man just coming into his own again and maybe making one more attempt to beat the bottle.
"Alright, men! Be it rain or shine – or weasely pirates – the Royal Mail must be delivered! In the name of her Majesty, Queen Victoria!" The gruff older gent cries out in his thick British accent and patriotic fervor that gains Hans' smile at the mention of another powerful young Queen who ruled her nation well.
"It appears you're feeling better yourself, Egalité. Maybe a little rousing of the blood was all you needed to conquer that persistent seasickness plaguing you to bed rest ever since we set sail." With his Elsa's gentle coolness calming his rattled nerves, Hans smirks at his companion's untidy state of dress. Ferdinand was only wearing his sleeveless, square-cut, long linen undershirt and the unattractive, knee-length drawers that those in his high class status usually sported beneath all those fancy jackets and coats and silk ties. The freedom loving Egalité normally refused to wear those unattractive, knee-length drawers but on this journey, it was a necessity.
"Perhaps… But next time the ship starts swaying to and fro, I may not be inclined to come running to your rescue in only my undergarments." Egalité complains of his unsatisfactory appearance in public that his worry for his partner's safety had to overlook, just this once.
"Why? Would your Helena not enjoy seeing you so intimately attired?" Hans challenges his friend as he nods to each of the six Indian crewmen who were smiling and gratefully bowing to him as they laughed along with their brave Sahib's joke on the French man.
"Hmph. Would any woman? I certainly will not be requiring the need of any of these unsightly underclothing to cover my fine physique on our wedding night. Nor every subsequent night thereafter." The humiliated Frenchman boldly implies to the challenge with some risqué imagery of his own. He pokes fun and a finger at Hans' chest now just to get even as he makes an inappropriate stroke along Elsa's ice miniature where it rested against Hans' flexing pecs.
"Well, since it's what lies beneath the garment that counts, I can say with assurance my Elsa would appreciate being with me wearing anything. Or nothing." To come down from his pensive state, Hans throws some healthy male bravado into their private conversation to keep up morale.
"Not if you don't shave for her, she won't." Ferdinand has the last word. The tall Prince of the French affably smiles as he rubs then pats Hans' yet past 5AM shadow that his particular fiancée was said to have some eccentric objection to.
Ferdinand and Hans exchange racy barbs with grins on their handsome faces. But soon, both young men were laughing at their competitive absurdity as they both put their shoulders and hands to work right alongside each other, hand in hand with the busy crewmen in re-rigging the tousled ship.
Fearlessly unafraid of heights, Hans Westergaard climbs to the top foremast's skysail by way of the jib boom and clew lines like an expert tightrope walker as he works his entire body's muscles very hard to quickly get the rigging and sails he'd knocked down attached again so the swift craft could sail soon.
As he does it, climbing higher and higher into the breathtaking rising sun at dawn's light, Prince Hans never felt closer to God in His Heaven.
From way up here, I could almost feel I could reach out to touch you, min ædle Elsa (my precious Elsa).
Closing his eyes to soak in the glory of that fresh morning sun, the Danish Prince begins to sing a beautiful hymn in praise of his precious Saviour who granted him a precious love of his own to keep aiming for no matter where he traveled.
"'Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Doth his successive journeys run;
His Kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more.
To Him shall endless prayer be made.
And princes throng to crown His head,
His name like sweet perfume shall rise
With every morning sacrifice.
People and realms of every tongue
Dwell on His love with sweetest song;
And infant voices shall proclaim
Their early blessings on His name.
Blessings abound where'er He reigns:
The prisoner leaps to lose his chains,
The weary find eternal rest,
And all the sons of want are blest.'"
Able-bodied sailor Prince Hans, once he had secured the rigging to the highest mast at its crow's nest view, slides down the clew line to the foredeck. There, while the others were scurrying around deck getting the sail back up, the master seaman checks his rigging was taut to the fore, his lilting song of praise never ceasing.
"'Where He displays His healing power
Death and the curse are known no more;
In Him the tribes of Adam boast
More blessings than their father lost.
Let every creature rise and bring
Peculiar honors to our King;
Angels descend with songs again,
And earth repeat the loud Amen.'"
"AMEN!"
Hans was distracted where he was perched over the long protruded edge of the front bowsprit that extended over the mermaid figurehead proudly adorning the ship's forepeak. There, where he was cavalierly double-checking and securing the rigging, young Mr. Westergaard was absolutely certain he heard an ethereal voice – Or was it voices?- echoing back his song's triumphant finale line of praise.
Far into the distance the redheaded Prince of the Southern Isles could've sworn he heard a chorus of otherworldly voices continuing a muted indistinct song, as if inviting him to join them beneath the surface of the waves, towards the direction of the Red Sea his ship was sailing…
"…For if you hope and you believe
You'll see the golden nets we weave
You'll hear the magic in our spell…"
'Loneliness of Evening' – Song by Rodgers + Hammerstein, sung by Santino Fontana
'Jesus Shall Reign Where'er the Sun' - hymn by Isaac Watts & John Hatton 1793
'Where Mermaids Dwell' – 7 mermaid sisters chorus in 'The Little Mermaid's 'Songs from the Sea' album
So! There it is! The exciting last episode of this August writing-fest Birthday month for me! : (I finished writing it a few days back, but was a bit slow in the typing up with Dragon and proofing to make it by my midnight deadline for myself! Oops, sorry! ;(
Just when he thought he was out of the pirate gig, our Vise Admiral Hans versus a band of pirates on board ship at sea made for some pretty captivating seafaring moments! And his edgy banter with Egalite both top deck in the aftermath and below in their cramped cabin', was fun, wasn't it? Guess it's a 'Pirate's Life for Hans' all over again! I had to pull out some of my old ship schematic diagrams and ocean-faring vocabulary research for this one! Kinda missed ship travel myself! So I find myself agreeing with Peter Pan's Lost boys: 'A Pirate's Life for Me!'
The chapter got so long after I was done writing it on my last days off (boo-hoo, byebye birthday week), I decided to split the chapter in two, so the next one's already ready for next week's installment. Much will be revealed of the new danger's plot adventure unfolding! I'll be hashing it all out soon at the normal pace, weekly by month, so I hope it was interesting enough to stay tuned for it to be solved by our great Frozen cast!
Hans is on his way home to Elsa, but with maybe a few adventures of his own with some other characters inspired by other Disney movies.
Did you catch the mermaid singing that spooky cool "Where Mermaids Dwell" song from 'The Little Mermaid's 'Songs from the Sea' album echoing up to Hans from under the deep blue sea? Maybe we'll be seeing more flippin' fin tail action in upcoming chapters with our handsome hero still out on the high seas!
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, my dear friends! See you Frozen Again soon where 'Love Never Ends'!
God bless you til next time!
Love,
HarukaKou
P.S. Thanks to my super new friend, AshisGrey-sama for her brilliant translation clarification of the Malay dialogue of my villainous pirate prince this chapter! I truly appreciate your great input to give the true flavor of the culture to my humble story! :)
Doumo Arigatou! You're an invaluable friend for being such a excellent reader and helpful proofer! Now my mangled Malay should be more understandable! ^_^ Yeah! I'm always grateful for help to make this globe-trotting international intrigue story authentic!: - HarukaKou