*Disclaimer* You know, I really am not desperate enough to steal copyrighted materiel. I don't own Will except in my little imaginary world where penguins run freely and offer their lemonade bounty to all who ask.
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Will stretched, yawned, and turned his face into the warm sun. The better part of the morning was behind them, and the work was underway. The repairs had been finished within a week, and so as of yesterday the crew had begun working ahead. Nero had been pacing the deck all morning, muttering under his breath that a storm was coming. Since Nero was usually right, he had ordered the decks to be caulked and the heavy cargo to be shifted as low as possible. Every hand on the ship was busy, and that was the way they liked to keep it. He had found that keeping a smaller crew that liked to sail was infinitely more efficient than a large crew with a risk of lazy malingerers and rebels. His crew was kept busy, paid well, and given as much loyalty as they gave him. So far, the system had worked.
"Nero!" Will called to his navigator. A large, rough hand waved from the vicinity of the wheel. Will clambered down from his lookout point and ambled over to stand with him.
"G'Marnin', Cap'n. Wot-ho, an' all that sort."
"What do your bones tell us today?"
"Agh. Big storm comin', sir. Should be seein' the clouds wi'in the hour."
"All right, then. We're preparing as we speak."
"Roit." A massive, black-haired hand lifted and pressed a rum flask to his lips. Will held out his hand, and the helpful man handed off the flask. Will took a quick drink, then wiped his upper lip with his sleeve.
"Nero, you've been keeping an eye on things. What do you think of John?"
"New sailor you hired on, sir?"
"Yes. John Bloodworth. Seen him?"
"Saw 'im, all roit. Looks mighty scrawny to me, Johnny boy. Leadfooted, too. An' 'e didn't come drink with the lads."
"Give him time to get used to this ship. I'd be willing to wager he'll be quick and friendly enough. Once he gets over the willies I'm sure you gave him, that is." His sister had seemed sharp-witted enough. Even if you had sailed before, an intimidating new situation was enough to turn anyone's brain to pudding. Not to mention the fact that Nero never, but never let a new crewmember aboard without giving him some form of hazing. "Good for the soul," he always said, though Will was not sure whose soul he referred to, the new seaman's or his.
The wind suddenly shifted, bringing with it a cool breeze. The sporadic clouds had begun to thicken and darken. The men's singing sounded defiant now. They were ready to weather this storm. Will smiled, pleased with their efforts. Last night's beer event had lasted for hours, but somehow every man on the daywatch was on deck this morning, and sharper than when they came back from shore leave.
Well, almost every man. A sailor by the name of Red Jim had been found curled up asleep in the cargo hold and had to be awoken with a rattan whip. Red Jim was a great ox of a man, but he couldn't hold his drink.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julie rubbed her palms against her rough breeches and took a fresh grip on her stick. She was pounding great mounds of loose rope into small cracks between decks. When she could not fit any more rope fibers into the crack, she dipped a brush in a bucket of steaming pitch and sealed it to prevent water from leaking down and settling into the wood or the bottom of the ship, where it would cause dangerous rotting.
Sweat dripped into the rag bound around her forehead as she jammed the pointed stick into the crack over and over. Apparently, Nero had predicted an incoming storm, and what Nero said went.
Julie sniffed. The air had cooled down, and it was dead. There was no wind moving, creating the ominous atmosphere that signalled hard rain. On an instinct, she left her pitch and rope to clamber up top. A black front of clouds blocked the sky like a deadly blanket. The crew sang defiantly as the sails were furled and the hatches were battened down.
At last, the wind came, a brutal gale that slammed into the side of the ship like some gigantic fist. Captain Turner began shouting orders, which Nero relayed. The rest of the ship took up the call. There were still two main sails that hadn't been furled, and sailors scrambled onto the rigging to secure the canvas before the ropes became slick with rain.
Too late, though. Without warning, the rain began pouring down in sheets. Lightning crashed all around them, blinding Julie. She tried not to lose her footing as the water began to well around her boots.
A thud suddenly rattled the deck, and a scream split the air. One of the sailors had slipped from the rope webbing and taken a fall to the boards below. He lay still, either unconscious or dead.
"Well, bugger this." Julie muttered under her breath. As a man emerged from belowdecks and dragged the casualty to sick bay, she hunched over and pulled off her boots. Her bare feet gripped the wood, and she used the added traction to make her way up a nearby rope ladder.
The rigging bucked wildly, and she held on to it with a death grip...death being the operative word. Deliberate bumbling aside, she'd be damned if she would go under one day out of port. Not while she could help it. The foresail was still unfurled, and one poor man was trying desperately to control it.
"Ho, there!" Julie shouted to make herself known. The man made brief eye contact, but he was frightfully busy trying not to join his compatriot in sickbay. Julie began hauling on the rope gathering that loosened the knot below and pulled the sail to. A nod from the other man signalled that he was ready to pull.
"Heave!" Julie screamed above the wind, the rain, and the groaning of the ship as it struggled to stay above water. They pulled in unison, and the sail came up. The ship gave a mighty lurch. Julie dropped back against the mast behind her and held on to it, slithering down the wet wood until she was sitting on the crossbeam. She twisted her legs around the mast and anchored it with her feet until the ship righted itself. Captain Turner still shouted orders directly below her, and the rudderman called back reply.
"Ready?" Julie called. Her partner nodded. "Heave!" The sail made its way steadily upward until they could tie off the ropes and cinch it in place. As soon as the sail was fastened, Julie heard a loud cry from below.
"Hi-yip, Bloody John! Secure the foremast." Nero stood below, holding on to the wheel with one hand and the rail with the other. Julie slithered down between the crossbeam and the sail and scrambled onto the rigging again. The foremast was making a pained groaning sound as the wind buffeted it about. The lee side of the mast was tied, which didn't do it much good. At least the windward side would have to be pulled to if it were going to be stable against the storm.
Julie slid her way down a length of rope meant to give the sailors quick access to the deck. The other sailor came swiftly after her. With nimble hands, Julie unwound the rope from the metal yoke on the mast, then stepped back and allowed the heavier man behind her to put his weight on the rope.
Bracing both feet against the mast, he pulled with all his might to put tension on the ties. Julie hooked the length of rope over the yoke and used it as a pulley to increase the force of her pull. The dangerous groaning of the mast died down, and Julie secured the rope to the yoke.
"Roit!" Nero cried. "Good work, lads. Green, go spell the rudderman. Bloody John---" Nero's order was cut off as a crashing wave washed over the the railing of the ship, drenching all three of them in freezing sea water. Julie's feet slithered out from under her. She knew better than to fight for her footing, and dropped down, flipping over to her stomach in the water and sinking her fingernails into the caulking between the planks. The water sucked at her as it washed back into sea, but she managed to stay anchored where she was.
Once the water receded back into its place, she felt a rough hand on her shoulder pulling her to her feet. It was Nero, still with one hand on the wheel. He wasn't even looking at her as he kept the ship into the wind. The narrowest strip of light was beginning to show on the horizon, signalling an eventual break in the storm.
"Start checkin' the ropes, lad. We'll 'ave a rough time if one o' them knots comes loose." Even the tightest fastenings sometimes were coaxed loose by the wind. Julie turned quickly and hurried through the bindings systematically, tightening knots here and there.
Almost as quickly as the storm began, it was over. The black shield over the sky slowly drifted away, leaving only the occasional drop of rainwater pattering onto the planks below their feet.
One by one, cabin boys and sailors emerged from the decks below and resumed their normal duties. Julie finished checking the ties and reported back to Nero. By this time her skin was pale and cold from being washed in sea water and her eyes were scratchy from the brine. The grizzled old seaman regarded her from the corner of his eye. In a very matter-of-fact way, he handed her his rum flask.
"Drink that, lad. Ye look like a drowned cat." There was no way she was going to question a swig from this man's private store. She threw her head back and let the liquor go down her throat. Apparently, he had taken it on himself to concentrate the stuff, because the burn that lit her blood on fire was hefty indeed. Julie was able to drain only half of the remaining rum in the flask before she threw her head forward and gave a mighty cough.
"There now." Nero grunted. The sound of the activity behind them was growing louder. After a pause, the old man spoke again, quietly. "Not bad, Bloody John. Go belowdecks and change."
"If it's all the same to you, sir...I'd rather stay above. The sun will come out soon, and I..I'd like to keep on helping." In truth, the only time she dared disrobe was when the day watch was asleep and she was safely hidden in the scullery or a deserted portion of the sick bay. She tried to look fresh and eager. Nero blinked at her owlishly, then nodded.
"Roit. Go tell the Cap'n to come aft and tell ol' Nero wot's wot." Julie muttered a "Yes sir," under her breath and pattered away, wondering where her boots were.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nero tilted the wheel a degree starboard and scraped his heel thoughtfully against the floor. That had been one gullywasher of a storm, all right. They would more than likely have to do some sail repair and some additional carpentry. And on top of it all, one of the men had taken a fall from the rigging. It would be a miracle if he lived.
Luckily, Bloody John had jumped in and helped. Nero couldn't help but be bothered by the ease with which the boy, a supposed inexperienced sailor, had swung and scrambled and tied as well as he had when he was a young man. He had started out serving as a powder monkey when he was eight, and never in his life had he seen someone catch on that fast.
Nero peered up at the quickly receding clouds, feeling the storm move further and further away. He could hear Cap'n Turner giving orders to unfurl the main sail. The aftereffects of this storm would give them a good wind. The quick, firm sound of Turner's footsteps approached behind Nero.
"Harry has a broken leg and a nasty bump on his head, but that's all."
"Saints be praised. Thank ye, Jesus," Nero said sincerely. Harry had a wife and four boys back in England.
"We've got a few tears in the sails, but the ship is largely without leaks. The rudder handle is cracked. I have Joseph making a new one now."
"There somethin' amiss wi' that boy." Nero dropped his voice a notch to avoid being overheard. Turner stopped in his litany of cumulative damage logs.
"Excuse me?"
"That Bloodworth boy. 'E ain't tellin' truth wi' us. Did you see the way 'e scrambled about an' fixed the sails?"
"Well, yes, but I didn't really..."
"'E knew enough not to get washed overboard, too. Didja see that?"
"Well...no." Turner was frowning at him now. Nero didn't even need to turn and see his face to know that. It was clear there was a bell going off in his head as well.
"'E did things like 'es been doin' it for years, things wot no new sailor would know. 'E's been standin' 'ere like a dumb moose for a bloody week. Only went up the riggin' when 'arry dropped." The old navigator lowered his voice another notch. "D'ye think 'e might be a pirate in disguise, sir? Tryin' tae steal our cargo?"
"That's a disturbing thought. I hardly think, however, that a pirate would have his family secure him a ship to rob."
"I'm tellin' ye, sir...it's amiss! It stinks, Cap'n." Nero insisted. Turner placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You're right, old friend. I think I should ask him about this. Hey there!" Will waved down a seaman. "Run fetch John Bloodworth--"
"Who, sir?"
"John Bloodworth. New lad, brown hair, just came aboard this week."
"Oh...roit."
"Tell him to report to my cabin. Immediately."
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Will stretched, yawned, and turned his face into the warm sun. The better part of the morning was behind them, and the work was underway. The repairs had been finished within a week, and so as of yesterday the crew had begun working ahead. Nero had been pacing the deck all morning, muttering under his breath that a storm was coming. Since Nero was usually right, he had ordered the decks to be caulked and the heavy cargo to be shifted as low as possible. Every hand on the ship was busy, and that was the way they liked to keep it. He had found that keeping a smaller crew that liked to sail was infinitely more efficient than a large crew with a risk of lazy malingerers and rebels. His crew was kept busy, paid well, and given as much loyalty as they gave him. So far, the system had worked.
"Nero!" Will called to his navigator. A large, rough hand waved from the vicinity of the wheel. Will clambered down from his lookout point and ambled over to stand with him.
"G'Marnin', Cap'n. Wot-ho, an' all that sort."
"What do your bones tell us today?"
"Agh. Big storm comin', sir. Should be seein' the clouds wi'in the hour."
"All right, then. We're preparing as we speak."
"Roit." A massive, black-haired hand lifted and pressed a rum flask to his lips. Will held out his hand, and the helpful man handed off the flask. Will took a quick drink, then wiped his upper lip with his sleeve.
"Nero, you've been keeping an eye on things. What do you think of John?"
"New sailor you hired on, sir?"
"Yes. John Bloodworth. Seen him?"
"Saw 'im, all roit. Looks mighty scrawny to me, Johnny boy. Leadfooted, too. An' 'e didn't come drink with the lads."
"Give him time to get used to this ship. I'd be willing to wager he'll be quick and friendly enough. Once he gets over the willies I'm sure you gave him, that is." His sister had seemed sharp-witted enough. Even if you had sailed before, an intimidating new situation was enough to turn anyone's brain to pudding. Not to mention the fact that Nero never, but never let a new crewmember aboard without giving him some form of hazing. "Good for the soul," he always said, though Will was not sure whose soul he referred to, the new seaman's or his.
The wind suddenly shifted, bringing with it a cool breeze. The sporadic clouds had begun to thicken and darken. The men's singing sounded defiant now. They were ready to weather this storm. Will smiled, pleased with their efforts. Last night's beer event had lasted for hours, but somehow every man on the daywatch was on deck this morning, and sharper than when they came back from shore leave.
Well, almost every man. A sailor by the name of Red Jim had been found curled up asleep in the cargo hold and had to be awoken with a rattan whip. Red Jim was a great ox of a man, but he couldn't hold his drink.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julie rubbed her palms against her rough breeches and took a fresh grip on her stick. She was pounding great mounds of loose rope into small cracks between decks. When she could not fit any more rope fibers into the crack, she dipped a brush in a bucket of steaming pitch and sealed it to prevent water from leaking down and settling into the wood or the bottom of the ship, where it would cause dangerous rotting.
Sweat dripped into the rag bound around her forehead as she jammed the pointed stick into the crack over and over. Apparently, Nero had predicted an incoming storm, and what Nero said went.
Julie sniffed. The air had cooled down, and it was dead. There was no wind moving, creating the ominous atmosphere that signalled hard rain. On an instinct, she left her pitch and rope to clamber up top. A black front of clouds blocked the sky like a deadly blanket. The crew sang defiantly as the sails were furled and the hatches were battened down.
At last, the wind came, a brutal gale that slammed into the side of the ship like some gigantic fist. Captain Turner began shouting orders, which Nero relayed. The rest of the ship took up the call. There were still two main sails that hadn't been furled, and sailors scrambled onto the rigging to secure the canvas before the ropes became slick with rain.
Too late, though. Without warning, the rain began pouring down in sheets. Lightning crashed all around them, blinding Julie. She tried not to lose her footing as the water began to well around her boots.
A thud suddenly rattled the deck, and a scream split the air. One of the sailors had slipped from the rope webbing and taken a fall to the boards below. He lay still, either unconscious or dead.
"Well, bugger this." Julie muttered under her breath. As a man emerged from belowdecks and dragged the casualty to sick bay, she hunched over and pulled off her boots. Her bare feet gripped the wood, and she used the added traction to make her way up a nearby rope ladder.
The rigging bucked wildly, and she held on to it with a death grip...death being the operative word. Deliberate bumbling aside, she'd be damned if she would go under one day out of port. Not while she could help it. The foresail was still unfurled, and one poor man was trying desperately to control it.
"Ho, there!" Julie shouted to make herself known. The man made brief eye contact, but he was frightfully busy trying not to join his compatriot in sickbay. Julie began hauling on the rope gathering that loosened the knot below and pulled the sail to. A nod from the other man signalled that he was ready to pull.
"Heave!" Julie screamed above the wind, the rain, and the groaning of the ship as it struggled to stay above water. They pulled in unison, and the sail came up. The ship gave a mighty lurch. Julie dropped back against the mast behind her and held on to it, slithering down the wet wood until she was sitting on the crossbeam. She twisted her legs around the mast and anchored it with her feet until the ship righted itself. Captain Turner still shouted orders directly below her, and the rudderman called back reply.
"Ready?" Julie called. Her partner nodded. "Heave!" The sail made its way steadily upward until they could tie off the ropes and cinch it in place. As soon as the sail was fastened, Julie heard a loud cry from below.
"Hi-yip, Bloody John! Secure the foremast." Nero stood below, holding on to the wheel with one hand and the rail with the other. Julie slithered down between the crossbeam and the sail and scrambled onto the rigging again. The foremast was making a pained groaning sound as the wind buffeted it about. The lee side of the mast was tied, which didn't do it much good. At least the windward side would have to be pulled to if it were going to be stable against the storm.
Julie slid her way down a length of rope meant to give the sailors quick access to the deck. The other sailor came swiftly after her. With nimble hands, Julie unwound the rope from the metal yoke on the mast, then stepped back and allowed the heavier man behind her to put his weight on the rope.
Bracing both feet against the mast, he pulled with all his might to put tension on the ties. Julie hooked the length of rope over the yoke and used it as a pulley to increase the force of her pull. The dangerous groaning of the mast died down, and Julie secured the rope to the yoke.
"Roit!" Nero cried. "Good work, lads. Green, go spell the rudderman. Bloody John---" Nero's order was cut off as a crashing wave washed over the the railing of the ship, drenching all three of them in freezing sea water. Julie's feet slithered out from under her. She knew better than to fight for her footing, and dropped down, flipping over to her stomach in the water and sinking her fingernails into the caulking between the planks. The water sucked at her as it washed back into sea, but she managed to stay anchored where she was.
Once the water receded back into its place, she felt a rough hand on her shoulder pulling her to her feet. It was Nero, still with one hand on the wheel. He wasn't even looking at her as he kept the ship into the wind. The narrowest strip of light was beginning to show on the horizon, signalling an eventual break in the storm.
"Start checkin' the ropes, lad. We'll 'ave a rough time if one o' them knots comes loose." Even the tightest fastenings sometimes were coaxed loose by the wind. Julie turned quickly and hurried through the bindings systematically, tightening knots here and there.
Almost as quickly as the storm began, it was over. The black shield over the sky slowly drifted away, leaving only the occasional drop of rainwater pattering onto the planks below their feet.
One by one, cabin boys and sailors emerged from the decks below and resumed their normal duties. Julie finished checking the ties and reported back to Nero. By this time her skin was pale and cold from being washed in sea water and her eyes were scratchy from the brine. The grizzled old seaman regarded her from the corner of his eye. In a very matter-of-fact way, he handed her his rum flask.
"Drink that, lad. Ye look like a drowned cat." There was no way she was going to question a swig from this man's private store. She threw her head back and let the liquor go down her throat. Apparently, he had taken it on himself to concentrate the stuff, because the burn that lit her blood on fire was hefty indeed. Julie was able to drain only half of the remaining rum in the flask before she threw her head forward and gave a mighty cough.
"There now." Nero grunted. The sound of the activity behind them was growing louder. After a pause, the old man spoke again, quietly. "Not bad, Bloody John. Go belowdecks and change."
"If it's all the same to you, sir...I'd rather stay above. The sun will come out soon, and I..I'd like to keep on helping." In truth, the only time she dared disrobe was when the day watch was asleep and she was safely hidden in the scullery or a deserted portion of the sick bay. She tried to look fresh and eager. Nero blinked at her owlishly, then nodded.
"Roit. Go tell the Cap'n to come aft and tell ol' Nero wot's wot." Julie muttered a "Yes sir," under her breath and pattered away, wondering where her boots were.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nero tilted the wheel a degree starboard and scraped his heel thoughtfully against the floor. That had been one gullywasher of a storm, all right. They would more than likely have to do some sail repair and some additional carpentry. And on top of it all, one of the men had taken a fall from the rigging. It would be a miracle if he lived.
Luckily, Bloody John had jumped in and helped. Nero couldn't help but be bothered by the ease with which the boy, a supposed inexperienced sailor, had swung and scrambled and tied as well as he had when he was a young man. He had started out serving as a powder monkey when he was eight, and never in his life had he seen someone catch on that fast.
Nero peered up at the quickly receding clouds, feeling the storm move further and further away. He could hear Cap'n Turner giving orders to unfurl the main sail. The aftereffects of this storm would give them a good wind. The quick, firm sound of Turner's footsteps approached behind Nero.
"Harry has a broken leg and a nasty bump on his head, but that's all."
"Saints be praised. Thank ye, Jesus," Nero said sincerely. Harry had a wife and four boys back in England.
"We've got a few tears in the sails, but the ship is largely without leaks. The rudder handle is cracked. I have Joseph making a new one now."
"There somethin' amiss wi' that boy." Nero dropped his voice a notch to avoid being overheard. Turner stopped in his litany of cumulative damage logs.
"Excuse me?"
"That Bloodworth boy. 'E ain't tellin' truth wi' us. Did you see the way 'e scrambled about an' fixed the sails?"
"Well, yes, but I didn't really..."
"'E knew enough not to get washed overboard, too. Didja see that?"
"Well...no." Turner was frowning at him now. Nero didn't even need to turn and see his face to know that. It was clear there was a bell going off in his head as well.
"'E did things like 'es been doin' it for years, things wot no new sailor would know. 'E's been standin' 'ere like a dumb moose for a bloody week. Only went up the riggin' when 'arry dropped." The old navigator lowered his voice another notch. "D'ye think 'e might be a pirate in disguise, sir? Tryin' tae steal our cargo?"
"That's a disturbing thought. I hardly think, however, that a pirate would have his family secure him a ship to rob."
"I'm tellin' ye, sir...it's amiss! It stinks, Cap'n." Nero insisted. Turner placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You're right, old friend. I think I should ask him about this. Hey there!" Will waved down a seaman. "Run fetch John Bloodworth--"
"Who, sir?"
"John Bloodworth. New lad, brown hair, just came aboard this week."
"Oh...roit."
"Tell him to report to my cabin. Immediately."
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