Chapter 2: Ship-Shape and Seaworthy
Had I realized Doctor Doppler would take my 'ready to cast off at any moment he was prepared to' statement so literally, I don't think I'd have sent him the exact words. We left two weeks after Doctor Doppler and Mr. Arrow had made according arrangements. Doppler, soon after his initial contact with us, had hired an entire crew through a single galley cook who must have possessed intoxicating persuasive powers. Not only did he hire the hands on the spot (including the cook), he packed his bags three days ahead of schedule and declared that we would cast off that very week, he was so prepared.
The entire goings-on went against everything every successful voyage I'd participated in required. I was accustomed to having at least three month's time for renting a ship, hiring a crew I personally had communicated with, and overall preparations ensuing that. But Doctor Doppler had arranged everything in a six-week period, never once stopping to think of the consequences such hasty preparations might render.
To top the Doctor's doings, I never personally met the man before the voyage. Mr. Arrow stated the deal was sealed entirely through letters and telegrams, never once face-to-face, like most voyage overseers I'd worked for tried to do. I suppose I should have taken that as an initiative to resign my berth then and there, but for some reason, I did not. However, not making any personal contact with Doppler proved more problematic than one might first assume. For instance, I never got a look at his alleged map. I received both the longitude and the latitude the map exhibited, so as to chart our course, but never a glimpse of the map itself. Therefore, I never got the chance to proclaim it a fake, which would have allowed Mr. Arrow and me an immediate quit of the entire expedition. Yet, I made no complaint, still enticed by Treasure Planet despite Doppler's odd way of handling things.
And so, on the sixth week following the very first of Doppler's letters to us and three days ahead of the set launching schedule, Mr. Arrow and I laid our repose on the Cresentia to rest and reported to the solar galleon Doppler had hired out for our expedition, the R.L.S Legacy.
Early morning found us both at the bridge, Mr. Arrow regurgitating sailing status, weather forecasts of the day, and other such necessaries to me, and I busying myself with the helm. The morning air was crisp and fragrant, scented of the dew and the very near Etherium. The sun had only recently begun to rise, and one could just make out the thin red line swimming above the horizon of the Cresentia. There was little sign of a cloud in the sky, and the fading stars could still be seen glimmering from the cosmos. It was a cool morning, but not cold, and a small breeze was coming in from the east. I gripped one of the handles of the helm.
"The high today, Captain, will be in the mid-nineties, the low in the mid-to-high seventies. There is a thirty-percent chance of rain, and the breeze should pick up at around eight, but not to worry—it won't be strong enough to hinder our launch. The—"
I pressed my will against the handle I had in my hand and turned the wheel; what interrupted Mr. Arrow was the shrill whine of the rusty helm. Mr. Arrow looked up at me.
I gave him a look of modest irritation. "Look what the good doctor has hired out for us, Arrow: the bloody helm squeaks."
Mr. Arrow smiled, amused. I released the handle of the wheel and placed my hands behind my back. "I propose we have a thorough inspection of the place. Take the hold, Mr. Arrow. I'll be aloft." And, with a salute from Mr. Arrow, I took to the riggings and swung myself overhead to a nearby spar. There I had a good view of the deck in its entirety, and with no time wasted, I examined the sails.
I, in actuality, owe the Doctor a bit of credit. The sails really were of excellent quality. The solar thrust-capacity looked to be around fifty percent in the total sail absorption on the mainmast, and thirty for the sails on the fore. The jibs connected to bowsprit looked fine, even from where I stood in the crow's nest on the mainmast. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to account for the sails on the mizzen, for a gruff voice reached my ear, faintly. Instantly I perked my left ear, and heard two men, one of them I recognized to be Mr. Arrow, as they began to speak with one another. I slipped along the spars and into the rigging agilely, silently making my way back to the mizzenmast overlooking the bridge.
The man was one of my hands reporting for duty; the very first of the hands Doppler had hired without me. Raising both my ears, I could hear Mr. Arrow giving him the needed information for him to do his work. I gathered two very important things about the man: his name was Schwartzkopf, and he was a roper.
From that moment forth, the crewmen slowly appeared and accumulated. In addition to the early bird Schwarzkopf, Pigors, Aquanoggin, and the multi-limbed Hands made up the group of men who manned the sails and astral anchor. The riggers, Mackriki, Oxy, Moron, Greedy, Birdbrain Mary, and Dogbreath, were an uneducated, brainless lot who used only experience and no real intelligence to unfurl or take in the sails and care for the solar crystals below deck.
By and large, Doppler's choice of crewmen had not impressed me. They were grim little men, slow and scowling. I took an immediate disliking in them all, and put them to work in their duties with little more than an introduction. By the time it was late morning and the gravity specialist, the tentacle sporting, Flatula speaking wonder called Snuff, made his appearance, I was practically prepared to make a cool leap off the ship.
Unfortunately, I had seen nothing compared to the galley cook.
Going strictly by what I gathered of John Silver when I first met him, he was honest; a dim-witted fellow, like all the others, who might have seduced the Doctor into hiring this entire muddle of crewmen by smiling sweetly, telling him he'd appreciate it greatly, that they were his mates, that he knew them all, and all were pure. What interested me briefly was that he was a cyborg: a man who had his right arm, leg, and eye, as well as a portion of his head, replaced by mechanical parts. A horrible accident must have befallen the witless lout, I thought to myself as I landed on deck from the spars, but, smartly irritated as I was, I found no sympathy for him, and inquired on the possibility of hindrance concerning his physical speed. He grinned mindlessly at me for a small period, as if tossing around in his head what could possibly slow him down. Then he replied:
"Ah, no, ma'am; my poor ol' leg'll get stiff sometimes, but there ain't nothin' a few good wrenches can't fix." And he chuckled aimlessly.
I took him in with a swift glance. He was heavy, unshaven, and as empty-headed as an eggshell. I hoped to myself that he possessed the ability to at least cook without torching himself. I turned my gaze to Mr. Arrow. "Excellent," I said. "Mr. Arrow, see that our cook—"
"John Silver," John Silver beamed.
"…Mr. Silver reaches the galley. We wouldn't want to see him getting into any trouble."
I remember leaving a particular emphasis on the word 'trouble', and Mr. Arrow nodded to me, the agreement of the word 'trouble' presented only through his eyes, which were slightly shadowed by his ebony hat. I returned to the sanctuary of the crow's nest, now convinced that Doppler would be the only intellectual reassurance of the entire voyage besides Mr. Arrow.