A Patch of Luck
Tindomul couldn't bear listening to his father and brother rehashing the disaster. As soon as he could decently get away, he left slipped out of the Palace on the off-chance his friends would be at the Númenorian Arms. They were. He claimed a place at the long table and accepted the goblet of wine that was placed in front of him.
The Spring Equinox had been a week ago, yet the evening was chilly. A late fire burned in the grate. Sparks popped from time to time.
"Why the long face, Tindomul?" asked Sven. "I'm guessing you finally worked up the nerve to ask out a young lady, and she turned you down?"
Tindomul's shyness with girls was a source of great amusement to his friends. He squirmed in his seat. If thought he lived another 5,000 years, he'd still be bad at talking to girls.
"Do you know Mrs. Thumb and her four lovely daughters?" asked Sven.
"Maybe they could give you a hand," said Mikkel.
The others laughed. Tindomul didn't get it. Then he did. His face burned.
At least none of them knew about the mission to sail West. Nor did they know about the sabotage, so at least he didn't have to talk about it. The conversation swirled around him and he stared off into space, his eyes resting on a row of wine casks. Most had already been tapped, but one still held its wooden plug. His eyes locked on it.
"Why are you looking at those barrels of cheap stuff? I'd rather drink bilge," said Swen.
Tindomul jumped to his feet and the three-legged stool he'd been sitting on clattered to the floorboards. "If you'll excuse me."
"Maybe that girl agreed to see him, and he only just remembered it now. I've never seen him move so fast," said Sven.
Tindomul reached the door in a few strides. He knew how to fix the hull. It wouldn't be pretty, but it didn't need to be.
###
Back at the Palace, Tindomul pulled Father aside and told him how they could save the ship. Tindomul could barely contain himself, but Father didn't share his excitement.
"Tindomul, have you been licking colorful toads?" Not the reaction Tindomul had hoped for.
His father explained. "No master shipbuilder patches a damaged hull, not on a ship that's still under construction. Maybe if you were at sea and taking on water, you'd try to patch the hole. But if you made it back to port, you'd do what any sensible person would do, strip off the planks and replace the damaged one."
"The patch doesn't have to last long. We can fix it properly afterwards," said Tindomul.
"The patch might not hold, and if it goes, the ship could be lost with all hands." Father met his eye and held it. Tindomul was going to captain the vessel. If the ship were lost, he'd be lost too.
Tindomul tried again. "On a routine run to the Mainland, repeated over and over, I'd say yes, a patch is too risky. But for a dangerous mission with a crew that knows the risk, the patch is the least of our troubles."
Father pursed his lips. "It will take five days to reach the coast of Valinor. That's a long time, but now that March is over, the winds will have died down and the seas will be calmer." He was silent for a time. "I don't like it. We're betting immortality against the risk of you being lost at sea, but if you want to try, then all right."
"So we'll patch the hull, and if it looks like it will hold, we'll sail as soon as she's back in the water." Tindomul felt happy for the first time in days.
###
Moonlight reflected from the surface of the harbor. Tindomul stood to the side and listened to yet another nighttime discussion between Father and the master shipbuilder.
"How long will it take to patch the hull?" asked Tar-Ciryatan.
"We'll have to pull it out of the water, but if we work through the night, we can finish the patch before morning," said the master shipwright.
"Can the men work by moonlight? I don't want so much as a covered lamp drawing attention to what we're doing. Oh, and can we do the rest of the rigging and provisioning at the same time, while the ship's in dry dock?" asked Tar-Ciryatan.
"It's a lot harder to carry water casks up a ladder than to roll them on a ramp from dockside. The men won't be happy about it, but yes, it can be done," said the shipwright.
Tar-Ciryatan lowered his voice. "One last question, do we trust the shipyard workers? One of them is a saboteur."
"There was a shift change at sunset. And no one will be allowed to work alone. If anyone goes down to the hold, he'll have another set of eyes on him at all times," said the master shipwright.