In Search of Spice (10 page)

She grinned again at slight reaction amongst the soldiers. A ballista could be loaded with a sheaf of bolts that could sweep away an assault party.

“It’s alright, fellas, it wasn’t pointed at you. I knew we were expecting soldiers at some time and recognised you guys - the others hadn’t been aboard long enough to tell me about the bad boys. No stowaway attempts either, Cap’n.”

Brian stepped forward. “Soldiers... - Ah, Pathfinders, if you will follow me I will show you your quarters. We’ll settle them first, Mactravis.” He nodded at the Lieutenant who dipped his chin, then turned to the soldiers.

“Corporal Strachan, take a detail of three men. Pass your kit to others and take the horses to the local barracks. Get a chitty from the quartermaster, wake somebody up if you have to, but get back here within two hours and get the watch to see you to quarters.”

Corporal Strachan sort of saluted, it was a brief gesture at his hat, touched three soldiers, handed his kit bag to another and went down the ramp, sword still out. The soldiers did the same, all without a word. It was impressive, and noticeable that now they were aware of trouble in the vicinity, the gangplank no longer creaked. There was not a sound on the dock either. The other soldiers followed Brian aft, eyeing Connor, Mikkel, Selwyn and Sal who now came forward towards the gangplank.

“Who the hell are you?” Captain Larroche snapped. “Oh, don’t tell me, Pat’s family? You’ve got the same far-seeing look.”

“Indeed, sir, I am Connor and these are my other kids. Thank you for giving Pat this opportunity.”

“Huh? Ah, I think I should be thanking you. Quite a lad you have raised there. Want to get rid of anymore of them?” He eyed the others speculatively.

“Regretfully I rather need them to run the ranch. In truth, we need Pat, but he needs to spread his wings. Now we must go. We have said our farewells earlier, so let us go. Mot, follow!” He turned and started for the gangplank.

Mot sat down at Pat’s feet.

Connor reached the bottom of the gangplank, turned and realised only Selwyn and Mikkel were behind him. They looked up to the ship and saw Sal kissing Rat, one hand firmly on his bottom and Pat trying to push Mot to the gangplank.

He touched Mikkel. “Get the dog. SAL! Come, we are going.”

Sal released the permanently scarred and gasping Rat, gave a little grin, a wave to Sara, ruffled Pat’s hair and sauntered down the gangplank with a whistle to Mot who ignored her. Mikkel went over to Mot, who bared her teeth at him and growled so menacingly he retreated.

Mikkel and Pat stood over the dog, uncertainly, while Mot retreated away from the gangplank, still growling. Captain Larroche watched with interest.

“If that is a sheepdog, you must have bloody big sheep. Devoted to you, is she, Pat?”

“Uh, we’ve spent a lot of time together, sir. I am sorry, will get her sorted in a minute. She’s actually very well trained.”

Sara slipped up to the Captain. “They’re a team, sir, and a damn good one. Shame to break it up. Could be very useful.”

The Captain glanced at her. “Does she eat fish?”

“Huh?” Pat was confused. “Sure, she eats most things.”

“Can you train her where to shit?”

“Uh, sure, that’s no problem.”

“I bet. If I find dogshit on my deck, I’ll have you keelhauled. You are now officially in charge of the ship’s dog.” He turned and stomped to his cabin.

Mikkel grinned, and went down the gangplank to Connor, who did not look too pleased. Mot clearly understood and came back to Pat wagging, and sat at his feet.

The Connorsons went off, with Connor grumbling half-heartedly about his dog.

“I’m pleased she has gone with Pat,” said Mikkel. “Help him to remember us and home, stop him being lonely.”

“Lonely!” Sal laughed. “With those girls on board that won’t last. That Sara girl, the mercenary, seems to have him well in tow. Good for him, I reckon.”

“Thought you didn’t approve of the girls for him, Sal?” Connor asked.

“This one’s different. Got that look in her eyes and she’s as capable as him.”

Mikkel smiled. “More than that. Pat’s going to have an interesting time. That’s the missing Princess we’ve been hearing about, the one that won the fencing championship. Looks like she has picked on Pat as a guard.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Saw her last year when I went to Praesidium. She’s cut her hair and dyed it, but the same girl for sure.”

Departure

D
an groaned, and applied himself to his bar. He had Pat behind him, and they were pushing the capstan, a big round solid barrel of wood that came off the foredeck mounted on an axle. There were holes in the top into which spars were thrust to form spokes - on each of which a sweating sailor pushed to turn it. A long rope went from it out a good two hundred yards to where a boat had dropped an anchor and they were pulling the rope in. As it came through the thwarts, it went round the capstan twice and down into the fore hold where other sailors coiled it and detached the links. The effect was to winch the ship towards the anchor, the best way of moving the ship in shallow water.

The early morning sun beat down on them from a cloudless sky and they were sweating. The light sparkled and bounced off the choppy sea and they started to feel the motion of the ship. The Queen Rose boasted three masts, the middle one rising almost eighty feet high, with a prominent bowsprit. From the side, she looked a little like the letter U with her high castles front and back, the back one being much larger with the poop deck on it, from where the officers commanded the ship.

They inched her out from the quay and towards the open bay where they could raise their sails. Sara, Else and Nils were in the rigging above them, waving to the crowds who lined the quayside to see them off. Mot lay in the shade of the foresail, which was furled but ready to be pulled into position, just to one side. Every time Pat came round and she could see his face she thumped her tail to encourage him.

A band from the local militia played in between speeches from various people, including the local representative of the Crown and the new Member of Parliament, as the ship inched her way from the dock.

Captain Larroche was resplendent in a dress uniform and great cocked hat on the poop deck, Brian by his side. They stood beside the helmsman who was checking the wind and waves with meticulous care. Taufik and Walters were going over a chart, with Taufik’s rutter in front of him. Walters was resplendent in purple robes with a gold cross on the back, while Taufik looked wonderfully exotic, with his dark face beneath a blue turban, and strange trousers that were wider at the bottom then tied in.

Brian bellowed through a speaking trumpet, “Top watch aloft, fore mast!”

A boatswain’s mate flicked his rope end at Pat, who relinquished his place to an older sailor and scampered up the rigging. Nils was busy greasing a pulley two thirds of the way up the mast.

“Jib away!” called Brian at a nod from the helmsman, and Mot moved away smartly as three sailors started to pull a rope which went up to Nils’ pulley and the triangular sail, a jib, started to rise up and billow in the light winds.

As the wind caught it, the capstan work became easier. The anchor came free and swung up to the ship where two experienced sailors lashed it down. The sailors on the capstan pulled their spars from the sockets, stowed them away and raced to stations on either side of the ship.

“Fore course!” Brian yelled and Pat sprang into action. He was out on the right side of the spar, and pulled the cords that released the sail, allowing it to unfurl. Sara was doing the same on the far side, while Nils was below him pulling it down and lashing it in place. This was the hard part as the wind started to push the sail and Pat punched and kicked the hard canvas to knock the wind out and make it easier for Nils. It took only moments to get the sail set and then he was scurrying up to the topsail to see if that would be required.

Nils spoke below him, “Doubt we’ll set the others till we are out of the bay. Too risky if the wind changes with a lot of sail set this close to land.”

The Queen Rose was sailing now, moving through the water like a stately swan and Pat heard Mot giving the welcome bark down below, to be answered with a curious chattering. He looked down and, to his amazement, there was a huge fish going backwards on its tail through the water in front of the ship, making this strange noise at Mot, who was barking and wagging her tail furiously. The fish seemed to be laughing at her, and another broke the surface out of the bow wave in a graceful leap.

“Dolphins!” Else cried in delight. “Captain! Lucky ship! The dolphins are with us.”

Captain Larroche doffed his hat and waved it at the dolphins and the long time sailors all cheered. You could feel the buzz of confidence and good spirits rising through the ship, while the newcomers stared in amazement.

Nils said to Pat, “Lovely aren’t they? We consider them good luck, but they rarely go beside the smaller boats. They like the Queen Rose though. They came with us on some of the trials. Always a good sign when they see us off. Look how many there are.”

Indeed, by now there was a whole pod, some playing in the bow wave, but most fascinated by Mot and trying to talk to her.

The Queen Rose cleared the headland and Pat clung on as the deckhands hauled on ropes, the yards swung around and the ship turned on her new course, southeast. The commands roared out and Pat was soon exhausted as they went from mast to mast, setting the huge and heavy sails. Other sailors were up helping now, and the Queen Rose responded, surging forward and causing the water to race past. The dolphins loved it and played at the bow, while Mot held herself up as a figurehead. Pat noticed she was being much more careful now the ship was starting to plunge through the waves and the land had dropped away to a thick line on the horizon.

He was sliding down a rope from the mainmast to the deck when he noticed the fourth mate come out of the poop cabinway below him. The Fourth sauntered up the ladder to the poop deck, a self-satisfied smile on his face, looking like a dandy in fancy clothes that Pat thought with disdain as suitable for court, not a ship.

Pat reached the deck and Mot appeared to check on him. He stooped to pat her. “Like your breakfast, did you girl? Gonna have to get used to fish and biscuits. Better make friends with the cook too.” Mot thumped her tail, and then her ears went flat as a piercing scream went off beside them followed by a truly outraged shout.

“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON?”

He turned and stared; the most stunningly beautiful girl he had ever seen looked furiously around out of brilliant blue and very angry eyes. She had long, golden blonde, artfully curling hair that dropped to her waist, pushed to the side by impossibly large, high and well-revealed breasts. These were bursting out of a blue dress tailored down to a tiny waist, then flaring across wide hips and turning into a froth of white cloth from which extended long slender legs, to dainty feet in little slippers, which were tapping dangerously on the deck.

Pat felt his stomach turn over as he looked into the slanting eyes with high cheekbones and the full red lips, and realised that she was staring at him as if it was his entire fault. He went red and backed away, suddenly absolutely terrified.

Captain Larroche strode forward and looked down from the poop deck. “Suzanne?” he asked uncertainly. “What are you doing on board?”

She looked up at him and bridled. “Who the hell are you? Where’s that damn puppy?”

Sara appeared behind Pat and whispered in his ear. “That’s Suzanne Delarosa. Supposed to be the most beautiful girl in the country and certainly the highest paid courtesan.”

Captain Larroche started slightly, unused to being spoken to in this manner. “I am the Captain of this ship and I would like to know what you are doing on it as a stowaway?”

“Stowaway? STOWAWAY! Do you think I wanted to be on here when you sailed? That damn lying pup said he was the captain and you weren’t sailing for a week! Do you think I would have come aboard otherwise?”

The Fourth looked over the rail and smiled. He opened his mouth to speak but Suzanne got in first.

“There you are, you little shit. What the hell are you playing at? Turn this ship around and get me off.”

“Unfortunately, madam, that isn’t possible,” began Captain Larroche.

“Isn’t possible? ISN’T POSSIBLE! I’ll tell you what isn’t possible, me being stuck on this fucking tub for the next year till you come back, if you ever do. Put me back ashore this instant.”

The Fourth smiled. “I’ll quiet her down sir. Told you I had a plan to keep myself busy and away from the crew.” He winked at the Captain, who gazed at him in astonishment and anger, and started to make his way down the ladder to the deck, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“So,” hissed Suzanne, quietly and viciously, for she has heard his aside. “You planned this. Do you realise that you cannot possibly make enough money in your entire lifetime to pay for a year with me?”

“I am sure we can work something out, my dear.” He smiled at her over his shoulder as he came down backwards.

Suzanne’s eyes narrowed, she whirled like a dancer, one long leg extending and snapping viciously into a kick as she swung round. Her heel slammed into his groin as he turned and started to jump the last few steps to the deck. The pop of his testicles bursting was a distinct sound over the murmur of the wind in the sails amidst the otherwise total silence across the ship.