Voyage of the Fox Rider (41 page)

Dragging the halyard under the keel, they struggled
back amidships, each clinging tightly to his end of the rope, passing it out and around ratlines and deadeyes and other such, Dokan on the larboard, Aravan on the starboard. When they came to the main hatch, Arlo and his helpers were back up from below, the unfurled crossjack lying out before them.

“Arlo, to me. Ye others, get three more lines,” Aravan ordered, the crewmen shuffle-sliding across the ice to lockers to fetch them. “Hold tight, Dokan!” Aravan called to the Dwarf ‘cross ship. Swiftly Aravan and Arlo clipped the halyard to the lower left-corner eyelet in the crossjack border.

“Cap’n!” shouted one of the Men frantically cranking the wheel of the mid deck bilge pump. “She’s goin’ down!”

The drifting
Eroean
was beginning to list in the frigid, icefog sea.

In that moment Hogar and Hegen came dragging the second line aft, one Man on the starboard, the other Man opposite, unseen in the fog. “Arlo, clip that line to the lower middle eyelet!”

No sooner had they done so than Artus and Dask came amidships dragging the third halyard. As Arlo fastened this line to the lower right-hand corner, Aravan and the other three crewmen—Geff, Jon, and Jamie—fastened three ropes to the middle and corner eyelets of the upper border of the crossjack.

“We’re going to use the jack to cover the hole,” shouted Aravan. “Geff, Jon, Jamie, take two turns of each halyard about a stanchion”—he pointed—“there and there and there.

“Ye Men on the bilge pump, get ye over to the larboard. Lend a hand.”

“But, Cap’n,” called one of the pumpers, “she’ll sink if we don’t crank!”

“She’ll sink faster if ye don’t do as I say!”

“Do as the captain orders!” roared Jatu through the fog, the huge black Man just then coming back onto the icy decks.

Aravan skittered across to the larboard, accompanied by Jatu. “Take two turns about stanchions, there and there and there, then hale in the slack.”

Dokan, Jatu, and Dask each took a line, Hogar and
the two bilge pumpers dividing themselves among the three. Quickly, all slack was gone, the great silk crossjack now spread wide and flat against the hull, the sail pulled down over the starboard side, the top edge at the railing, bottom edge just at the surface of the sea, just above the hole. “Now,” called Aravan, “slowly pay out the starboard lines as we take up the larboard. Arlo, sing out when the jack covers the breech.”

“But, Cap’n,” came Arlo’s voice, “I can’t see down through the fog!”

“Jatu,” hissed Aravan, “stay here and follow mine orders. I’m going starboard.”

“Aye, Captain,” grunted Jatu, as Aravan disappeared into the mist.

Aravan leaned over the starboard wale, and dangled a lantern down on a cord, his Elven sight able to discern what mortal eyes could not. “Pay out and take up!” he called. Down into the water slid the crossjack sail, the silk hugging the side of the
Eroean
. “Pay out and take up again!”

Down went the crossjack.

“Pay out and take up more on the bow lines, less on the stern line!”

When the jack was squared up—“Pay out even and take up again!”

Now it became a struggle as the sail edged farther down over the breech, the rushing sea trying to shove the silken cloth into the hole. Struggling, the Men and Dwarves haled on the lines, and down slid the crossjack, now firmly plastered against the hull by the press of inrushing water. Were it not for Jatu and the two Dwarves—Dask and Dokan—the venture would have failed, the sail would have been sucked into the hold…yet the strength of these three proved critical in resisting the brutal flow, and paying out and taking up, at last the silk covered the gape and the halyards were haled tight and belayed. And in the hold below, as the crossjack sail was pulled down over the breech, the thunder of water slowed to a roar and then to a gush and finally to a heavy runnelling. But the hold was awash, and Men and Dwarves alike were suffering from the cold, the heat drawn from them, and they could but scarcely function,
barely able to clamber up and out from the flood, for if they did not get warm they would die.

The midship bilge pump crew returned to their task, and together with the forward and aft pumpers were now able to keep ahead of the inflow.

Aravan turned to the others, exhausted, chilled, their wet clothes rimed with ice. “Get ye below and into dry garments and warmed. Jatu, this fix is but temporary. As soon as thou canst, find able crew to lash more lines about the vessel to trap the sail e’en tighter against the hull. Too, find Bokar and send him to me in the aft quarters. And when thou canst find suitable replacements, relieve the pumping crews.”

As Aravan entered the aft-quarters passageway, he heard Rux whining in Alamar’s cabin. Entering, he found Jinnarin looking on starkly as a grim-faced Aylis wetted a cloth. On the bed lay Alamar, the eld Mage motionless, his hair matted with blood. Rux whined, the fox smelling gore in the air and sensing his mistress’s distress. Tokko pieces were scattered across the floor.

“Oh, Aravan,” cried Jinnarin, “Alamar was hurled against the wall.”

“Is he…?”

Aylis glanced up. “He is breathing, his pulse strong, yet he has suffered a blow to the skull.” Aylis began washing the back of her father’s head, clearing the blood away.

Aravan stepped to Alamar’s side. “Jinnarin, fetch Fager. I know not where he is; he may be attending others. As soon as he is able, have him come here.”

Jinnarin leapt to Rux’s back, and the fox sprang out the door.

Aylis washed away the last of the blood, though a gash yet seeped in the center of a large knot standing forth on the anterior of the elder’s head.

“I will get bandages,
chieran
,” said Aravan, stepping from the cabin. Moments later he returned, cloth and a healing salve in hand. Aylis took both from him and gently applied the salve. Then she folded a pressure bandage and bound it to the back of Alamar’s head with a strip of cloth, tying it in place.

Bokar stepped into the cabin. He glanced at Alamar, then said, “Captain?”

Aravan turned to the Dwarf. “Bokar, thy Drimma will recover more swiftly than the Men. I would have thee gather a crew to cut away the burst timber and rig a fix until we can sail to a shipyard for repairs.”

“Shipyard?”

“Aye. The port of Arbor in Gelen, I deem: it is nearest.”

“But, Captain,” growled Bokar, slamming a fist into his palm, “we will lose Durlok if we do so. And I wager all I own that he is behind this calamity.”

Aravan shook his head. “Bokar, we have already lost Durlok, whether or no he is responsible. As it now stands, the
Eroean
cannot fare after him; we cannot pursue him with our hull holed. And, if he runs to dangerous waters, a jury-rigged repair is like to fail.”

“Kruk!” spat Bokar. After a moment he said, “My Châkka will be ready in mayhap a half a candlemark. I will assemble a crew; we will repair the ship well enough to reach Gelen.”

Aravan nodded. “Find Finch. He will tell thee what needs doing, though keep him from wading in the frigid water; I would not have him dead, the heat sucked away from his body. Divide thy Drimma into several crews and have them work in short shifts, for even thy hardy Folk cannot withstand the chill of this ocean overlong. I will join thee when I can.”

As Bokar left, Jinnarin and Rux returned. “Fager will be here soon, Aravan. He is treating those who were in the water below.” The Pysk looked to Alamar. “Any change?”

Aylis shook her head.

“
Chieran
, there is nought I can do here, yet much I can do below. I will return when I can.”

Aylis looked at Aravan and nodded.

Working in short shifts, and guided by Finch, the carpenter, Dwarves waded through the icy brine in the flooded hold to saw and chop away the shattered hull planking. And as the bilge pump crews steadily lowered the water inside, boards were sawn and fitted across the breech and nailed in place, and caulking was forced into the seams. By mid morn the
Eroean
had been repaired to the point where she was marginally seaworthy again,
though there was some question whether the jury rigging would hold in a battering storm.

Exhausted, Finch and the Dwarves took to their beds, while Aravan and the ship’s officers surveyed the damage below, Quartermaster Roku accompanying them, the little Jingarian muttering over the loss of goods and marking it down in a ledger. And as the bilge pumps glugged away, down through the hold they all clambered.

Much of the stores of food had been ruined by the seawater, especially that which was stowed in bags or packed in crates, though anything stored in kegs had remained undamaged for the most part. All cloth goods were sodden through and through, and would be rimed in salt were they ever to dry. Other supplies fared well or poorly, depending on their makeup and their method of storing. Some goods had been stowed on racks above the reach of the brine, and these were completely undamaged. Other goods were wholly submerged, and yet they fared well, such as the ballista fireball Bokar fished up from below the water; after a cursory examination, he declared it fit for battle, tossing it back into the brine. The lances, though, would need be recovered and dried soon, else the shafts would warp.

The inspection tour ended back at the boarded-over hole, water seeping in, and Aravan said, “‘Tis well enough done for us to sail to Gelen when the wind returns, though I deem we need leave the crossjack lashed to the outside in the event that something goes amiss.”

“Like to have dashed my brains out,” declared Alamar, feeling the back of his head. The elder pointed at his sternum. “My chest hurts, too.”

Jinnarin sighed. “I’m afraid I did that, Alamar.”

“Hurt my chest?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You see, when we were thrown across the room, you hit the wall, and I hit you.”

“You hit me?”

“Well, I couldn’t help it, Alamar. You were in the way.”

Alamar glanced at the tiny Pysk. “You hit me!”

“I’m sorry, Alamar. There was nothing I could do. Besides, would you rather it had been you who slammed
into me? If so, then I would be just a flat spot on the wall.”

Alamar grinned in spite of himself. Jinnarin giggled.

Of a sudden, Alamar sobered. “This has got to be Durlok’s doings. I’ve got to get to the hold and see for myself.”

“It’s still awash, Alamar.”

“As soon as the water is out, then.”

“Rux and I will go down shortly. When it is safe, I’ll let you know.”

Alamar stood and made his way to a porthole. Peering out, he said, “Go ask Aylis when this fog will lift, when the wind will return. The sooner we get to Gelen, the sooner we get the ship repaired. And the sooner repaired, the sooner we can be back on Durlok’s track.”

“But, Alamar, he’s lost to us, don’t you think? I mean, who knows where he’ll be by the time the
Eroean
is repaired?”

Alamar turned away from the porthole, bitterness in his eyes. “Regardless of where he’s gotten to, Pysk, he
must
be stopped.” The elder trudged to his bed and sat down wearily. Finally he said, “Go ask Aylis when we will be underway.”

Jinnarin found Aylis standing on the deck, Aravan at her side. The seeress gazed at the unseen sky and summoned her energy.
“Caelum in futura,”
she murmured, and watched as all disappeared but the icefog, and hours passed in mere moments—grey day raced past, dusk but a flicker as dark night fell sharply, but then the grey mist swirled away and stars splashed across the skies, and then dawn burst into clear day, and here and there a cloud raced across the blue—and then her vision expired.