Falconer's Quest (7 page)
The railing gave way altogether. The last remaining rope clamped itself to the deck, humming in taut fury. The captain shouted words lost to the rain. Falconer gripped the cutlass handle with both hands, ignored the looming wall of water that might fling him over the side, and hacked again with all his might.
The rope came apart with a snap as loud as rifle fire. The ship realized it was free and righted itself with such bounding force the nose jammed about, meeting the next huge crash of water with agility.
The incoming wave caught Captain Harkness full in the face, and he went down hard. Falconer released one hand from the rigging, all that kept him on the ship, and managed to catch hold of the captain’s sodden greatcoat. The skipper slid with the wash, headed now toward the gaping hole where the railing had once been. Eyes round with terror, the skipper’s hands clawed for a hold. Falconer roared with the strain of the captain’s weight and the wave’s furious strength.
Then it was over. The ship shook off the wave and swooped down the next valley. The captain managed to reach the mainmast and hugged it with both arms, striving to keep his feet beneath him. Falconer struggled upright, massaging the hand burned first by the rope and now by salt. He raced back to the wheel, where he found the helmsman gray with exhaustion. Falconer tied himself back into place, then tore off the bottom of his undershirt, using his teeth and other hand to tie it around his damaged palm.
He managed to grip the wheel just in time to meet the next incoming wave.
It might have been an hour later. It might have been ten years. Falconer reckoned it was closer to the former, but only as time was measured outside the storm.
The sun came out.
The crew was captured by the unexpected shine. They squinted and stared fearfully about, looking like sodden beasts in the amber light. The universal sentiment was expressed by the helmsman, who croaked into Falconer’s ear, “What does it mean?”
Before he could reply, Harkness shouted, “John Falconer!”
“Aye, Captain!”
Harkness was back on the quarterdeck. He had lost his canvas trumpet to the storm, but the wind had stilled with the appearance of daylight and his voice carried well. “Is this the eye?”
Falconer used the piece of shirt tied about his right hand to clear his vision. He squinted and peered upward, making a slow circular sweep.
During the time they had been lost in the storm’s perpetual darkness, dawn had come unnoticed. The eastern sky was brilliantly clear. To the south and west the rain continued with such force there was a partition between earth and sky.
Falconer turned back to the captain. “I think not.”
“Have you seen one before?”
“Aye. Once.” Falconer nudged the helmsman. “Can you manage on your own for a while?”
“Not if she blows again, sir.”
“I’ll be back for that.” But Falconer did not think it was going to happen. He was certain enough to unlash himself from the wheel and start toward the quarterdeck.
Simply because it had stopped raining did not mean the going was easy. The seas appeared even more immense in the light of the dawn. The deck was littered with rigging and sails ripped from the masts. Sea froth shimmered in the light and trembled in the lighter wind, slick as oil on glass. Falconer clambered forward using both hands for support, moving swiftly but with caution, for he wore no lifeline.
When he arrived at the quarterdeck stairs, he said, “Permission to enter, sir.”
“Don’t stand upon ceremony, Falconer. Up with you and be quick about it.” When Falconer had joined him, the captain said, “So, you’ve entered the eye of such a tempest and lived to tell the tale.”
“It was not as fierce a storm as this, and we scarcely survived.”
The captain motioned to a barrel lashed to the bulkhead. “There’s water. Not fresh, but I doubt you’ll care overmuch.”
Falconer’s thirst was suddenly as strong as pain. He hammered off the lid and plunged his head beneath the surface, sucking in water like a dog. He drank until his belly felt distended, then came up blowing hard.
Harkness did not turn from his inspection of the ship and the wall of clouds. “Tell me why you think we’re not trapped in the maelstrom.”
“The clouds do not encircle us, sir.”
“I’d heard that was the way of the eye but did not believe it.”
“It’s true enough.” Despite the distance the captain had previously maintained from him, Falconer had found himself liking the man. Harkness was a fighter, for only a combatant could have risen from such low beginnings to captain a merchant vessel. Yet this strong, aggressive man did not shy away from admitting what he did not know. “I’ve heard of eyes so large the leading wall is beyond the horizon. But I don’t think that’s the case here,” Falconer explained.
“And why not?”
Falconer pointed at the massive waves, turned to brilliant silver by the sun. “Inside the eye, the water and the wind both come from all sides. The waves go into a madness. There is no other word for it. Peaks hit both gunnels at the same time. The ship bobs like a cork.”
“So you think we’ve emerged from the storm’s far edge.”
“The clouds are receding behind us, the wind is gradually shifting to the rear quarter, the waves are half a turn behind them.” Falconer nodded. “Aye, Captain. I’d say we have survived the beast’s attack.”
“For the sake of my ship and my crew, sir, I hope and pray you are right.”
“As do I, sir. May I say, Captain, that there could well be more tempests.”
“Aye, I’ve heard that as well, how hurricanes spawn smaller storms.”
“They’ll sweep out of nowhere,” Falconer said. “They will blow hard, pound us with more rain, and disappear.”
“The warning is well taken, sir. I’ll thank you to resume your post at the wheel.”
“Permission to see to my boy, Captain.”
“Not just yet, I would beg you. Your strength is still required on deck, sir.” Harkness raised his voice. “Bosun!”
“Aye, sir!”
“Tell Cook to fire up the stoves. One watch to stand down but remain on deck. Another to tend the debris. A third to straighten the rigging. Send someone to check on the boy and report back to John Falconer. And send your best man aloft with a glass to eye the horizon. ’Ware more storms!”
The crew battled their way through two further blows, both arriving with scarce more warning than the hurricane. But now the men were ready. The daylight helped enormously. The ship remained as battened down as the crew could make it. From his station at the wheel, Falconer watched with more moderate unease as both storms grew from black lines upon the horizon to thunderous onslaughts of wind and rain. The rigging shrieked, the rain lashed, the waves tore themselves to shreds. Then the blow passed, daylight returned, and the ship righted itself to less heart-stopping motion. The seas did not return to calm, but the waves were more regular in their ponderous rhythm.
Two hours after the second blow faded, Captain Harkness ordered the watch on duty to stand down. The helmsman lashed alongside Falconer had to be helped belowdecks by two of his mates. Falconer patted the wheel twice, a silent tribute to a trim and trustworthy vessel. When he turned away, he saw that Harkness was watching. Though the captain made no sign, Falconer sensed the captain approved.
When the captain dismissed him, Falconer did not rush belowdecks so much as stagger from wall to wall, allowing the ship’s roll to carry him forward. Overhead he heard crewmen hammering out the chocks and granting air to the unfortunate passengers within the fetid holds.
When Falconer arrived at his cabin door, he was greeted by the sound of singing.
“Father John!” The lad leapt from his bed and bounded across the cabin. “Father John!”
“My boy.” Falconer lifted the lad and embraced him with all the force he had left in his spent form. “My dear boy.”
When Matt’s feet returned to the floor, he refused to release Falconer’s hand. “Master Soap has been teaching me sea chanteys!”
“He’s bright as a new penny, is your lad. And brave as they come.” Soap accepted Falconer’s hand with a large gap-toothed grin. “Ever so glad to be seeing yourself alive and well, Falconer.”
“I am forever in your debt, my man.”
“None of that. I was just doing the captain’s bidding, as would any able seaman.”
“I’ve been teaching Soap our hymns, Father John!”
“Never thought I’d see the like,” Soap said, “a young lad on his first sea voyage, in the belly of a storm as vicious as ever I’ve seen. And what does he do but sing!”
“God was with us. Isn’t that so, Father John?”
“Aye, lad. No question of that.” Falconer did not so much lower himself onto his bunk as collapse. Now that his boy was safe there beside him, he could no longer contain the rising fatigue. It came at him in waves as huge as those beyond the portal. He could barely move his lips to murmur to Soap, “It does my heart good to know you were here with the boy.”
“A joy, sir, and that’s the truth.” The grin seemed planted in place. “So we’ve survived the blow. Had me worried there, I don’t mind saying.”
“Aye.” Falconer did not wish to say more, both because his mouth felt gummed with weariness and because the boy was within earshot. “Help me with my boots…that’s a good lad.”
Matt took hold of one foot and then the other, making a game of pulling off Falconer’s sodden boots. Falconer protested mildly but let Soap unwrap his bandaged hand. The steward probed the skin. “Rope burn, by the looks of things. I’ve seen worse. I’ll just go ask Cook for some grease and we’ll wrap that proper.”
Matt asked, “Shall I sing you a chantey, Father John?”
“That would be fine, lad.” Falconer lifted his legs one by one onto the mattress. He smiled briefly at his son and was asleep before he’d drawn a second breath.
The lieutenant himself came to escort them to dinner. “Captain’s compliments, sir. He requests your presence in the cuddy.”
Soap had already informed Falconer of the captain’s intention to invite them to dine with the ship’s officers. Falconer had bathed off the crust of salt, washed his hair for the first time since coming on board, and helped Matt don clean clothes. He was in the process of tying his hair back with a bit of blue ribbon supplied by Soap when the lieutenant appeared in the doorway.
Falconer eyed the young man’s tightly wrapped shoulder. “How is the injury?”
“Harkness is a fair hand with shipboard ailments—better than most navy surgeons. He’s certain there’s no break, sir. Claims by landfall I’ll be using it again.” Bivens glanced at Matt, then added, “You saved my life out there, sir. I’m forever in your debt.”
“Shipmates who survive such a storm are not bound by obligations, Lieutenant.”
“This one is, and I’d be ever so grateful if you’d call me Rupert.”
“My own first name is John, though it is seldom used. You may join my friends in calling me Falconer.”
Soap, standing against the cabin wall to make as much room for Falconer’s girth as possible, said to Matt, “The entire ship’s crew is talking of nothing but how your da saved both their senior officers.”
Falconer felt his face grow warm. “None of that now, please.”
“Won’t do you no good to complain, sir. The crew counts Harkness as a hard but fair man. And Lieutenant Bivens here is a favorite belowdecks. They saw what you did, and they are grateful for the deeds.”
Matt’s eyes were round and wide. “Are you a hero, Father John?”
The lieutenant replied somberly, “He is in my book, young lad.”
Falconer cleared his throat and ruffled Matt’s hair. “We shouldn’t keep the captain waiting.”
“Ah, Falconer. Do come in, though with your bulk we’ll scarce have room to breathe.” But his welcoming smile belied the words. “And, young lad, how shall I call you?”
“My name is Matthew, sir. I’m Matt Hart.”
The captain took his time over the lad, which raised him further in Falconer’s estimation. “You do not share your father’s name?” he asked, bending down to Matt’s level.
“My first father was named Hart, sir. Father John says I should honor his memory with how I am called. And my mother too, of course.”
“God keep her blessed soul in eternal peace,” Soap intoned, his expression and raised eyebrows sending his meaning.
“Of course. Of course.” The captain’s gaze was thoughtful as he patted Matt’s shoulder. “My steward informs me you survived the storms with your courage intact.”
“And his voice,” Soap added. “I almost forgot the blow, he sang so sweet.”
“Then perhaps you will honor us with a song later.”
Matt cast a glance at Falconer, who nodded. “If you wish it, sir.”
“Always did enjoy a tune following supper. Do you know hymns?”
“Oh yes, sir. Back in Salem town I sing with the unmarried men’s choir.”
“How very interesting. Every one of your answers provides another door I’m eager to enter.” He straightened and turned to Falconer. “But first there are several matters regarding your father to which I must attend.”
Falconer started to object, foreseeing the direction the conversation might take. But at that moment, Lieutenant Bivens managed to catch his eye from his station directly behind the captain. Bivens shot him a warning glance and gave his head a fractional nod.
