Rise Of Empire (62 page)

This brought a round of laughter and garnered irritated growls from those trying to sleep.

“You don’t look so good,” Wyatt mentioned to Hadrian.

He shook his head miserably. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a ship. Does the
Storm
always rock so much?”

“Hmm?” Wyatt glanced at him, then laughed. “This? This here is nothing. You won’t even notice it in a day or so.” He watched the next man at the table play his card. “We’re still in the sound. Wait until we hit the open sea. You might want to sit. You’re sweating.”

Hadrian touched his face and felt the moisture. “Funny, I feel chilled, if anything.”

“Have a seat,” Wyatt said. “Poe, give him your spot.”

“Why me?” the young boy asked, insulted.

“Because I said so.” Poe’s expression showed that was not enough for him to give up one of the limited places. “And because I’m a quartermaster and you’re a seaman, but even more importantly, because Mr. Bishop appointed you cook’s mate.”

“He did?” Poe asked, and blinked, a smile crossing his face.

“Congratulations,” Wyatt said. “Now, you might want to make a good impression on your new boss and move your infernal arse!”

The boy promptly stood and pretended to clean the bench with an invisible duster. “After you, sir!” he said with an exaggerated bow.

“Does he know anything about cooking?” Hadrian asked dubiously, taking the seat.

“Sure, sure!” Poe declared exuberantly. “I know plenty. You just wait. I’ll show ya.”

“Good, I don’t feel up to working with food yet.” Hadrian let his head drop into his hands. The old man next to Wyatt tossed down his card and the whole group groaned in agony.

“You bloody bastard, Drew!” Grady barked at him, tossing what remained of his cards onto the pile. The others did the same.

Drew grinned, showing his few yellowed teeth, and
collected the tiny pile of silver tenents. “That’s it for me, boys. Good night.”

“Night, Drew, ya lousy Lanksteer!” Grady said, shooing him away as if he were a bug. “We can talk at breakfast, eh?”

“Sure, Grady,” Drew said. “Oh, that reminds me. I heard something right funny tonight when I was reefing the tops’l. We’re going to be taking on a passenger to help find the horn. How stupid are these landlubbers? It’s only the most well-known point on the Sharon! Anyway, remind me at breakfast and I’ll tell ya about it. It’s a real hoot, it is. Night now.”

Most of the rest of the men headed off, leaving just Wyatt, Grady, Poe, and Hadrian.

“You should turn in as well,” Wyatt told Poe.

“I’m not tired,” he protested.

“I didn’t ask if you were tired, did I?”

“I want to stay up and celebrate my promotion.”

“Off with ya before I report you for disobeying a superior.”

Poe scowled and stomped off, looking for his hammock.

“You too, Grady,” Wyatt told him.

The old seaman looked at Wyatt suspiciously, then leaned over and quietly asked, “Why you trying to get rid of me, Deminthal?”

“Because I’m tired of looking at that ugly scowl of yours, that’s why.”

“Codswallop!” he hissed. “You wanna be alone to talk about the you-know-what, don’t ya? Both of you are in on it. I can tell, and that Royce fellow, he’s in too. How many more you got, Wyatt? Room for another? I’m pretty good in a fight.”

“Shut up, Grady,” Wyatt told him. “Talk like that can get you hanged.”

“Okay, okay,” Grady said, holding up his palms. “Just letting you know, that’s all.” He got up and headed for his own
hammock, casting several glances back over his shoulder, until he disappeared into the forest of swinging men.

“What was that all about?” Hadrian asked, hooking a thumb toward Grady’s retreating figure.

“I don’t know,” Wyatt replied. “There’s always one sailor on board any ship looking for a mutiny. Grady seems to be the
Emerald Storm’s.
Ever since he signed on, he’s been thinking there’s a conspiracy going on—mostly because he wants there to be, I think. He has issues with authority, Grady does.” Wyatt started gathering up the scattered deck of cards into a pile. “So, what’s your story?”

“How do you mean?” Hadrian asked.

“Why are you and Royce here? I stuck my neck out getting you on board. I think I’ve a right to know why.”

“I thought you got us aboard to pay off a debt.”

“True, but I’m still curious why you wanted on the
Storm
in the first place.”

“We’re looking for a safer line of work and thought we’d try sailing,” Hadrian offered. Wyatt’s face showed he was not buying it. “We’re on a job, but I can’t tell you more than that.”

“Does it have to do with the secret cargo?”

Hadrian blinked. “It’s possible. What
is
the secret cargo?”

“Weapons. Steel swords, heavy shields, imperial-made crossbows, armor—enough to outfit a good-sized army. It came aboard at the last minute, hauled up in the middle of the night just before we sailed.”

“Interesting,” Hadrian mused. “Any idea where we’re headed?”

“Nope, but that’s not unusual. Captains usually keep that information to themselves, and Captain Seward doesn’t even share that with me … and I’m the quartermaster.”

“Quartermaster? I thought you were the helmsman.”

“I’m guessing you’ve served in armies, haven’t you?”

“A few, and the quartermaster is the supply officer.”

“But on the sea, the quartermaster steers the ship, and as I mentioned, the captain hasn’t even told me where we are going.” Wyatt shuffled the cards absently. “So, you don’t know where the ship is going, and you weren’t aware of the cargo. This job didn’t come with much in the way of information, did it?”

“What about you?” Hadrian turned the tables. “What are you doing here?”

“I could say I was working for a living, and for me it would actually make sense, but like you, I’m looking for answers.”

“To what?”

“To where my daughter is.” Wyatt paused a moment, his eyes glancing at the candle. “Allie was taken a week ago. I was out finding work, and while I was gone, the Imps grabbed her.”

“Grabbed her? Why?”

Wyatt lowered his voice. “Allie is part elven, and the New Empire is not partial to their kind. Under a new law, anyone with even a drop of elf blood is subject to arrest. They’ve been rounding them up and putting them on ships, but no one can tell me where they’ve taken them. So here I am.”

“But what makes you think this ship will go to the same place?”

“I take it you haven’t ventured down to the waist hold yet?” He paused a second, then added, “That’s the bottom of the ship, below the waterline. Ship stores are there, as well as livestock like goats, chickens, and cows. Sailors on report get the duty to pump the bilge. It’s a miserable job on account of the manure mixing with the seawater that leaks in. It’s also where—right now—more than a hundred elves are chained up in an area half this size.”

Hadrian nodded with a grimace at the thought.

“You and Royce gave me a break once because of my daughter. Why was that?”

“That was Royce’s call. You need to take that up with him. Although I wouldn’t do it for a while. He’s sicker than I am. I’ve never seen him so miserable, and this sea business is making him irritable. Well, more irritable than usual.”

Wyatt nodded. “My daughter’s the same way on water. Pitiful little thing, she’s like a cat on a piece of driftwood. It takes her forever to get accustomed to the rocking.” He paused a moment, looking at the candle.

“I’m sure you’ll find her, don’t worry.” Hadrian glanced at the mass of men around him and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The job we’re on is important, and we can’t afford to be distracted, but if the situation presents itself, we’ll help any way we can. Something tells me I won’t have much trouble convincing Royce.”

Hadrian felt the nausea rising in his stomach once more. His face must have betrayed his misery.

“Don’t worry. Seasickness usually only lasts three days,” Wyatt assured him as he put the cards in his breast pocket. “After that, both of you will be fine.”

“If we can stay on board that long. I don’t know anything about being a ship’s cook.”

Wyatt smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. Poe will do most of the work. I know he looks young, but he’ll surprise you.”

“So how is it that I get an assistant?”

“As ship’s cook, you rank as a petty officer. Don’t get all excited, though. You’re still under the boatswains and their mates, but it does grant you the services of Ordinary Seaman Poe. It also exempts you from the watches. That means so long as the ship’s meals are on schedule, the rest of your time is your own. What you need to know is that breakfast is served
promptly at the first bell of the forewatch.” Wyatt paused. “That’s the first time you’ll hear a single bell toll after eight bells is rung just after the sun breaks above the horizon.

“So have Poe light the galley fires shortly after middle watch. He’ll know when that is. Tell him to make skillygalee—that’s oatmeal gruel. Don’t forget biscuits. Biscuits get served at every meal. At eight bells, the men are piped to breakfast. Each mess will send someone to you with a messkid, sorta like a wooden bucket. Your job will be to dish out the food. Have Poe make some tea as well. The men will drink beer and rum at dinner and supper, but not at breakfast, and no one on board will risk drinking straight water.”

“Risk?”

“Water sits in barrels for months, or years if a ship is on a long voyage. It gets rancid. Tea and coffee are okay ’cause they’re boiled and have a little flavor. Coffee is expensive, though, and reserved for the officers. The crew and the midshipmen eat first. After that, Basil, the officers’ cook, will arrive to make meals for the lieutenants and captain. Just stay out of his way.

“For dinner make boiled pork. Have Poe start boiling it right after Basil leaves. The salted meat will throw off a thick layer of fat. Half of that goes to the top captains to grease the rigging. The other half you can keep. You can sell it to tallow merchants at the next port for a bit of coin, but don’t give it to the men. It will make you popular if you do, but it can also give them scurvy, and the captain won’t like it. Have Poe boil some vegetables and serve them together as a stew, and don’t forget the biscuits.”

“So I tell Poe what to make and dish it out, but I don’t actually do any cooking?”

Wyatt smiled. “That’s the benefit of being a petty officer. Sadly, however, you only get a seaman’s rate of pay. For supper,
just serve what’s left over from dinner, grog, and, of course, biscuits. After that, have Poe clean up, and like I said, the rest of the day is open to you. Sound easy?”

“Maybe, if I could stand straight and keep my stomach from doing backflips.”

“Listen to Poe. He’ll take good care of you. Now you’d best get back in your hammock. Trust me, it helps. Oh, and just so you know, you would have been wrong.”

“About what?” Hadrian asked.

“About thinking sailing was a safer line of work.”

It was still dark when the captain called, “All hands!”

A cold wind had risen, and in the dark hours before dawn, a light rain sprayed the deck, adding a wet chill to the seasick misery that had already deprived Hadrian of most of his sleep. During the night, the
Emerald Storm
had passed by the Isle of Niel and now approached the Point of Man. The point was a treacherous headland shoal that marked the end of Avryn Bay and the start of the Sharon Sea. In the dark, it was difficult to see the shoal, but the sound was unmistakable. From somewhere ahead there came the rhythmic, thundering boom of waves crashing against the point.

The below decks emptied as the boatswain and his mates roused all the men from both watches with their starter ropes, driving them up to stations.

“Bring her about!” shouted the captain from his perch on the quarterdeck. The dignified figure of Lieutenant Bishop echoed the order, which Mr. Temple repeated.

“Helm-a-lee!” shouted the captain. Once more the order echoed across the decks. Wyatt spun the ship’s great wheel.

“Tacks and sheets!” Lieutenant Bishop barked to the crew.

At the mizzen, main, and foremasts the other lieutenants shouted more orders, which the boatswains reinforced.