Setting Sail 12- The Gracious Pearl

With the navy still making themselves present, it seemed teaching Dortas would have additional eyes. With a wave of his hand the gnomish lad ran up to him still starry eyed from watching his mentor fight. He had known Wilkes could use some magic, but hadn’t seen it in practice yet. If anything ever took the stars from his eyes, he had the mind to pluck new ones from the sky for him. He gave his apprentice a firm pat on the shoulder, jolting him enough to focus his attention on him directly.

“Right lad, y’know the drill. Grab twenty feet of rope. Once yer done with yer knots, go ahead and get ready for a light spar.” Wilkes told him idly. Pauline smirked at him for that. Jeremiah seemed to be milling about with the other navy men. With little more to do than give instructions he decided to lean against the main mast, let his body rest a bit. Pauline not so subtly drifted along the deck to stay within ten feet of him. She was far from subtle. Stroking the hair on his chin, he thought back to the cards Meryl had flipped over. The Lovers most prominently stuck out to him. He couldn’t shake that one whenever he had some kind of new opportunity. Especially with it being the fifth card, and not necessarily tied to a specific point in time from his understanding. He needed to talk to Meryl about that. It could have been that The Fool was the one tied to him outside of time. His gut told him it would either be the first or the last card drawn for his reading. His mind had wondered completely while he ran the night of the reading over again in his mind. How the mass of black cloth had stared directly into his soul and his future.

“New bonds, not necessarily the romantic kind.” He mumbled to himself. Pauline’s watchful gaze remained trained on him. He felt like a fish being honed in on by a gull. Attempting to go about his work day hadn’t shaken her from observing him. Dortas returned with his length of rope one of the knots already tied. Wilkes stomped on the butt of the rope as it dragged past. cinching the knot overly tight and into an annoying clump for Dortas to untangle.

“Aww c’mon Wilkes!” Dortas cried out incredulously. The sailor shrugged at his apprentice. A shit eating grin slowly spread on his face. Without much more back and forth, Dortas worked through his knots with a steady grace. There were the expected hiccups here and there, which were addressed. Once Dortas had turned twenty feet of rope into a series of exemplary knots, they were undone and the length of rope was placed as a relatively large circle.

“Excuse me, pretty lady, but I’m gonna fight Wilkes now. If ye’d be careful enough to stay clear that’d be wonderful!” Dortas spoke to her with what seemed to be an attempt at flirtation. Pauline glanced at the lad, then to Wilkes, then back to Dortas. It seemed some kind of snarky comment was about to ruin the mood, but she bit her tongue. Simply taking a step back from the circle.

The boat rocked gently. A small crowd gathered near the mast and watched the small sparring match. Jeremiah was at the front of the cluster, his feet only a pace away from the rope. He seemed keen on watching more so than anyone else. The brief distraction of taking in the crowd let Dortas lunge in and clamp on Wilkes’s right knee. The size difference made that concerning but not damning. Kicking back hard he swung the leg with the gnome still attached into the air.

Dortas would not be deterred so easily, however. He planted his feet, leaving the limb stuck in a log carry position. The lad quickly swam up Wilkes’s body and attempted to trip out the other leg. Tucking his shoulder, Wilkes simply rolled over and returned to a neutral standing position opposite from his apprentice. He tapped his chin with his knuckles, goading the lad to throw a punch. A middle finger rose and wagged in his face for that, but no punch came. Instead an opportunity showed itself. A surprise gust of wind blew through the air, ruffling the chestnut hair of his apprentice. The real wind came moments later from the opposite direction with the confusion still on his face. Dortas swayed hard, struggling to keep his balance on the rocking boat and at the mercy of a heavy wind. A leisurely couple steps forward, totally unaffected by the wind around them, and Wilkes performed an ankle pick. Dortas was now hopping on one leg, fighting the continual bursts of wind and swaying of the boat. To say it was sorely unfair was an understatement.

Though Dortas was stubborn if nothing else. He committed hard to having a leg snatched. Launching up off the deck, forcing Wilkes to choose between attempting a full body grapple or letting his grip go. He was hedging his bet on how much Wilkes cared to avoid injuring his apprentice. He took the bait, and pulled the lad in close. It was then, while hurtling towards Wilkes’s torso that Dortas threw a punch. His knuckles connected with his mentor’s formerly pained nose. A small gush of blood came from one nostril. The grip on the gnome’s ankle slipped in favor of covering the wounded bit of cartilage. After wiping the blood off and flicking what had pooled onto the deck, the human smiled.

“Attaboy!” Wilkes praised his apprentice while throwing his own punch in return. The smaller fighter ducked under the swing. Though, while crouched like that he had little means to recover as a swift kick came for him. The top of Wilkes’s foot connected to Dortas’s right side. A strong gust of wind followed afterward. The poor gnomish boy was propelled like a child’s ball out of the rope circle. The lad landed on his feet but immediately frowned.

“Best two out of three! I can take you!” Dortas cried from the edge of the circle.

“Give me ten more knots and ye got a deal!” That was enough to keep the gnome occupied for a short while. The afternoon had rushed in to greet them. With all the extra hands on the deck sailing out to go fishing would have to wait. Erik was triple checking the stock crates and brined fish before the voyage. Rangpar was sharpening his axe. Wilkes finally took time to get a proper headcount of the naval types loitering on the deck. Three of them with the big bronze things on their shoulders were talking with the captain and Barry. Another five were coming up and down from the lower deck, seeming to keep a rotating watch on himself and Erik. Pauline still stood by the mast. Twelve to Seven, not a terrible ratio. Nearly a full crew again. Thellin hadn’t had that in decades.

Dortas’s second set of knots were finished. He folded his arms and stuck up his chin while facing Wilkes. His apprentice really was just a smaller him. What a bother. The second spar went nearly identical with the first. Dortas was adapting where he could, focusing on grappling to prevent Wilkes’s superior range from winning the fight outright. The lad was scrappy, that was absolutely true. There wasn’t a crowd this time, they were more focused on watching how the crew moved. There was something unsettling about that. Their way of life was being scrutinized. Dedicated into a report. Everything about what they did, and how they did it was put on parchment. Hundreds of hours of labor turned into stylus marks on a page.

While he was waxing introspective, Dortas had managed to take full control of Wilkes’s right leg. The gnome threw a series of punches into his ribs. He was aiming his knuckles for the fleshy gaps between the bones. It stung like hell, but wasn’t unbearable. He threw his own punch in return, his knuckles connecting cleanly with Dortas’s jaw. His head rocked to the side, but his grip didn’t slip. Instead he clothes lined the knee he had control over. The two tumbled to the ground in a bumpy, rough landing. Scrambling, the pair fell into a gator roll. Each using weight and momentum to force themselves on top of the grapple. Out of frustration at being rolled and getting a bit nauseated, Dortas slammed a headbutt into Wilkes nose again.

“Ow Fuck!” Wilkes then proceeded to put his palm over the entirety of Dortas’s face. He extended his arm and forced the persistent little shit away from him. Continued futile attempts to hit him again came, but at this distance the only thing he was hitting was air. He coulda swore he heard Pauline giggle at that. The rope was close to them both now, even with them sprawled out across the ground Wilkes had an idea. He kept his arm extended, standing up with the gap maintained. Dortas grabbed his wrist hard and kept trying to wrench the grip off. “Listen lad, if ye hit my nose one more time in a single day, I’m gonna tan yer hide until it matches the deck!”

“How’re ye gonna tan my hide if you just blow me away with the wind?” Dortas shot back, his voice slightly muffled beneath Wilkes’s hand. Letting his grip go, the gnome attempted to slip back in on his leg. A right hook forced the lad to the deck. Wilkes dropped his guard for a second, just a second to be sure he hadn’t gone and knocked the lad out. He stooped down, before getting another head butt. Reeling back he covered his nose and cursed the gnome again. A quick series of punches flew. He was aiming for the spots the lad had built up a bit of muscle from his time on the ship. Particularly the thighs, shoulders, and forearms. Striking at the spots he knew would be sore for the rest of the day if not for the next few days. Dortas didn’t even wince as the blows landed, Wilkes smiled at that. With a firm grip on the lad’s collar, he tossed him out of the circle again.

“That’s enough sparring for today. Ye nearly busted my nose over again, and I’m only just off bedrest after breaking it and getting a bit of a concussion. Good instincts, but try not to put our crew short a hand to prove yerself.” Wilkes began to lecture Dortas. “I know things have been harder the past couple days. I know with the navy being here it feels like ye have to prove yer really worthy of being a sailor. That doesn’t justify taking the extra step to be cruel. I ain’t training ye to think or act like that. The next time ye spar with me, or worse have to fight someone, I want ye to win. I really do, but ye can’t just go bloodying yer knuckles because it makes ye seem tough. Yer better than that lad.”

After Wilkes finished speaking he realized how much he sounded like Barry. Telling a mouthy, scrappy, and stubborn apprentice off for biting off more than he could chew. The irony was not lost on him in the slightest. Dortas gave him a sharp series of nods. The lesson seemed to hit home. He did feel like a bit of a hypocrite because of his own cruelties in recent history. He could have stopped to mull that over further, but there was more work to be done on the ship. Well, he needed to find it first, but there was definitely more work.

Going below deck he poked around in the supply closet until he found the buckets and mops again. Swabbing his own blood off the deck was at least busy enough work to keep boredom from seeping in. It also took him out of the direct watch of Pauline for a beat. No one had followed him down the stairs. Erik was now running a fourth check on supplies and goods for sale.

“Ye nervous about it?” Erik asked while scrawling away on his list.

“About what? The voyage?” Wilkes tried to get the overly vague half elf to be clear instead of clever for once. The bucket rattled against its siblings while he picked it up. The pile of them tipping over, forcing him to set his chosen bucket down and fix the careful stack they had been in.

“I was talking about how that woman in the navy is trying to honey pot you.” Erik said plainly. “A gorgeous woman, with a similar level of aggression to your lover, just so happens to be scouting for the navy? It's fishy to say the least.”

“Nah, I ain’t worried about it. They wouldn’t try to honey pot me with someone calling me a yokel. I figure she just happens to be both intelligent and attractive.” Wilkes shot back, waltzing over slowly to lean against one of the crates. It’d been a bit since he had a nice conversation with Erik. Kicking back a bit before the most important part of their job would be alright. He’d be all work and no play for a few months after this anyways.

“Right. You’re too smart to be tricked by a gorgeous woman. And quit leaning on that.” Erik gave him a light push off of the crate. Rolling his eyes, Wilkes pretended to be hurt by the shove. An over dramatic gasp as he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead while tumbling to the ground. Upon landing, he stuck his tongue out and shut his eyes. Erik nudged him with his foot while continuing his rounds. With his joke having landed enough to annoy his friend, he stood and dusted himself off.

“Ye haven’t said anything about my new shirt yet buddy, do ye not like it?” Wilkes tried to goad Erik into further conversation. A fourth time checking the same work was over analysis in anyone else’s book. For Erik, it was right at mediocre.

“White suits you. Hoping you can keep it that color longer than your old one.” Erik spoke dryly. Something was bugging him beyond the paranoia he openly shared. Wilkes went back to leaning on a crate of finished shirts and pants.

“Did ye know that redbeard was actually a pair of twins? I figured that out recently. I knew I had called him the wrong name at one point, and just stuck to “Mr.Redbeard” after that. How I missed that on an island our size is beyond me.” Wilkes tried to egg further conversation. Erik slowly looked up from his list and stared at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh… guess that explains the night and day behaviors.”

“Right?!”

The pair had a good laugh about that. At that moment the pressure of the voyage wasn’t so heavy. The stresses of his upcoming wedding weren’t so foreboding. For just one last time, Erik and Wilkes were able to share a deep belly laugh as friends with their biggest worries being sailing. What waits for them beyond is something that will define the rest of their lives.