Setting sail 1- Chart the course.

The waters rocked the ship gently as it bobbed along. The nets were cast, the sun beat down, all of it was the same familiar rhythm. Yet it gnawed at Wilkes that Erik not only knew but never pried about the magic. Sure it was about as rare as being left-handed, so couldn’t be overly surprising to any grown adult. It was odd that there was a lack of questions that was what really bothered him. Wilkes had spent so long dancing away from and around the subject with everyone he had never considered that it would only change things by having one less secret under lock and key.

“So I just put this loop back around my starting line and… got it!” Dortas’s chipper speech snapped Wilkes back to the lesson at hand. The lad had made a running and a water bowline on opposite ends of the same rope, perfect for just about anything that required proximity to water. A quick ruffle of his hair and a nudge towards the other nine coils of ropes set the apprentice on with the rest of his work.

“Y’know what I’m fixin’ to say. Sorry lad, being good only means more labor in less days. Being great is when it's less of both.” A smile tugged at his lips when the gnome just gave a sharp nod. No complaints, no arguments. It was weird. Dortas nimbly worked the loops into recreations of his first breakthrough. Whether the lad realized he was making the back bone for casting nets was still in the air. “Can you tell me why it’s important you know how to make these?”

“So when you sneak off to go kissin’ the captain’s daughter someone can make ‘em?” Dortas got a snort as a response

“Not quite, it’s so something wet, like say the sea, won’t overload tension on the rope and make it snap. Running end is fer if it gets violently and quickly jerked in a direction, the rope won't cinch itself tighter around whatever it's tied to and snap under the strain. That rattling around in yer skull well enough?” A rapid nod of affirmation left Wilkes to return the gesture, half his talking with Dortas was silent now. Soon the two would work together entirely on instinct and somatic commands. He didn’t believe either of them could yell over a storm, so cutting a downside where possible was the best idea he had.

Ten of the perfected lines sat at their feet now, Dortas rising up to dust his hands. Small red blemishes on his hands hinted at the birth of calluses. His skin was toughening up, which in turn will save him time for future knots. Stopping to ease the pain from the friction and spindles slowed him here and there. The pair headed up onto the deck and began swapping old ropes with the new ones Dortas had tied.

There was little more to be taught at that point, as it stood now it was time to make good on his promise. Wilkes carefully laid a length of rope in a circle, ensuring it wasn’t snagged on anything and gave a decent space for the two to begin their first spar. His arms folded across his chest and did his best not to loom over the gnome, intimidating him beforehand would be counter intuitive. He needed to see where Dortas was at in terms of fighting from scratch. He chewed his lip while he assessed the lad quickly. Even gait, but not an ounce of tension in his body beyond his shifting to match the waves. Being a noble he likely hadn’t had much rough housing growing up, a sore point for this part of the apprenticeship.

“Right lad, I’m gonna let ye come straight for me. Do your best to either get me to the ground or land a solid hit. Ye’ll know it’s solid when it is.” Wilkes said as he rolled his shoulders slowly. The muscles responded happily, the tension shifting in the small room as the two circled one another. After four loops Wilkes mimed a yawn, taunting Dortas directly. “This ain’t a lecture boyo, ye gotta be hands on.”

An annoyed grunt was the only response, he proceeded to simply keep circling within the rope. Maybe the lad was trying to get a consistent map of his workspace and account for the waves within the ring. Or he was too nervous to make the first move. Wilkes feinted a lunge, and saw the explosive reaction. Dortas hopped to the side and performed the first half of a cartwheel. The ship swayed on the waves and the deck rose to him faster than he had anticipated. Instead of a graceful maneuver he landed promptly on his face. He was trying to mimic the cartwheel kick Beatrice had done. With a pain wince, he straightened himself on all fours, next opting to attempt a tackle from prone.

Wilkes placed a firm hand on his neck and pressed downward. Dortas flattened out onto the ground with a soft thud. Moving his hand off, he sidestepped a desperate grab for his ankle. The lad had seen him grappling with Rangpar in their spare time on the ship, so he at least had an idea of what could be done. Dortas was smart. More importantly, he had an eye for techniques he could copy. Mimicry was a far cry from mastery however.

“Dortas, the floor is not your enemy. Try to hit me instead.” Wilkes taunted him further. An impish grin spread on his face as he continued to evade the calculated but clumsy attempt at an assault. Another forward charge missed him by a mile. The gnome stood up, gritting his teeth as he did. His short stature meant that whatever rush he did was telegraphed. Wilkes decided to impart some wisdom on him. “You can throw your punches instead of your whole body, y’know?”

“SHUT UP!” Dortas had lost his temper, something Wilkes had intended. He needed to see how Dortas fought when his judgement was clouded, and to break any bad habits as early as possible. He practically stomped with each step, trying to direct his frustration into the deck it seemed. A well structured punch flew out, the lad had rotated his hip and squared his shoulder. Decent technique, but still a bit slow. A quick grab of the wrist, a gentle push on the back, and his apprentice was sent staggering in a new direction. The addition to his already shifted momentum stole his balance from him. Another tumble and rolling along the deck seemed to chip the lad’s pride. A blind flurry of swings came next both arms and none of the technique. Wilkes swatted gently as the strikes, directing them away from himself. Panting and frustrated, Dortas was red in the face as he glared at Wilkes. His shoulders had climbed toward his ears and his feet had stopped moving properly against the waves. Wilkes recognized the signs immediately. The lad wasn't fighting anymore. He was trying to hurt him

“Well come on, ye got the bluster. Put some action behind it. Swing with your hip and your shoulder again, but be explosive.” Wilkes raised his guard as the next punch sailed towards him. The impact stung faintly, a smile bloomed in full on his face. With another goading gesture the lad ran through a series of one-two punches. He recreated the exact exercise he’d seen Wilkes doing against a beam post. What caught the older sailor off guard was the rapid inclusion of an uppercut following the one-two. Tilting his head back he dodged the worst of the blow, but a glancing knuckle cracked against his chin. Not hard enough to make his teeth rattle, but he could’ve bitten through his tongue if he was still being cheeky. Angry snarls came from the gnome, like he was an improperly sized vessel for all that aggression.

Wilkes swung a pulled punch in response. Dortas blocked with his forearm, slamming against the wrist but missing the grab. He was learning even quicker than Wilkes thought he would. Natural talent, but needing refinement. A measured kick snapped out, his foot crashing against the already raised guard. That sudden force was timed with another rocking of the ship against a wave. Dortas fell to a knee, using the changed level to wrap a firm grip around Wilkes’s leg. He stood up with the limb, changing how his opponent was able to maintain contact with the ground. Wilkes’s smile grew wider before promptly disappearing as Dortas slammed a punch into the muscle of his thigh. A charley horse within the dull throbbing pain. A wince escaped him, and Dortas was now the one smiling.

“Sounds like I won!” Dortas gloated. Wilkes grit his teeth and stomped down with his captured right leg. The strength of his limb paired with his opponent’s lowered guard allowed him to break free. Wilkes' composure nearly broke, he saw three opportunities to strike at the punk as his foot met the ground. However, seeing the starry eyed smile he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he clapped a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder.

“Attaboy. Next time though, try not to lean forward before each step. I get the ship tosses, but it makes ye really predictable.” Wilkes spoke evenly and with a small lift towards humor as the gnome began practicing his lunging steps. He suppressed a laugh at watching him stumble around and try to find his timing with the waves. “S’gonna take more than a day to account for it lad.”

“Could we head to lunch now?”

“Coulda swore you already got your lunch, I came in for an afternoon to night shift lad. Didya forget to eat?”

“Might’ve. Wanna go to the bakery before they close?”

“Lad, we’re six miles out from shore, ye shoulda packed a lunch.”

“Rats.”

“Aye.”

With a small shrug, Wilkes led his apprentice back onto the main deck, away from the tempting smell of brining fish. He could probably sneak some, but if the captain found out, it’d be hell for them both. The older sailor stroked his chin while working through the problem. A hungry apprentice was bound to be a lousy learner. An idea sparked in his mind. The dinghy would let the lad practice casting a net, test his knots, fish a small catch, and get fed. Learning and a practical solution all at once. He almost reached to pat himself on the back for his brilliance. Almost.

Walking on the deck they passed Leif and Erik, both of whom had their noses buried nearly to the spines of books. Studious muttering wafted through the air. Mimicry seemed a common habit among the apprentices. They’d be right as rain in time for the mainland voyage if everything was as it seemed. Carefully scooping up one of the nets drying in the sun Wilkes moved it back across the deck into the dinghy, the pulleys groaned slightly but held the shifted load. Quickly checking to see if anyone had noticed the change, he helped his apprentice hop into their smaller vessel. With experienced ease he released both pulleys while hopping into the slowly descending ship. The line ran short and their private voyage began. The dinghy’s mast was still laying across the floor beneath the sitting slats.

Carefully, Wilkes guided Dortas through raising it. He took his time, making sure his apprentice was learning instead of merely observing. This particular skill had saved his life more than once. He’d be damned sure it could save Dortas too. The sail proved slightly more difficult to set with the gnome’s squirming but eventually it was set all the same. The wind came gently, not enough to move them in pace with the Gracious Pearl, but steadily enough. The water was relatively calm, the bobbing much more noticeable in the smaller ship. Dortas seemed a tad skittish, but relaxed as Wilkes reclined. His fingers laced together behind his head as he lay down.

“What’re ye doing Wilkes?”

“Ain’t it obvious? Waitin’ for ye to catch yer lunch so we can rejoin the main ship.”

‘Huh? Yer not gonna cast the net?”

“I’m not the hungry one.”

“But, but yer my journeyman!”

“Aye, and ye know what they say. Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish by putting him on a time constraint and he eats for life with a sense of urgency.”

Grumbling under his breath, Dortas fiddled with the net. His fingers tangled in it as he tossed it about. He couldn’t find the lynch line from the rest of it at first. After a brief struggle he found the proper handhold and swung it hard. The net sunk under the waves and rested in his grasp. Wilkes swore under his breath and made sure to tie the running end around the mast. He pointed firmly at his completed action while staring at Dortas. The gnome gave a curt nod and seemed to lower his head in mild shame. Wilkes went back to laying stretched out, Dortas hummed one of the old tunes rangpar always sang. Roll the old chariot along, if Wilkes had to guess.

“We aren’t gonna say much now are we?”

“Only if ye wanna scare the fish off.”

“Fair.”

Dortas’s stomach growled loudly at the mention of the animals. Wilkes pursed his lips at the bodily function beyond the lad’s control. A simple shrug was the only reassurance he could give the worried glance that was cast his way. The line of the net tugged gently. Being pulled by a weight beyond its own deep beneath the sea. Dortas spread his feet shoulder width apart and leaned backwards. Slowly he worked the line towards himself end over end. A surprisingly hard yark took the net by force deeper beneath the waves, the rope slipping quickly through the tight grip. A pained cry and two rope-burned hands were all he had to show for it. Wilkes hopped up and seized the rope beside him, yanking hard.

Whatever was below fought him. For a few seconds it became a tug-of-war, the captured prey thrashing wildly beneath the deep blue mirror. Growing frustrated, Wilkes began winding what length of line he could pull around the mast before nodding toward it. Dortas understood immediately and began doing the same. The lad winced each time the rope dragged across his wounded palms, but completed the work as diligently as he could. Once the fish came up Wilkes let out a small whistle.

There, slapping against the floor of the dinghy was a nearly mature Tuna. Its scales were silver and shiny. Turning from the fish he took his apprentice’s hands and looked them over. Raw skin hung in loose flaps where it had been torn off, the pinkish flesh beneath exposed to the elements. Infection was likely if it wasn’t treated before the next dawn, thankfully there was a first aid kit on the ship.

His mind went to tearing his remaining sleeve off to make cover for the meantime. Bandaging three hands with two sleeves was economic enough, and the lad needed his hands to complete the work. He shook his head at himself gently, and took the final tuck of the lad’s toga. A flap of fabric meant for repairing rips was now going to be used to bandage hands. He pulled gently on the seam, tearing the loose fabric from the boy’s clothes. Pulling that into two decently long strips he gingerly wrapped the boy’s palms without any medicine. A small yelp escaped the boy when the coverings were yanked taunt against the skin.

“Sorry lad, didn’t think we’d catch something this strong. Now ye know to let go of a rope that’s yanked free from ye rather than fight it. I’ll be doing yer sortin’ work until yer hands are back in ship shape.” Wilkes spoke softly, patting the boy gently on the shoulder. He’d failed his apprentice and would need to make up for it. Adjusting the sail he leaned into the wind, pushing the dinghy along with a renewed pace. He knew he’d be chewed out for this, but his main focus was on keeping Dortas’s spirits up.

“Ye know, I know most of the words of the tune ye were humming earlier. Care to sing it with me?”

“Yeah!” Dortas’s chipper mood swung back in full force. As the two sang the wind was less biting with salt, the occasional splash of water wasn’t so cold, and hopefully the stinging pain in the lad’s palms was lesser. It seemed as such, and that’d be well enough for Wilkes. The procedure of lifting the Dinghy back up was a slow one, especially without the spare hands. Whenever Dortas would try, Wilkes would shoot him a look and point back towards the slat he was sitting upon.