Setting Sail 2- Batten the Hatches [Erik POV]

Wilkes hefted Dortas and their freshly caught fish onto the proper deck. Leif sent a questioning glance his way, and Erik gave him a soft shove forward, encouraging him to check on his friend and fellow apprentice. The lad scampered off to join the gnome. They seemed to be sharing insights from their first day of true and proper apprenticeship. Erik argued with himself about the proper course of action. He could immediately attend to things, and have Wilkes’s side from the word go. Or, he could observe if Wilkes really has changed since he was in Dortas’s shoes.

The captain had already noticed the private excursion from his spot at the wheel. He had admittedly been scowling deeply as the ship continued to bob along on course. Barry was placating him by passing his treasured pipe toward the captain to give him the mellowness of nicotine. Even still, anger was brewing like a storm in those small, gray clouds. Halos of smoke circled above them both and he swore he saw faint cracklings of lightning in them when he glanced up from his work. Erik stopped scrawling in his handbook. A half-finished sentence recounting the planned trade route stared up at him before the book clapped shut. He saw a few more puffs of smoke waft away as Wilkes’s hand rested on the banister leading toward the ascent. A hissing breath sucked into his lungs, and Erik found his feet carrying him toward the match flung at the powder keg.

Captain Tellish’s scowl deepened, his eyes narrowed, the deep breathing inspired by the pipe made his snarl all the louder. Fists coiled tight at Erik’s hips, he flicked his focus over to Wilkes. As always his best friend was as relaxed as slack rope in the wind. The waves rocked them, but he stood tall on the outskirts of the brewing conflict. Just barely the upturned corners of Wilkes’s crooked smile peeked out.

“Evenin’ Cap’n. Took my apprentice out fer some hands on learnin’ and the only thing he learned was what tearing skin and rope burn feels like.” Wilkes joked as usual. There was a faint crunch as the captain bit down hard on the pipe in his mouth.

“Wilkes you thick skulled guppy! Ye can’t just borrow the dinghy when yer hungry! How many times have I told ye its to be sure we can parlay without being directly grappled to the other bleeding tub you half wit! What under the gods shaped sky possessed you to take my dinghy without permission?!” Captain Tellish roared as his boots thundered against the deck. His captain’s coat wasn’t even attempted at being buttoned, so the mottled gray work shirt was in full view. He took Wilkes by the collar and began to shake him as he continued to rant and rave further. On instinct Erik stepped forward and rested a firm grip on the captain’s wrist. He squeezed enough to draw attention.

“If I may, Captain?” Erik used a questioning tone, but his gaze held no intention of being denied. “ Wilkes saw room for a practical excursion and took it. It’s consistent with the teaching style he was trained on. There’s no real room for surprise here.”

The older man’s heated gaze slid with a drunken hitch. His pupils contracted when they locked onto Erik’s face. A twitch at the right corner of his mouth was a tell for a mix of confusion and anger. The captain was easy enough to read if you looked for the right things. A gentle smile spread on Erik’s lips, but didn’t part to show teeth. Just enough to be a gentle push was necessary.

“Yer bringing up Thomas? Yer lettin’ Wilkes get away with sailin’ alone by bringing up the lad I failed?” Erik has miscalculated how drunk Jonah was. The deck fell silent. The creaking of wood and distant cry of gulls was a cacophony in comparison now. No one said a word while the tension grew thicker by the second. Sucking wind beneath his teeth, he tried to cut the aforementioned tension with words.

“No. I’m bringing up that Wilkes was making sure if he had to make the same choice, Dortas would survive like he had.” Erik spoke with poise, air came rushing out from his throat after the captain’s fist landed like an anchor across his cheek. He stumbled but caught himself with a few rapid steps. He rubbed the warmth from the strike, smoke rose faintly from the captain’s fist as he swore at himself. The captain had a trace of magic as well? Was he really the only one without some kind of gods given advantage? “Lad, yer smart, but yer terrible with people. Leave the social contracts to Wilkes if ye know what’s good for ya.”

Wilkes fists nearly rose from his hips. Had they been a few weeks younger there wasn’t a doubt that the two of them would be brawling now while Erik and Barry pulled them off of eachother. Instead he could hear the teeth being ground in the younger human’s mouth. Sounded like a particularly crunchy bite of gristle in all honesty. Wilkes swallowed hard before piping up.

“I had a knee jerk plan to teach Dortas something hands on. Shoulda run it by ye first but the lad was growing faint from hunger. I’m sorry Cap’n, won’t happen again. I do need the first aid kit though, the ropes bit him.” Wilkes’s voice was icy as his words hung in the air. The captain straightened his coat from where lunging for the punch had shifted it. Erik scoffed gently at the gesture. He met the captain’s glare with his own.

“Ye, is right where Barry leaves it. Go tend to yer lad Wilkes. Dismissed.” Jonah barked. Erik began to turn to leave. There were still manifests to be written, after all. He’d only finished the food deliveries. The fabrics and raw ore still needed to be redrafted based on the sales projections Redbeard and Ms. Smith had been kind enough to provide. Even if they were based on old mining and shearing expenses, they’d be relatively vital to keeping Thellin on the come up. The inn may even see more than just sailors at halfway points if they could pump the funds into the right projects. Replacing the rotten planks on the dock would come first, and with Rangpar and the Truebranches clearing swathes in days the raw material could be harvested and treated relatively quickly. He’d need to speak with Amy and The Elders about this, it was a good beginning but more eyes meant more refinement. A gravelly ahem cut through his train of thought. Arms were folded firmly across the captain’s chest as Barry took the helm. “Not you knife ear. You stay.”

“Understood.” Erik kept his speech curt, if trying to be persuasive was thrown firmly out, being amicable was the next best suit to play. Perhaps a game of cards was in order when they returned to port, Dortas, Leif, and Svend had yet to be taught how to play. A nice game of blackjack, low stakes and decent reward would be best. Though, Svend would likely need help with the math.

“Erik. I know my temper runs hot more often than not. I know ye were just tryin’ to help yer brother, but when I needta yell at Wilkes is best ye let me. He’s got good intuition but he needs to learn to think further than he can see. Ye got the opposite issue.” His eyes looked tired as he spoke, his breathing slightly labored. A swig to his lips seemed to ease the breathing. “Yer good lads, better men now I ought ta say. But ye still need me to keep ye straight shootin. Don’t go knocking my methods just cause they’re old.”

“Right, sorry captain, just worried about the state of my future crew.” Erik responded firmly.

“Yer future crew, not the crew yer with in the future?” Jonah quirked an eyebrow at that, the faint haze of alcohol leaving his eyes.

“Aye, I’ll be the next captain.” Erik said with a cool confidence. It only made the most sense. Wilkes had all the practicality needed to be a first mate and heart of the crew, but he was too flippant to be in charge of the day to day business. The paperwork would bury him before soil could get the chance.

“Right, we’ll see about that la- Erik. Ye’ll hafta beat out Rangpar and Barry for that. Not to mention yer matching leg.” Jonah laughed at his own joke on the end.

“My what?” Erik’s brow furrowed in confusion. Human sayings were weird. Sure he had mostly grown up around humans, but at least the elven ones he’d learned hanging around the inn made sense. Like rising and setting with the sun for example, it was on the nose and convenient.

“Yer matching leg, the two of ye are legs that carry a waltz. S’like saying peas in a pod but ye never had peas before and I don’t wanna go explainin’ myself… shame I already did.” Jonah guffawed for a moment after that, his mood seeming to be tumultuous currently. Best to slink away while it was riding high.

“Ah, I see. In that case, let me resume the waltz. The manifests won’t write themselves, and I need to proofread what Leif has finished. Twice the work in only the same time of day, haha.” Erik forced a laugh as he slinked back down the stairs to the helm back towards the deck.

The gentle thunk of his feet against the steps was a welcome rhythm. A shadow fell over the deck for a moment, a cloud heavy with rain was drifting lazily above overhead. The dark grey thing cast a shadow with twice the depth of shade. By itself it was far from a problem, it was the greater gathering of them at the edge of the horizon to the west that troubled him. As the currents and wind went now their fastest route back would send them straight through the brewing storm. The captain being drunk was a secondary stress factor to this, added to those facts they were down a set of hands from Wilkes’s excursion with Dortas. Trouble brewed with the storm in those clouds and Erik knew it.

The half-elf squared his shoulders, rolling his right with focused vigor to work out the stiffness from an old wound. He raised his hand to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Leif and Wilkes manifested themselves at nearly the same moment, both giving the other a half-confused glance.

“Ye whistled for trouble, brother. What’s the situation? Is the storm in the way of yer planned route?” Wilkes talked fast, even for himself. Half the words were mixed, mumbled syllables Erik thanked years of exposure for being able to understand.

An eloquent “Huh?” came from Leif as he swapped his attention between his two superiors. Erik waved a hand and gave a quick nod to his supposed other leg.

“Aye, Wilkes. The storm’s right in the way. Ye said ye had a new trick you learned. Think it could do something about that?”

“Bit beyond my muscle there, but I could maybe pinch us along the outskirts? I’d need a full belly and a focused mind. Lucky fer us, I got both as it stands.” Wilkes’s crooked grin bloomed in the dappled sunlight as more clouds threw in their lots with the storm. “It’ll be hauling a net instead of casting a lone line if we’re lucky. Need some elbow grease, think Rangpar can rally us in song fer it?”

“Aye, speaking of jolly green.” Erik pointed to Rangpar who was currently triple checking the rig. The taunt lines sounded off their twangs as the orc thumped them gently before nodding to Svend. The rambunctious twin nodded back with an enthusiasm that was typical. If the rig passed the storm inspection Rangpar was likely doing then that was one less problem to focus on. The remaining issue was being on the right side of the wind, and having enough hands to ensure that was where they remained.

“What about the piper? He still at the helm while the cap’n nurses Nelson’s Blood?” Wilkes fired back his own assessment of their man power, Erik nodded. Scratching their chins in unison the two of them pondered in synchronicity.

“Right, right. On with it then, only thing we can do is grit teeth and batten the hatches. I’ll start with the port side, leif get the starboard. Erik, if ye’d be so kind as to make sure Dortas knows to double up the knots on the salt storage so if we take any water it isn’t ruined.” Wilkes spoke with certainty before he stopped on his third step towards the descending staircase. “Actually, no, that's on me. You cover the port, I’ll straighten Dortas. When I’m back I’ll start with the chanting and hand waving.”

Wilkes left after giving his orders. Something twinged in his gut, but instead elected to get to work. Erik wasn’t irked to be given orders by Wilkes. Not whole heartedly, just not entirely thrilled that he was being slightly undermined in front of his apprentice. Wilkes was definitely better when it came to people, sure. Erik was firmly the better at handling chaotic moments with calm and calculated precision. Hell Wilkes had even stumbled over his words while trying to give a singular order. No wonder the Captain had only half mentioned him during the list of successors as captain. Wilkes was brilliant, sure, but he wasn’t much of a leader. Erik made a mental note to talk to him gently about that, probably over food at the archive once they made it back.

The rain came first. It started as a light drizzle, the occasional splash of cool water on the back of his hands as he slammed hatches down. The long sheets of canvas were gaining round splotches where they were shielding the lower deck from the oncoming storm. The pattern was slightly scattered, a variance of some two to three inches between them. Wind speed was probably somewhere in the high teens to low twenties then. Judging from the impact angles it was coming hard from starboard, and their port side was being covered by the experience set of hands. Erik let out another sharp whistle. He pointed his pinky at Leif, and his thumb at himself. With a flick of his wrist he swapped the orientation to signal a swap in positions. Leif was smart, sure, but he was beginning to panic from what Erik could tell. Better to give him a half finished job and fix any small mistakes he made on the start. Erik was not the type to trust a barge lad in his first storm to do it right under pressure.

“RANGPAR SING ABOUT THE DRUNKEN SAILOR, GET THESE LADS TO STEEL THEMSELVES!” Erik yelled over the growing cacophony of rain. The wind began to pick up as the rain grew bolder. Small gusts tossed his hair wildly, his eyes stung as he glared through the rising sprays of sea water. The pooling at his feet was still manageable while he placed the last bit from bow to stern. Leif was slipping through it as he did his best. His apprentice was wide eyed and nervous, thinking quicker than his hands could match.

“RANGPAR DOES ONE BETTER! ROLL THE OLD CHARIOT ALONG!” The green giant called back before he began to belt the chorus. Leif found purchase in the evergrowing puddle and rolled through the last of his heavy canvas. Beneath the wind, he heard the tune begin to float out from as he was holding firmly to the railing. The canvas laid flat smoothed out by his palms, and the wooden slats held it down. Erik found himself beginning to sing along as well as they clung to the ship beneath the growing squall. The captain seemed particularly enthused about the drop of Nelson’s Blood they sang about. A nervous smile passed from the sailor to his apprentice across the width of the ship. Erik dared to free a hand to give a thumbs up for a job well done.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHrKuWuTQq4

The cellar style door to the lower deck tumbled open, the sea spray soaked a shaggy mop of hair the same shade of black as the clouds above. A faint sparkling in grey eyes seemed to glow for a moment, as the man before them all made sure to slat down the door as he cleared it. His mouth moved with words he couldn’t make out beneath the wind. A wave of his hand and the wind seemed to slow. The rain still beat down on them hard enough to massage the stiffness out of a rusted door hinge, but at least the wind wasn’t knocking them off their feet. Leif had wrapped part of his toga through the railing along the deck, a trick Erik had only ever spoken of twice. His smile widened as the lesson had clearly stuck. Leif had been the right pick after all.

Despite their success against the storm, the waves found a new level of anger as they sailed through it all. Frothy crests soaked the canvas cover in bubbling wrath as they bravely pushed forwards. Barry gripped the helm as his lifeline and responsibility. Wilkes stepped carefully towards the mast, being sure to bend his knees deeper when the boat rocked particularly hard against the seas. Erik himself realized quickly he was losing ground to stand on in this growing mess. Leif and Svend hadn’t yet.

“RANGPAR, GRAB A HOLD OF SVEND, THIS SQUALL AIN’T GONNA GIVE US NO GROUND!” Erik roared with all the strength in his chest, rapid footsteps fell. Halos of displaced water leapt up to his calves as he tried to reach his apprentice before the lad was knocked down. This was the worst the sea had been for them so far, he had to be sure the lad didn’t end up overboard. The deck jolted hard as a wave nearly thirty feet tall slammed into them. The deck was lost from sight beneath the brine. A scream broke out across the deck. Leif had been knocked overboard. Without thinking, Erik let go of the railing and let the waves toss him over as well.

“MAN OVERBOARD, DROP ANCHOR NOW!” Wilkes did his best to cry against the howling wind. Erik paid that no mind, if they managed to stop in time would be great. However, he had an apprentice lost at sea in waves high enough to drown even the most experienced swimmers. Erik fought hard against the calamity of nature, his hands slashing like knives against the waves. He couldn’t see or hear Leif. Grim horror settled down on him as he continued in the direction he’d thought Leif had been launched. Cursing himself at forgetting that drowning was near silent, and they were in one hell of a storm as it stood. Pushing the self admonishment aside, he pressed on. A sun tanned dot that didn’t belong with the brine bobbed through his vision. Leif was kicking and gasping with all his might, his eyes squinted tight as he fought to keep his head above water. The waves were tossing the poor boy around like a child’s ball in a game of keep away. Erik swam harder, the waves preventing him from a direct route back to the boy. Finally nearing within twenty feet of him, he saw his apprentice go under.