L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

The faintest hint of a wry smile crossed Hyrietta’s heart-shaped face. “You take your duties most seriously, Lo-…Captain.”

“I know where my duty lies, lady. Now…let us proceed.” Hagen looked at Ghart. “You’ll have the first watch, Esamat the second, Kharl the third.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You three wait here.” Hagen turned to the undercaptain. “If you and your men would also wait here while we settle Lady Hyrietta and the heirs?”

The undercaptain nodded, politely, but with scarcely more than minimal approval.

Kharl surveyed the armsmen who stood behind the undercaptain. There were twelve, and they ranged in age from one barely a few years older than Arthal to one close to Kharl’s age. The undercaptain was bearded and graying, an older officer who had made his way through the ranks, Kharl surmised.

Hagen returned shortly and immediately addressed the undercaptain. “You understand the arrangements. Your men will guard the hatchway here, on the outside. The only people to enter the passageway are me, the officers, and these three men.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kharl could tell that the undercaptain was not totally pleased with the arrangement.

Hagen offered a smile. “No man does two jobs well. Your men only worry about one area, and mine only worry about one.”

The undercaptain nodded.

Hagen looked to Kharl and Esamat. “You two best get some sleep. You’ll be roused in your turn with the rest of the duty.”

“Yes, ser.”

Neither Kharl nor Esamat spoke until they were back on the main deck and well back from the two personal guards in yellow and black.

“The captain worries,” offered Kharl.

“Wouldn’t you? With the lord’s lady and his heirs in your hands?”

“That I would.” Kharl paused. “Do you know if Lord Ilteron has any ships?”

“None of his own,” Esamat replied. “Leastwise, not that I’ve heard. He’s in tight with the Hamorians, though.”

“We’d better hope that they’ve no warships near.”

“Not likely, and the captain’s a better seaman than any of them. With the engine and favorable winds, no ironbound ship could catch us.”

“Then we’d best hope for favorable winds.” Kharl hoped a great deal more than that was favorable.

Slightly before four glasses after midnight, Kharl pulled on his clothes and readied himself to relieve Esamat. In the darkness, he took up his cudgel and made his way across the deck to where two armsmen in yellow and black guarded the hatchway to the captain’s cabin. Hagen was waiting, as was the undercaptain.

“This is Kharl. He’s one of our three guards.” Hagen held up the small lantern he was carrying so that the light fell on Kharl’s face.

The undercaptain nodded, and one of the guards stood back so that Kharl could open the hatch and step inside.

The passageway was a good twenty cubits long, but less than three wide and barely four high, so that Kharl had to duck his head to avoid hitting it on the overhead. There were doors on both sides for the mates’ cabins, and then smooth bulkheads for the last ten cubits leading to the captain’s cabin. Esamat rose from a stool set aft of the last doors. As the other man did, Kharl noticed that two changes had been made to the passageway. A bracket had been added to hold a small lantern, and a small watch bell had also been added where Esamat had been standing his watch.

“The bell is only if we get attacked or threatened,” Esamat said. “Captain refilled the lantern maybe half a glass ago.” The rigger stretched. “It’s been quiet. Hope it is for you.”

“So do I.”

After Esamat left, Kharl took his position in the passageway outside the captain’s cabin. For almost the first three glasses, except for Hagen’s retiring to the first’s cabin, the only sounds in the passageway were those of Kharl’s breathing and his own movements.

Then, about a glass before Kharl was due to be relieved by Ghart, Hagen reappeared from the cabin that he was sharing with Furwyl.

“Quiet, Kharl?”

“Very quiet so far, ser.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way, but don’t wager anything on it.”

“No, ser.”

“And don’t hesitate to ring the watch bell there if anything looks wrong. Anything at all, you understand.”

“Yes, ser.”

With a nod, the captain left the passageway.

Kharl heard him say, “Good morning,” to the armsmen outside on the deck before he closed the hatch.

In the next half glass, Furwyl appeared, as did Rhylla, then Bemyr, and they all went topside. Ghart was obviously still sleeping.

Then Kharl heard a high childish voice from behind him, loud enough to penetrate the closed cabin door.

“Mommy…want to go home…don’t want to be here…”

“…be going to the summer place…”

“…don’t want summer…want home…”

“…we’ll go home later. Your father will be coming to meet us…”

“…want home…”

About that point, had the boy been his, Kharl would have gotten somewhat more forceful.

Lady Hyrietta merely murmured something else that Kharl could not hear.

“…no…home…”

“No! That’s enough, Kyran!”

Kharl smiled. The Lady Hyrietta wasn’t all that much more patient than he was.

The voices subsided to murmurs, and Kharl studied the passageway, hoping that nothing did happen on the voyage southward, and especially not on his watches.

On the second day of the voyage, and less than a glass after sunset, Kharl was standing his second passageway watch of the voyage south to Dykaru. The seas were almost calm, and Hagen was on deck. In fact, all the mates were somewhere topside.

The Lady Hyrietta and her sons were in the cabin. The nurse had left the cabin a short while before, and from the silence, Kharl gathered that she and Lady Hyrietta had put the boys to bed and that the lady was reading or resting herself, while the nurse was on deck for a breath of night air.

After three glasses in the passageway, Kharl was due to be relieved in about a glass, and he was ready for that. Standing duty in the narrow passageway left him feeling restless and confined. Inadvertently, his thoughts skittered back to his imprisonment in the Hall of Justice in Brysta. Hall of injustice, he thought, wondering if better justicers would have helped, or if they would have been run out or dismissed by Egen or Lord West.

His lips curled into an ironic smile. People didn’t really want justice, not unless they were desperate. Even he hadn’t wanted justice so much as freedom. His thoughts were interrupted by a dull thump outside, from the main deck.

Kharl stiffened, easing off the stool and grabbing the cudgel, then turning as the hatch opened. He could sense someone outside-lifting something-a crossbow. That left Kharl as a target more vulnerable than a grounded goose, outlined by the lamp on the bulkhead. He did the only thing he could think that would help, using his Talent to bind the very air into a shield, hoping that he was in time, and that he could hold the shield long enough.

Clank! Thunk! The crossbow quarrel dropped to the deck, bent.

The armsman in black and yellow charged toward Kharl, his sabre extended and clearly expecting a wounded, if not a dead or dying, guard.

Kharl raised the cudgel slightly, but stayed behind the hardened air.

The armsman thrust, his blade striking the invisible shield. The sabre blade shattered, metal scattering across the deck and bouncing from the lower parts of the bulkheads.

At the momentary look of astonishment on the armsman’s face, Kharl released the minute order-chaos hooks holding the air solid, and struck at the man, the cudgel slamming into the attacker’s lower ribs.