Toby Neighbors - Fierce Loyalty

“I am working,” Mansel said, making the monumental effort it took to keep his temper in check with the group of bullying sailors.

“Sure you are, Toad. Just hopping about, and smashing everything you touch. I guess it’s good that you’re a carpenter, eh. You can fix things.”

The other sailors laughed but Mansel wasn’t sure what was so funny. “Let me pass,” he said.

“It will cost you your ration of rum,” Slice said.

“No,” Mansel immediately replied.

“Oh, he’s a brave one, he is,” Slice said.

“Foolhardy,” one of the other sailors said.

“Show ’em who’s the big man ’tween decks, Slice,” said another.

“I know you’re new,” said Slice, “so you may not have the lay of the land, so to speak. We all have different duties on deck, but down here there’s just two kinds of sailors. There’s them that do what I tell ’em, and there’s them that don’t. That second group is small and they don’t generally live too long, if you take my meaning.”

“Is that a threat?” Mansel said, his hand slowly dipping into his tool back and taking hold of his mallet.

“You take it however you want, but you best decide what you’re gonna do, Toady. I want that rum today or things are going to get very uncomfortable for you.”

Slice stepped out of Mansel’s way and the big warrior eyed him fiercely for a moment, then stalked past. He was surprised that the smaller man was so confident he could best Mansel in a fight. Normally, people gave him deference because of his size, but on the ship his muscular frame had only caused him problems. He longed for a horse and the open road. He was tired of the cramped quarters, the constant work, and the awful stench of the lower decks.

He climbed the stairs to the main deck, stretching his back and breathing the clean sea air deep into this lungs. He had to squint in the bright sunlight, but made his way straight to the officer on watch.

“Permission to go on the passenger deck, sir?” he said.

“Ah, you’re the carpenter?”

“Aye sir,” Mansel said, trying to remember the correct way to speak to a superior on board ship. The discipline of sea life he could endure, but the sailors had their own ways of doing everything. His plan had been to blend in, lay low until they reached Osla and then slip away with Zollin and Eustice. Unfortunately, blending in hadn’t exactly happened yet. “My name’s Mansel, sir.”

“Very good, Mansel. I’ll escort you down,” the officer said. “Bollen, you have the watch.”

“Aye, aye, sir, I have the watch,” said the sailor at the helm.

“Do your work as quickly as possible,” the officer instructed as he led Mansel down onto the passenger deck. “Don’t speak unless spoken to, and if you have any questions, come back to me. Is that understood?”

“Aye,” Mansel said.

“Good, here we are.”

The officer knocked on the door and Zollin opened it. He ignored Mansel completely, doing his best to give no sign that he knew the bigger man.

“This man will fix your problem,” the officer said. “If you have any complaints, please find me.”

“I will, Lieutenant, thank you,” Zollin said.

The officer spun on his heel and walked briskly back up to the main deck. Zollin stood aside and let Mansel into the cabin. The table was smashed, as were both of the canvas chairs.

“How did you explain that?” Mansel asked.

Zollin waved at Eustice, who was sporting a black eye and grinning.

“We had a bit too much to drink and had a disagreement, didn’t we Eustice?” Zollin said. Eustice nodded and they all tried not to laugh.

“So how’s life as a sailor?” Zollin asked.

“I hate it,” Mansel said as he slumped onto the bed. “I’m too big to move around ’tween decks. I have to stay bent over almost the whole time.”

“Couldn’t you get on as a passenger?”

“No, you picked the most popular ship in the kingdom.”

“It was the only ship still taking passengers.”

“Well, at least it won’t last too long. My real problem is getting along with the locals. They all seem to think I’m not cut out for life at sea. I’m beginning to believe them.”

“Well, try not to cause trouble. What can we do to help?”

“Nothing that I know of,” Mansel said. “I’m trying to keep a low profile, but it’s getting harder. I may have to crack a few heads before we get to Osla.”

“Be careful,” Zollin warned. “I’m trying to lay low as well. The last thing I want is to attract another monster.”

“Tell me about it. This is the first time I’ve been allowed above deck in days without Ern. He’s worse than your father. I don’t want to be down in the workshop if something happens to the ship. There’s no way I could get on deck fast enough not to drown.”

“Are you getting enough food?”

“Not really,” Mansel admitted.

“Okay, Eustice, fix Mansel something to eat. I’ll repair the furniture.”

“Wait, you can’t use magic. It has to look like I patched it up. I’ll need to go down and get some wood.”

“Can you spare a moment to eat?”

“Yes,” he said enthusiastically.

Eustice gathered food from their stores. The bread wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t crawling with weevils, and they still had some fruit and cheese. They gave Mansel a small sack full of dried meat, which he stashed in his satchel. They had wine and ale, but he forced himself to drink water, since he had no way to hide the smell of alcohol on his breath.

Once he’d finished eating, he shuffled out of the small cabin and returned to the work shop. Ern was busy making another barrel. Mansel understood the desire to have fresh casks, since the water he usually drank tasted like it had been drawn from a stagnant pond. The water barrels had to be moved to shore and refilled at every port they stopped in. The constant wear and tear often resulted in barrels that weren’t watertight, and it didn’t take much seawater to ruin a barrel and it’s contents.

“What’s the problem?” Ern asked.

“The damn fools got into a drunken fight and smashed up the furniture,” Mansel explained.

“The captain should make them do without it,” Ern said bitterly. “If that happened ’tween decks, we’d get the cattails for certain.”

“What’s the cattails?” Mansel asked.

“You don’t want to know, boy. You just keep your nose clean and do you duty.”

“Aye,” Mansel said as he secretly stashed the food Zollin had given him among the supplies he was gathering. He felt a pang of guilt at hiding the food, but he knew that if he told Ern, the old sailor would just take it from him and perhaps even report him to the captain. The last thing Mansel needed was to be kicked off the ship before they reached Osla.

He was thinking about the last time he’d been at sea, with Quinn. They’d been forced to stop along the way for repairs and Mansel had gone ashore, gotten drunk, and missed returning to the ship. Quinn had left him in the middle of Falxis. The memory was still bitter in his mouth, but he would never have met Nycoll if it hadn’t happened. Getting back to Nycoll was what Mansel wanted more than anything in the world, but he had to help Zollin. After all the terrible things he’d done under the witch’s spell, he felt compelled to repay his friend somehow. And the truth was, he had to make sure Gwendolyn the witch was stopped. He remembered the small army of men willing to kill and even die for her. She couldn’t be allowed to spread her foul sorcery across the kingdoms, he thought. Then, when that was done, he would return to Nycoll.

“Toady,” came a sing-song voice from behind Mansel.

He turned toward the voice just as something slammed into his stomach, forcing all the breath from his lungs in a whoosh. He dropped to his knees and gasped for breath.