Michael Sullivan: The emerald storm

Mister Temple shouted to restore order over the unruly crew. It did not matter who had won. The skillful display by both men was impressive enough to earn their approval. Even Hadrian found himself clapping, and he noticed Wyatt was staring with his mouth slightly open. Temple nodded at Hadrian and Wyatt.

"Stand by at the capstan!" Lieutenant Bishop shouted, returning order. "Loose the heads'ls, hands aloft, loose the tops'ls fore and aft!"

The crew scattered to their duties. A ring of men surrounded the wooden spoke wheel of the capstan, ready to raise the anchor. Wyatt moved quickly toward the ship's helm while the rest, Jacob included, climbed the shrouds of the three masts.

"An' what are you two waiting for?" Mister Temple asked after Hadrian joined Royce. "You heard the lieutenant-get those sails loosed. Hadrian, take station at the capstan."

As they trotted to their duties Mister Temple gestured in Royce's direction and remarked to Wyatt, "No wonder he doesn't have rough hands, he doesn't use them!"

The ship's captain appeared on the quarterdeck. He stood beside the lieutenant, his hands clasped behind his back, chestst out, and chin set against the salty wind that tugged at the edges of his uniform. Of slightly less than average height, he seemed the opposite of the lieutenant. While Mister Bishop was tall and thin, the captain was plump, with a double chin and long hanging cheeks, which quickly flushed red with the wind. He watched the progress of the crew and then nodded to his first officer.

"Take her out, Mister Bishop."

"Raise anchor!" Bishop bellowed. "Wheel hard over!"

Hadrian found a place among those at the capstan and pushed against the wooden spokes, rotating the large spool that lifted the anchor from the bottom of the harbor. With the anchor broken out, the wheel hard over, and the forecastle hands drawing at the headsail sheets, the Emerald Storm brought her bow around. As she gained steerage, she moved away from the dock and into the clear of the main channel, and the rigging crew dropped the remaining sails. The great canvasses quivered and flapped, snapping in the wind like three violent white beasts.

"Hands to the braces!" Mister Temple barked, and the men took hold of the ropes, pulling the yards around until they caught the wind. The sails plumed full as the sea breeze stretched them taut, and Hadrian could feel the deck lurch beneath his feet as the Emerald Storm slipped forward through the water, rudder balanced against sail-pressure.

They traveled down the coast, passing farmers and workers who paused briefly to look at the handsome vessel flying by. At the helm, Wyatt spun the wheel steering steadily out to sea. The men on the braces trimmed the yards so not a sail fluttered and sending the ship dashing through the waves as she raced from shore.

"Course sou'east by south, sir," Wyatt updated Temple, who repeated the statement to the lieutenant, who repeated it to the captain, who in turn nodded his approval.

The men at the capstan dispersed, leaving Hadrian looking around for something to do. Royce descended to the deck beside him, neither one certain of his duty now that the ship was under way. It did not matter much as the lieutenant, the captain, and Temple were all busy on the quarterdeck. The other hands moved casually now, cleaning up the rigging, finishing the job of stowing the supplies, and generally settling in.

"Why didn't we ever consider sailing?" Hadrian asked Royce as he moved to the side and faced the wind. "When we were trying to find new professions, that is." He took a deep, satisfying breath and smiled. "This is nice. A lot better than a sweaty, fly-plagued horse-and look at the land go by! How fast do you think we're going?"

"The fact that we're trapped here, with no chance of retreat except into the ocean, doesn't bother you?"

Hadrian glanced over the side at the heaving waves. "Well, not until now. Why do you always have to ruin everything? Couldn't you let me enjoy the moment?"

"You know me, just trying to keep things in perspective."

"Our course is south, southeast. Any clue where we might be going?"

Royce shook his head. "It only means we aren't invading Melengar, but we could be headed just about anyplace else."

Someone arriving deck side caught his attention, "Who's this now?"

A man in red and black appeared from below and climbed the stair to the quarterdeck. He stood out from the rest of the crew by virtue of his pale skin and silken vestments, which were far too elegant for the setting and whipped about like streamers at a fair. He moved hunched over, his slumped shoulders reminded Hadrian of a crow shuffling along a branch. He sported a mustache and short goatee. His dark hair, combed back, emphasized a dramatically receding hairline.

"Broken-crown crest," Hadrian noted. "Seret."

"Red cassock," Royce added. "Sentinel."

"At least he's not Luis Guy. It'd be pretty hard to hide on a ship this size."

"If it was Guy," Royce smiledue of kedly, "we wouldn't need to hide."

Hadrian noticed Royce's glance over the side of the ship at the water that foamed and churned as it rushed past.

"If a sentinel is on board," Royce continued, "we can assume there are seret as well. They never travel alone."

"Maybe below."

"Maybe disguised in the crew," Royce cautioned.

To starboard, a sailor dropped his burden on the deck and wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag. Noticing them standing idle, he walked over.

"Yer good," he said to Royce. "No man's beaten Jacob aloft 'afore."

The sailor was tan and thin, with a tattoo of a woman on his forearm and a ring of silver in his ear.

"I didn't beat him. We landed together," Royce corrected.

"Aye, clever that. My name's Grady. What do they call you?"

"Royce, and this is Hadrian."

"Oh, yeah, the cook." Grady looked at the thief studying him. "Royce, huh? I'm surprised I haven't heard yer name 'afore. With skills like you got, I woulda figured you'd be famous. What ships 'ave you served on?"

"None around these waters," Royce replied.

Grady looked at him curiously. "Where then? The Sound? Dagastan? The Sharon? Try me, I've been around a few places myself."

"Sorry, I'm really bad at remembering names."

Grady's eyebrows rose. "You don't remember the names of the ships you served on?"

"I would prefer not to discuss them."

"Aye, consider the subject closed." He looked at Hadrian. "You were with him then?"

"We've worked together for some time."

Grady nodded. "Just forget I said anything. I won't be getting in the way. You can bank money on Grady's word, too." The man winked, then walked away, glancing back over his shoulder at them a few times as he went off grinning.

"Seems like a nice sort," Hadrian said. "Strange and confusing, but nice. You think he knows why we're here?"

"Wish he did," Royce replied, watching Grady resume his work. "Then he could tell us. Still, I've found that when hunting Merrick, stranger things have been known to happen. One thing's for certain-this trip is going to be interesting."

Broken Silence It was early, but Nimbus was already waiting outside the closed door of Amilia's office with armloads of parchments. He smiled brightly at her approach. "Morning, Your Ladyship," he greeted, with as much of a bow as he could manage without spilling his burden. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Amilia grunted in reply. She was not a morning person and today's agenda held a meeting with Regent Saldur. If anything was likely to ruin a day, that would. She opened her office door with a key kept on a chain around her neck.

The office was a reward for the successful presentation of the empress nearly a month before. Modina was near death when Saldur first appointed Amilia to the post of Imperial Secretary to the Empress. The young ruler never spoke a word, was dangerously thin, and her unwavering expression was never more than a blank stare. Amilia provided her with better living conditions and worked hard to get her to eat and, after several months, the girl began to improve. Modina managed to memorize a short speech for the day of her presentation but abandoned the prepared text and publically singled out Amilia, proclaiming her a hero.