Michael Sullivan - The emerald storm

"That don't mean nuttin'," one of the other men said. With next to no hair and few teeth, he appeared to be the oldest at the table and possibly the entire ship. He had a silver earring that glinted with the candlelight, a tattoo of a mermaid that wrapped around his forearm, and he, too, wore a white kerchief on his head. "Most of this 'ere crew is pressed. The captain would be barmy to let them touch solid ground in a port. He and Mister Bishop would be the only ones left to rig her!"

This brought a round of laughter and garnered irritated growls from those trying to sleep.

"You don't look so good," Wyatt mentioned to Hadrian.

He shook his head miserably. Looking around at the others and said, "It's been a long time since I've been on a ship. Does the Storm always rock so much?"

"Hmm?" Wyatt glanced at him then laughed. "This? This here is nothing. You won't even notice it in a day or so." He watched the next man at the table play his card. "We're still in the sound. Wait until we hit the open sea. You might want to sit. You're sweating."

Hadrian touched his face and felt the moisture. "Funny, I feel chilled if anything."

"Have a seat," Wyatt said. "Poe, give him your spot."

"Why me?" the young boy asked insulted.

"Because I said so." Poe's expression showed that was not enough for him to give up one of the limited places. "And because I am a quartermaster and you're a seaman, but even more importantly, because Mister Bishop appointed you cook's mate."

"He did?" Poe asked and blinked, a smile crossing his face.

"Congratulations," Wyatt said. "Now, you might want to make a good impression on your new boss and move your infernal arse!"

The boy promptly stood and pretended to clean the bench with an invisible duster. "After you, sir!" he said, with a bow and an exaggerated flourish.

"Does he know anything about cooking?" Hadrian asked dubiously, taking the seat.

"Sure, sure!" Poe declared exuberantly. "I know plenty. You just wait. I'll show ya."

"Good, I don't feel up to working with food yet." Hadrian let his head drop into his hands. The old man next to Wyatt tossed down his card and the whole group groaned in agony.

"You bloody bastard, Drew!" Grady barked at him, tossing what remained of his cards onto the pile. The others did the same.

Drew grinned, showing his few yellowed teeth, and collected the tiny pile of silver tenents. "That's it for me, boys. Goodnight."

"Night, Drew ya lousy Lanksteer!" Grady said, shooing him away as if he were a bug. "We can talk at breakfast, eh?"

"Sure, Grady," Drew said. "Oh, that reminds me, I heard something right funny tonight when I was reefing the top'sl. We're going to be taking on a passenger to help find the horn. How stupid are these landlubbers. It's only the most well-known point on the Sharon! Anyway remind me at breakfast and I'll tell ya about it. It's a real hoot it is. Night now."

Most of the rest of the men headed off, leaving just Wyatt, Grady, Poe and Hadrian.

"You should turn in as well," Wyatt told Poe.

"I'm not tired," he protested.

"I didn't ask if you were tired, did I?"

"I want to stay up and celebrate my promotion."

"Off with ya before I report you for disobeying a superior."

Poe scowled and stomped off looking for his hammock.

"You too, Grady," Wyatt told him.

The old seaman looked at Wyatt suspiciously, then leaned over and quietly asked, "Why you trying to get rid of me, Deminthal?"

"Because I'm tired of looking at that ugly scowl of yours, that's why."

"Codswallop!a he hissed. "You wanna be alone to talk about the you-know-what, don't ya? Both of you are in on it. I can tell, and that Royce fellow he's in too. How many more you got, Wyatt? Room for another? I'm pretty good in a fight."

"Shut up, Grady," Wyatt told him. "Talk like that can get you hanged."

"Okay, okay," Grady said, holding up his palms. "Just letting you know, that's all." He got up and headed for his own hammock casting glances back over his shoulder several times until he disappeared into the forest of swinging men.

"What was that all about?" Hadrian asked, hooking a thumb toward Grady's retreating figure.

"I don't know," Wyatt replied. "There's always one sailor on board any ship looking for a mutiny. Grady seems to be the Emerald Storm's. Ever since he signed on he's been thinking there's a conspiracy going on-mostly because he wants there to be, I think. He has issues with authority, Grady does." Wyatt started gathering up the scattered deck of cards into a pile. "So, what's your story?"

"How do you mean?" Hadrian asked.

"Why are you and Royce here? I stuck my neck out getting you on board. I think I have a right to know why."

"We're looking for a safer line of work and thought we'd try sailing," Hadrian offered. Wyatt's face showed he was not buying. "We're on a job, but I can't tell you more than that."

"Does it have to do with the secret cargo?"

Hadrian blinked. "It's possible. What is the secret cargo?"

"Weapons. Steel swords, heavy shields, imperial-made crossbows, armor-enough to outfit a good-size army. It came aboard at the last minute, hauled up in the middle of the night just before we sailed."

"Interesting," Hadrian mused. "Any idea where we're headed?"

"Nope, but that's not unusual. Captains usually keep that information to themselves and Captain Seward is no different." Wyatt shuffled the cards absently. "So, you don't know where the ship is going, and you weren't aware of the cargo. This job didn't come with much in the way of information, did it?"

"What about you?" Hadrian turned the tables. "What are you doing here?"

"I could say I was working for a living, and for me it would actually make sense, but like you I'm looking for answers."

"To what?"

"To where my daughter is." Wyatt paused a moment, his eyes glancing at the candle. "Allie was taken a week ago. I was out finding work and while I was gone the Imps grabbed her."

"Grabbed her? Why?"

Wyatt lowered his voice, "Allie is part elven, and the New Empire is not partial to their kind. Under a new law anyone with even a drop of elf blood is subject to arrest. They've been rounding them up and putting them on ships, but no one can tell me where they've taken them. So, here I am."

"But what makes you think this ship will go to the same place?"

"I take it you haven't ventured down to the waist hold yet?" He paused a second, then added, "That's the bottom of the ship, below the water line. Ship stores are there, as well as livestock like goats, chickens, and cows. Sailors on report get the duty to pump the bilge. It's a miserable job on account of the manure mixing with the seawater that leaks in. It's also where-right now-they have more than a hundred elves chained up in an area half this size."

Hadrian nodded with a grimace at the thought.

"You and Royce gave me a break once because of my daughter. Why was that?"

"That was Royce's call. You need to take that up with him. Although I wouldn't do that for a while, he's sicker than I am. I've never seen him so miserable and this sea business is making him irritable."

Wyatt nodded. "My daughter's the same way on water. Pitiful little thing, she's like a cat on a piece of driftwood. It takes her forever to get accustomed to the rocking." He paused a moment looking at the candle, then said, "I got the impression the two of you might be sympathetic. Maybe, if you finish this job, you might be willing to help me a little-a turn for a turn?"

"I thought you got us aboard to pay off a debt."

Wyatt sighed.

"I don't know-maybe." Hadrian glanced at the mass of men around him and lowered his voice to a whisper. "The job we're on is important, and we can't afford to be distracted, but if the situation presents itself, we might be able to help. Something tells me I won't have much trouble convincing Royce to stick his neck out for this one."