S. Welles - To Ocean's End

What remained of Newport, Rhode Island’s streets did its best to break both my ankles as I ran. Chunks of pavement unglued themselves from the mud with a squelch, making it feel like each foot was treading on separate decks in high seas. The mud itself sucked on my boots, trying just as hard to pitch me face-first into what passed for roads for a hundred years now. Why did unwanted company have to arrive every time I wanted a cheeseburger?

One of the largest steam frigates I’d ever seen had made berth next to mine sometime in the last hour. Not good—not because of its harpoons, but because of its mere presence. There were only about a hundred frigates left cruising the entire Atlantic, each with their own territorial port. Newport was sort of my territory—only sort of—and that’s the way I wanted it to stay. And right now half of my crew was either grabbing supplies or filling their stomachs.

Homes and stores whipped by, a clash of lumber, stone and some plywood structures patched with scraps of aluminum siding, and I slipped more than ran into the open port. Resonant voices rang out, advertising fish, beef, vegetables and whatnot to the grey and brown masses slinking from one open stand to the next. Geeze, what a contrasting picture from the 2100’s. It was hard to look at sometimes.

“Out of my way!” I pushed through the crowd, practically doing the breast stroke with my arms, but not hard enough to knock anyone over. I’m a jerk—to an extent. People turned and voiced their anger, but no one got beyond “Hey!” or “What the heck, man?”

One said, “It’s Dyne! Let him through!”

The sardines parted for me as if I were a marlin charging through their school. One of the perks of infamy. Much better.

“Captain!”

I shot a glance over my shoulder. Mido, my ship’s cook. Hopefully he’d been fortunate enough to finish a pint before glancing out the bar window. I slowed my pace, and sure enough I could smell beer and barbecue sauce on his breath. Lucky bastard.

“How long have they been there?”

“Too long.”

Mido nodded and began out-sprinting me. Didn’t help that I had a trench coat and steel-toe boots weighing me down. My cook ran more freely in his cargo jeans and a hole-plagued tank top. His arms, which caused girls to flock to him, pumped hard.

Mido came to a sudden halt on the dock when the crowd stopped parting for him. Two massive sterns loomed just below the early afternoon fog. Everyone was ogling at the most recent “clash of the captains” as two crews gathered on their respective decks. These people couldn’t wait to see my undefeated streak for Newport come to an end. But if these people wanted to see a more interesting clash, they needed to get out of my way first.

“Captain, it’s Tethys’s ship!”

I swore. “I guess we didn’t put a big enough hole in their hull.” We shoved our way through the crowd, earning more infamy points, and after Mido had climbed the rungs I leapt onto the stern’s ladder. Contact with the Pertinacious’s rusted steel brought some relief. My ship. My physical soul, and it looked as ragged and beat up as I was. But she was just as stubborn and hardy as well.

I heaved myself onto the open deck with a grunt and strode over to port, where Tethys’s crew was throwing grappling hooks onto my railing. A bold move. But stupid. “All hands to arms!” Three men already had their swords drawn and glass grenades belted around their waists. Three more stomped up from below deck and joined Mido in collecting their weapons from the crate stowed against the wheelhouse. They fastened them around waists or over shoulders kept strong and lean from years of labor at sea. The rest of my crew popped over the starboard railing one at a time, each weighed down by duffle bags of provisions. They dropped their bags by the ladder and grabbed more swords and glass grenades. “Scully, man the Harpy.”

Scully, the last one to board, dropped his sack next to the rest and ran for the harpoon gun mounted on the bow. Two of Tethys’s most eager crew members zip-lined their way to my ship.

“Hold your positions!” I drew the knife I often kept inside my trench coat, marched up to the railing and cut the nearest rope. A scream reached up through the gap between ships, and then a splash followed. I picked off the hook, aimed it for the middle of the splash ring, and let it fall.

Ten feet away was another grappling hook. I stood before the trembling rope and let the guy pop his head over the railing. He pulled his sword out of his mouth and swung at me as he roared. I leaned out of the sword’s arc and gave the kid a left hook right in the nose. He let go of the rope, saving me the effort of throwing him into the ocean. The rest of my crew lined up along the railing with swords and glass grenades. I held out my arms, ordering my men to back up. A dozen more grappling hooks with steel leads arced into the air and clanged onto the deck, right where we had been standing. The hooks zipped back towards the other ship and pinned themselves against my railing with a discord of clangs. The ropes tightened.

My more ballsy crew members stood ready for a fight as they waited for the opposition to zip over. Tethys’s men tied the ropes to their wheelhouse, providing them with a downward slope. They clipped zip hooks and rode over like a bunch of laundry being hung out to dry. Except this bit of laundry needed to either be rewashed or burned. Where was their sense of pride in their appearance? “Let’s get ‘em!”

Boots and sword points led the way as Tethys’s men swung themselves over my railing. Swords clanged and scraped, and meaty fists bashed into equally meaty heads and torsos as I hung back, waiting for the only man worth fighting as he climbed onto a crate and hooked himself to a taut rope. Tethys was a huge man in both height and girth, but most of that girth was muscle flexing under his sleeveless leather jacket and black shirt. The rope sagged under his weight, dropping him to eye level with my railing halfway across. I put away my knife and drew my sword as his weight sunk him below my line of vision. I flinched at the sound of a huge, heavy clang against the side of my ship. The shouting and sword fighting sagged as well, then resumed when one of Tethys’s hands gripped the lower rung of the railing. His face, topped by the worst widow’s peak I’d ever seen, rose into view. He hurdled over, his landing making the deck vibrate, and stomped towards me.

Good god, this sucker’s huge. My eyes were level with his collar bone. I’d never noticed before since we’d only yelled at each other from the safety of our own decks.

I glanced at the battling crews. A fair few had sustained injuries on both sides, and a few more were down, probably dead. A wave of sorrow passed through me before I could detach myself from such emotions.

“It’s time someone took Newport from you, Dyne,” Tethys said in a gravelly voice. His voice was as intimidating as his sheer size, like a father’s whose calm voice scared you straight more than his raised voice.

I put up my sword. “Not you, bud.”

Tethys stood just outside of sword’s reach. “You and me: one-on-one duel right now. For the port.”

“Do I look like some sort of honorable mercenary who duels?”

Tethys looked at me blankly, then roared and came at me, steel first.

I barely slapped his sword away as I fell into a backwards roll. As soon as my feet were back under me, I popped up and ran for the bow. The muscle-brain stomped after me as I cut every rope linking our ships. I realized my maneuver was a bad idea when I heard a grappling hook whiz by my head, its steel leader just missing my ear. The hook got snagged in a tarp covering a lifeboat. “Scully! Take aim!”