Buxacan Spicerunner Read online

  After dinner, Arno hurried over to the Treasure Chest. He was immediately recognized as a favored customer upon entering, and was given a free glass of wine. He looked for Olik, but didn’t see his massive friend. Olik worked for the Chest but was rarely seen inside. Arno settled in at a high-stakes table, spread out his silver, and took a card.

  Three hours later he’d won an Agresian crown and a half and stepped outside. He was pleasantly surprised to run into Thard.

  “Your luck broke early tonight,” the surgeon said.

  “No…I was in there all night last night and my da said if it happened again he’d throw me out.”

  “Ooh. You think he meant it?”

  “He’s never threatened it before, so yeah I do.”

  “How late can you stay out, then?”

  “Midnight.”

  Thard consulted his pocket watch.

  “Great!” he said. “You’ve got an hour and a half. I was on my way to Trisa’s. Wanna come?”

  “I don’t know. The girls in there aren’t that pretty.”

  “Maybe not, but they’re cheap.”

  “Alright, then.” They walked uphill to Cathouse Row.

  The street was busy as usual. The Eagle was in port, as was the Dragon, and it seemed that the entire Crew of each ship wanted female company. There were plenty of Kimbulans around as well. Some of the houses had scantily clad women leaning from their windows; other women stood in front of their houses. Trisa’s was a small but clean place, with only a few girls. The boys paid the fee and each chose a girl and went their separate ways.

  They met back on the street when they were done. Thard wanted to go for a drink, but Arno had to get home. He shook his friend’s hand and left the Row.

  Just before he went to bed, Arno checked the deposit receipt again. Of the Smilers who hadn’t gone to sea, he’d contributed the most to Ellor’s account. Even so, it still wasn’t enough to purchase a leaky fishing skiff. He fervently hoped that Afnir and the others who’d joined the Crews came home with a lot of money. But when they could afford a sloop, where would the coin to outfit her come from? They might have to take a loan and cargo and behave as a merchant runner for a while.

  The more he thought of it, the more he liked his idea. Some of the Smilers had never been to sea, and there was no helping that the ship would be very small, but it would take some serious money to equip her properly. A tight, well-equipped sloop, a few small hauls, and they could recruit enough hands to take on bigger prizes. Take over a bigger ship as their own and soon they’d be a presence on the Buxacan Sea. Once they reached that status, they’d want for nothing. Arno went to sleep dreaming of the day that would come.

  8

  Aboard the Flatfish

  Dason didn’t have time to watch as the lights of Port Buxaca were swallowed within yards of the inlet, nor to watch as the island faded into the distance. First he’d been called aloft to help set all plain sail, then below to restow cargo that had shifted with the first swells of the open sea. The mate and the navigator belabored the ears of the hapless boatswain; cargo stowage was his responsibility. The boatswain had been hired in Dalarville—this was his first cruise.

  Dason had questioned the boatswain on his load plan and had been belted across his teeth for showing the temerity to question an officer. Schooling his face to blankness, Dason listened with satisfaction as the senior officers took turns chewing on the boatswain. His enjoyment didn’t slow his hands and feet, however. The poorly stowed section contained quarter barrels of brandy. Though the swell was mild, the chance of breaking a bone was high and extreme care was needed.

  The barrels were restacked on end and tied off in groups of four, then braced in with extra bunting. Sheetwood was laid atop the barrels and a second layer was started. They made three rows before they were done. Immediately after they were sent aloft to alter sail to better catch the easterlies.

  The watch bell sounded just as Dason and his mates started up the rigging, but they really weren’t off-watch until they’d completed their current tasks. The on-watch swarmed up the rigging as well, halving the time needed. Dason went below when he was released, unrolled and strung his hammock, and collapsed into it. He was so exhausted that he didn’t even have time to regret missing the chance to see his parents, little brother and friends before he fell asleep.

  The new boatswain of the Flatfish was proving to be a tyrant, with special attention for the youngest hand aboard other than the cabin boy, namely Dason Nive. The boy was a little less than six feet tall and of average build. He wore his curly brown hair short and shaved his face clean. His brown eyes always looked like they were amused by what they saw. He was well liked by everyone aboard the Flatfish…except the boatswain. What seemed to bother the officer the most was Dason’s attitude. The young salt did whatever he was told, whenever he was told, and never grumbled. Worse, he even smiled at every order and there was no trace of sarcasm in his “yeah yeah, sirs.”

  By contrast, the oldest hands were downright surly, questioning every pronouncement, and were obstinately slow in obeying the boatswain, though they were normally respectful and acquiescent for the other officers.

  On the third day out from Port Buxaca, one of the senior hands got smacked in the ribs with the end of a rope for an insubordinate look. Work slowed as sailors watched the confrontation.

  “Laddie, if you’re wanting to do that ever again, you’ll eat that rope and that’s a fact,” the crewman said. The boatswain hesitated, but didn’t strike again.

  Flatfish arrived in Hanarre a few weeks later, downloaded and set her crew free until sundown the next day, except for a harbor-watch. Dason was amongst those who drew the first watch, which was for eight hours rather than four. Thus he was on deck and saw the oldest hands leave with the mate and navigator. He wondered what that signified—the officers usually kept to themselves.

  Two mornings later, the crew learned that Captain Blue had bought nothing but spice for the long passage to Ariton. Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and pepper would make the journey in small, leather-bound teak boxes. They would stack easily. As wagon after wagon rolled down the dock, sailors and stevedores prepared for loading. The mate made a show of looking around for someone.

  “Where is that boy?” His eyes lit on Dason. “You, Nive! You’re in charge of loading this entire payload. You!” He pointed at the boatswain. “Lend a hand with the forward gantry!”

  Both men stared at him in shock. The captain watched silently from the helmdeck.

  “Move, boys!” said the mate. “I want to be ready to sail by the next tide.” The oldest hand tipped Dason a wink. “First box to go fore or aft, Ster Nive?”

  The young man recovered and began to give orders. When all was finished, Captain Blue inspected the hold while the navigator had himself rowed around in a small boat to check the trim. When the inspections were complete, the mate gave the order to cast off and prepare for tow-away from the dock.

  The boatswain was called to the captain’s cabin. Before the ship had moved more than a few feet, the boatswain reappeared on deck with his sea bag and jumped across to the receding dock.

  Shortly after that, Dason was called aft as well. In the cabin he found Bowditch, who was the oldest hand aboard. All of the officers were also present but the mate.

  “If the greenest man aboard could load my ship better than he could, then he’s not fit to be my boatswain,” said Blue. “Sometimes, one finds a young man of extraordinary talent. It would not be inappropriate to promote this young man to a position of authority.” He looked Dason in the eye. “Are you that young man, Ster Nive?”

  Dason didn’t hesitate. “I don’t believe so, sir. This cargo was almost the easiest to load there can be. Furthermore, I don’t believe I have the experience to command as an officer of the watch. I can set a sail as well as any man, sir. But I couldn’t decide how to set them all for maximum efficiency. In my opinion, you would be trading a boatswain who could sail but not stow for one
who could stow but not sail.”

  “A man who knows his limitations.” The captain smiled. “That’s a quality I’d prefer in an officer. If not you, then who should be the new boatswain?”

  “If I may be so bold, sir,” said Dason. “You already know, else Ster Bowditch would be on deck.”

  The older men laughed.

  “Smart, too!” said Bowditch. “Cap’n, I’d foller his orders and show him how to set sail too, if’n you want.”

  Blue looked at the navigator. “Ster Sine?”

  That worthy lit his pipe before answering. “Last night, we had one incompetent boatswain. This morning we have two excellent possible replacements. On the one hand we have an experienced sailor who’s been aboard longer than I have. On the other we’ve a bright young lad with a great deal of potential who has the respect of the entire crew. I’m glad it’s not my decision.”

  “As captain, the decisions that affect this ship are ultimately mine, but a man’s path is his own.” Blue lit his own pipe before he continued. “Now I’d like to know what you two want.”

  Dason wanted to speak first, but looked at Bowditch for guidance.

  “G’head son. Say your piece to the Cap’n.”

  “Sir, I’d be honored, but I think you should choose Ster Bowditch instead. You are aware of which port I come from, and what other ships berth there. Some friends of mine and I would like to give that a go in a year or two. He should be the boatswain. He’s earned it; I haven’t.”

  “Well, young man, what you have earned is a promotion to full hand, and you’re welcome to stay aboard as long as you see fit. I was willing to offer more, but I’ll not stay you from the course you’ve set. Ster Bowditch, assemble the current watch so I can address them. Nive, you’re released back to your duties.”

  9

  Aboard the Dalarville Spring

  Dol Bando sat in the sun holystoning the foredeck of the Dalarville Spring. This was his punishment for not moving fast enough when the boatswain had ordered him aloft the day before. He wasn’t bitter about it—most of the crew agreed with the boatswain. Dol knew he’d get faster with practice. Sev thought they should be given more slack for being new to it all, but had said so only to Dol. Neither boy had any desire to attract negative attention by complaining. Dol wondered why they had to learn so much so quickly. Surely we could master one task at a time. His brother pointed out that it was not their place to question the methods of those who taught them. Dol reluctantly agreed.

  The boys were identical twins of average height and build. Both had the light brown hair and dark eyes of Jonos. They’d inherited a weak chin from their father. Dol had recently started to grow his moustache—he was tired of being mistaken for his brother. Not that their first names were important to the officers or crew of the Spring.

  “You missed a spot, Bando,” one of the veteran hands said without malice as he passed.

  “Where?”

  “By the ladder.” The older man smiled. “Don’t feel too bad; your brother will be doing the helmdeck next watch.”

  Dol just sighed.

  Being at sea was more work than he and Sev had imagined, and a whole lot less pleasant. But they were earning their way. By the end of the voyage they’d be competent seamen. But so far the greatest hardship was not having Sev around to talk to. They were on oppos-ite watches and rarely awake at the same time.

  “Go under here, through this and around here,” the salty old man said. “Now you try.” He untied the knot and handed the rope to Sev, who quickly duplicated the action. “Almost.” His teacher pulled the knot gently and it came undone.

  “Watch again,” he said patiently. “Under here, through this and around here. See how I tucked it when I went around? Try and pull that loose.” Sev tried without success. “That knot’s what’s holding all the weight of that.” The teacher gestured toward the mainsail. “Tie every knot like it has to do the whole job by itself. It may have to.” He handed the dowel and line back to Sev, who tied the knot properly.

  “Good. Now show me that first one again.”

  “The bowline?” Sev couldn’t remember the name of the first knot. The older man scowled.

  “Was that the first one? No it wasn’t. Tie the first one I showed you and I’ll tell you if it’s right, then you’ll tell me its name.” Sev tied the simple knot and the name came to him.

  “That’s a hitch,” he said.

  “Which one?” the teacher prodded.

  “A clove hitch,” said Sev.

  The older hand smiled. “You’re learning, boy!” The teacher clapped Sev on the shoulder.

  “Bando!” It was the man at the masthead. “Can you relieve me for a spell? I have to go to the heads.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” Sev grimly climbed up the shrouds. He was still nervous going aloft, but had learned that if he concentrated on the job at hand it wasn’t so bad. One hand for the ship and one hand for yourself, he reminded himself. Soon he was at the highest point on the ship. The other tar immediately started down.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

  “That’s what you said last time.” Last time he’d relieved this guy, he’d been gone for an entire glass.

  “I had to stut last time. This time I just have to hang my stap in the breeze.”

  “Don’t hold it too tight,” Sev teased.

  “Ha. Just for that, maybe I will,” his watchmate said. Then he was gone, but he climbed back up in a reasonable amount of time.

  “And I didn’t hold it too tight.”

  “If you had, and you’re back this soon,” Sev told him, “you’d be a major disappointment to the girls.”

  The other hand thought that was pretty funny.

  Sev began the climb back to the deck, which was scarier for him than the climb up. Dol thought it was harder going up, though.

  Three days later, the Bandos discovered why they had to learn everything immediately. The storm they fought was called a white squall, and had appeared out of a clear blue sky with little warning. Hesitation or lack of knowledge could cost the Dalarville Spring a sail, a mast, or a man. Big mistakes could destroy the whole ship.

  Sev and Dol did well during that storm, showing alacrity and the beginnings of some skill. They didn’t realize for some time that their punishments became fewer and farther between as a direct result of their performance that day. They thought they were becoming sailors, but in the eyes of their shipmates they already were. They only needed some trimming and shoring.

  10

  Crossbone Square,

  Port Buxaca

  At midnight, half of the enforcers from the Treasure Chest started their hunt. Each man wore a blue vest and was armed with a short, weighted baton. They worked in two man teams, seeking men who owed on gambling debts.

  The Treasure Chest was the only tavern in Port Buxaca where gambling was permitted. Little drink and even less food was sold there than in any other inn or tavern on the island. The house even offered credit to a limit of three hundred Tayan crowns. The interest rate was reasonable—only five percent a year. But even on those terms, some men couldn’t win. The establishment was owned by Tergil Anford, the brother of, and accounter to, The Captain, so the Red and Black patrols never interfered with the men in the blue vests as they went about their duties.

  On this night there were four welchers in port. One was a Bloody Fist who owed twenty-five Tayan crowns. The Dragon had come in that morning with a moderate haul, yet the crewman had not yet made an appearance at the Treasure Chest. He was known to be alive and uninjured, but his health would be in question soon if he couldn’t give the enforcers at least five crowns. The other welchers were from Kimbulan ships, owing various amounts ranging from fifteen to two hundred crowns.

  The enforcers separated into their teams, except for one. That one was the most feared, though he didn’t even carry the billet allowed by the rules. At seven foot one and three hundred-twenty pounds, Olik Pango didn’t need the weapon. He wa
s being sent after the ‘big fish’, the man who owed two hundred. When the debt got this high, the ultimate penalty was permitted at the discretion of the enforcer.

  An informant had seen his man at the Tradewinds Tavern. Olik didn’t bother to hide or skulk; he stood in plain view directly across the street and waited. Eventually his mark stumbled out—a weasely, shifty-eyed sort. He looked first right, then left as if unsure where to go. Then he spotted the blue vest and gleeped in alarm at the sheer size of the man wearing it. He knew what that vest meant, and bolted. Or tried to, at least. Olik, despite his size, could move very, very quickly. He picked up the gambler by his neck, eliciting a shriek and piteous cries for help. A passing pair of Red and Blacks noticed.

  “Stut! Take him down an alley or somethin’, will ya?”

  The welcher wet himself as he was dragged kicking and screaming between two buildings. The severe beating that followed produced only a few Jono quarter-princesses. The strip search that culminated in a broken leg brought forth three Agresian coals, the least valuable coin of any nation in the South. Olik told him that he’d have at least a hundred Tayan crowns by the end of the month or he’d surely go swimming with a cannon ball.

  Olik wiped the blood from his hands on the sailor’s shirt and left him where he lay. He didn’t really expect that the welcher would manage to borrow or steal that much money. He certainly wasn’t going to earn it—he couldn’t go to sea in his condition. But it wasn’t Olik’s problem. He’d still get his ten Tayan crowns for this night’s work. It might be a few days or a few months before he saw such a payday again.

  As was his custom after a messy collection attempt, Olik took a stroll along Dock Street. The breeze ruffled his curly red hair as his green eyes sought the names of the ships tied at the docks. He liked to listen to the sailors talk of the exotic places they’d been. He wanted to see those places too, someday. But there weren’t very many sailors around at this hour. The last one he’d seen probably didn’t want to talk about where he’d been, either. Olik didn’t hate his job, but he didn’t love it either. It just was. Sometimes he wondered if it was all there ever would be for him. At the far end of the street was the shipyard. Drac Copton sat on the dock, letting his feet trail in the water.