"Storms'a brewing, captain," crowed Shrimp from the crow's next. "East by southeast."
Valgur regarded the horizon, standing on the ship's upper deck in his customary place next to the helm where he could survey both his crew and the sea. He grumbled, and far beyond there came an answering roll of thunder. “Just a bit o’ water,” he said under his breath.
It was early afternoon, ahead of them there were clearer skies. But behind there came a chill on the wind picking up on the tempestuous agitation. Around them, the surf seemed enraged, beginning to froth and boil.
“The tormented channel never rests,” said Silvertime.
“Can we outrun it?” Valur asked.
“We can try.”
"Look alive, lads,” cried Valgur to his crew from the topdeck. “Let's ride on the storm’s first breath." The crew fell in, freeing rope from their bonds and winching the topsail until it unfurled atop the mast. Picaro clung to the rigging as the ship took on more speed, beginning to bow at increasing angles to ride down the trough of the mounting waves.
Valgur called to the watcher in the crow's nest. "Oi! Will we be free of her?"
"She's gaining on us, captain. This skies are full of anger. It may yet overtake us," said Shrimp.
"Blast it then, come down. You too, boy. Nothing to do but ride it out," said Valgur.
Picaro scaled the main mast, narrowly avoiding the boom as it swung in reaction to a gust. He got into a roll as he hit the main deck. Valgur called to the rest of the crew, "Looks like we're destined for stormy seas. Batten us down. Fasten the cannons. Tie down what can be, and stow all else below deck, quicklike. Keep us free and clear. Hup to!"
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The men reacted with haste, freeing the ship's main deck of anything that might be lost or shifted in the choppy waters potentially knocking a man overboard. Some tense minutes followed. Dark skies crept behind them like wool being pulled over the eyes. Then, the first stab of lightning struck. It seemed far out, but then thunder clapped with booming inotations.
"Put up the topsail now, and batten the mainsail a tad. Silvertime, do you we have a clear horizon in any direction?"
"West looks like calmer seas, captain. But due south is the quickest way out of the channel.”
"Blast. What do you advise? Can we ride on through it?”
Silvertime took stock of the conditions. “Wind’s strong due east. It’ll take us into the trench if we’re not careful. We’re ‘tween a rock and a hardplace, captain, if ye pardon the expression. But I advise due south,” said Silvertime.
“Very well, south it is. Lead our bow into the waves. Don't let it roll us. Brace, lads!" Then, the rains came. It was as if the sky was pouring out the contents of some deeper ocean held within them. A torrential downpour cascaded onto the main deck. Men slipped in their footing. Water pooled in gullys and seeped below deck, quickly flooding parts of the hold. Men were already there with buckets trying to keep Ye ol’ Marigold lighter for the sake of it.
The crew barely got the topsail furled in time or else the increasingly violent winds may have capsized them. Even so, the mainsail was fully taught and Ye ‘Ol Marigold groaned under the pressure of the storm. “She’ll hold,” said Valgur under his breath.
Lightning clashed and thunder rolled like the drums of war. Valgur barked orders from the upper deck but his voice was lost in the thrashing sea. Waves crashed over the bow, swallowing half the crew as Ye ‘Ol Marigold crested over the top of and descended into the trough of another oceanic valley. Silvertime stood at the helm with Valgur beside him, spitting out water and consulting his compass as he battled against the violent current, trying to stay his course.
On the main deck, Grit passed Picaro a bucket as they took to bailing duties. "This is one a the biggest baddies I ever saw," Grit yelled over the rains. But Picaro barely heard him. In his mind there was darkness above and below. They were in the middle of the sea with not an island for miles, and not a ship to be seen. They had no help. If the ship capsized or took on too much water, he would be taken with it, or left to tread water with whatever ruins could still float until the ripsharks found them. And this time, there would be no luck or fate to wash him ashore. He only got one, he thought, and that was back in Squall Parlor.
But, something bigger found them first.
How it started:
- Samuel O. Ludescher