Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  Mathew's eyes found Collin's. They had stumbled into an asylum of lunatics.

  "You should see your faces," Wimby said, pointing.

  Indeed, Mathew's and Collin's faces had turned a bright shade of red, even in the darkened conditions around them.

  "It's the meridian," Captain Donal explained. Still chuckling, he bent down, picked up a silver-colored fish, and tossed it over the side.

  A few crew members slapped the boys on their backs and returned to their duties while the crowd began to disperse.

  'Tradition has it that when a virgin crosses the meridian for the first time, his mettle must be tested," Zachariah Ward added.

  "Virgin?" Collin asked.

  "First time at sea," Zachariah Ward said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Great Southern Sea."

  Collin staggered forward a step and said, "Thank you ... I think."

  "But the fish . . ." Mathew said.

  Most of them were gone from the deck now, with the crew tossing them back over the sides as they left.

  "The waterspout," Captain Donal explained. "Picks 'em clean out of the water. I actually saw one drop a small shark on a deck once. I almost swallowed my teeth the first time it happened to me. Spouts are common enough at the meridian, especially at this time of the year. Be glad we're not at the equator. The initiation there would have been much more . .. interesting."

  Mathew didn't want to know about what happened at the equator. But a thought occurred to him. Before he could ask, Captain Donal, who was brushing a tear from the corner of his eye with a thick finger, appeared to read his mind.

  "Don't worry about your lady friend. The tradition only applies to men."

  "Oh," Mathew said. "That's good."

  He could just imagine how Lara would have reacted. She would have probably started throwing fish at the crew, he thought. But the picture did make him smile.

  "You gentlemen might consider repairing to your quar­ters," the captain said. "I imagine we're in for a blow.

  He was looking over the port quarter at the squall line coming at them. The sky had continued to grow more threatening, and seas were running at eight feet or better. Rain was already beginning to fall with some force, angled by the wind. Another wave crashed over the bow, soaking everyone, as the Wave Dancer plowed into the storm. A part of Mathew's mind marveled at the power of the sea, and another part marveled that his stomach had gotten used to the pitch and roll of a ship.

  "Mr. Ward!" The captain had to shout to make himself heard above the wind. "Top gallants only, if you please."

  "Aye aye, sir," came the first mate's reply. "Hands to the rigging!" he bellowed. "Take in all sail! Top gallants, only! Let's look lively, lads!"

  Mathew could hear the order being repeated below. In seconds the remainder of the watch came pouring up onto the deck and began scampering barefooted up the rigging. It wasn't long before the sails magically began to disappear. With Collin ahead of him, they made their way amidships, using the railing to keep themselves balanced.

  In less than a minute the storm was fully on them as the Wave Dancer clawed her way forward. The wind had backed again and was coming even more strongly from the west. To the starboard, Mathew saw Captain Donal and Zachariah Ward hunched over against the elements, fighting their way back to the wheel, where Brown, the ship's master, struggled to keep the Wave Dancer on course.

  "Put the helm over, and bring her into the wind!" the captain shouted.

  The deck was already awash from the waves breaking over it.

  Just as he was about to follow Collin down the ladder, a faint sound attracted his attention. With all the noise from the wind and the water crashing over the side, he couldn't be certain, but it sounded like a scream. Mathew looked down into the companionway and saw nothing. A quick glance around the deck revealed nothing. The crew were coming down the rigging, having finished securing the braces.

  There it was again!

  Mathew looked up this time. Shielding his eyes from the blowing rain, he saw a man dangling by his foot at the top yard of the mainmast. Without stopping to think, he jumped to the rigging and began to climb. The ship was rolling so badly, he nearly lost his footing in the first ten feet and he had to hold on to the shroud until the Wave Dancer righted herself. Once past the main yardarm, Mathew paused for a second to catch his breath, wiping the water from his eyes. Whoever was up there was un­able to free themselves. The man was being thrown back and forth helplessly. Mathew felt the ship rise up the crest of a huge wave, the bow lifting out of the water, only to be followed by a sickening plunge as the Dancer dove down the trough.

  Fighting down his fear of heights, Mathew began climbing again. The deck was now far below him, pitch­ing madly. Angry whitecapped waves continued to buffet the side of the hull. From the stern, he saw someone point up at him, Zacharias Ward, he thought. He passed the second yard, not bothering to rest this time, and holding on the slick rope as tightly as he could. The deck was a dizzying distance beneath him. Above, on the topgallant yard, the man swung back and forth, the sail booming around him. Twice Mathew's boots slipped and almost caused him to lose his foothold on the sodden ropes. He decided there was no other choice but to go barefoot, as he had seen the men do. Wrapping his arm around a nearby brace for support, he carefully pulled off his boots and dropped them.

  Good, he thought, at least I'll have an excuse to get another pair when we get to Tyraine, if I live that long. All it would take was one slip to plunge him to his death. The wind and the rain were making the going more diffi­cult and his shoulders were beginning to ache.

  Up. Need to go up. Keep moving, he told himself.

  Mathew didn't know how long it took him to get to the topgallant yard. Surprisingly, without his boots he found that his feet were more secure on the ropes. From below him, he could see that two more men had started to fol­low him up, but there was no time to wait for them. The man had stopped moving above him. His arms were hanging limply down from his shoulders, and his head lolled back and forth with the ship's movement. For a moment Mathew thought he was already dead, but when he wiped the rain from his face again, he was sure he could see the man's eyes focus on him. He climbed the remaining fifteen feet to the yardarm and moved out onto it, slowly and cautiously, the force of the wind again nearly breaking his handhold. He secured a purchase on the footrope and began to slide his way out to the helpless sailor, who was still being thrown around like some bro­ken rag doll.

  Halfway there, he thought.

  Another seaman arrived and started to move out to­ward him. He was followed by a man Mathew recognized as Biggs, who had made fun of his seasickness on their first day out. When he got nearer, he recognized the help­less sailor, a fellow named Vickers. The footrope had somehow gotten twisted around his ankle, holding him fast. The skin was rubbed raw, covered in blood. A third man appeared on the yard and was trying to make his way out to them.

  Mathew realized that whatever he was going to do, he would have to do it alone, because no one could get past him on the yard and there was no time to go back. He could see the rope around the man's ankle was so twisted, there would be no choice but to cut it. The problem was what to do after that. As numb as his fingers were, he doubted if he had the strength to support Vickers once the rope was cut.

  He was still considering his alternatives when he heard Biggs yell from the shrouds, "Hang on, she's leaning to."

  Mathew watched in horror as a wave of considerable size crashed into the starboard side of the ship, sending a shudder up the mast and out onto the yard where he clung.

  Level with the horizon only seconds before, he sud­denly found himself looking down into the boiling sea as the yard tilted vertically upward. Mathew fought with all his strength to hang on. The Wave Dancer rolled to its side and continued to roll. For an interminable moment it looked like the water was rushing up to meet him, then slowly the ship began to right itself. He felt himself mov­ing in the opposite direction. It was a s
ickening feeling.

  The first man, an assistant sail maker named Chalmers, moved closer to him. For reasons Mathew couldn't begin to understand, he was grinning. Through the wind and the spray, Chalmers looked like some sodden ghostly appari­tion with a knife between his yellowed teeth.

  "I'm going to try and cut him loose!" Mathew yelled.

  "Is there any way you can get past me to get a hold on his belt when I do it?"

  The man looked down at Vickers, who was hanging below them and shook his head.

  Mathew muttered a curse to himself. He needed to find a solution quickly. Biggs had now joined them on the yard and both men were watching him. Then he saw it— far above, at the pinnacle of the mast, a block and tackle. It contained a halyard that ran down to the sail itself. The other end was secured to the mainmast at the deck.

  "Biggs," he yelled, "I want you to cut the rope to that tackle above us. We're going to tie it to him and lower him down. They'll need to give us the slack from below and then brace for it."

  Biggs looked up at the tackle, nodded, and began to slide back to the mast. Using hand signals since the noise level was too great to be heard, he communicated what Mathew wanted to the third man, who relayed it to those below. In a minute Biggs gathered the freed rope and was carrying it back out to him. Mathew was only ten feet from Vickers, and he resumed inching toward the man. Vickers looked up, seemed to recognize him, and under­stood why he was there. He made a weak, flailing gesture with one of his hands. Inch by painful inch, Mathew drew nearer, until the man was almost in reach.

  Just a little more, he thought.

  In order to reach Vickers, Mathew knew that he would somehow have to brace himself on the yardarm and then get low enough to tie the rope around the man's belt. For some reason, the memory of hanging from his knees on Rune Berryman's apple tree came back to him. So did the image of falling out of that same tree and breaking his arm.

  It'll be more than my arm if I fall now, he thought.

  Mathew took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and hooked a leg over the yardarm. Very carefully, he threaded his other leg through the space between the sail and the yard and let go. The deck and water rushed up at him as he swung backward upside down, held only by the strength of his legs. He shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the world was still upside down. By extending himself fully he was just able to reach Vickers's waist and tie the rope Biggs had passed him through the man's belt. All the time he felt Vickers's eyes on him, as well as those of the other men who were cling­ing to the yard.

  "Listen to me!" he shouted. "I'm going to cut the rope around your ankle. Biggs and two other men are up here. They've got the rope braced. We're going to lower you down. Do you understand?"

  Through his pain, Vickers managed to give him a faint smile and a weak nod.

  "All right, on three now," Mathew called out. "One, two—"

  "Hold fast," Biggs yelled, "we're heeling over again."

  Mathew immediately swung himself upright and braced. Just as before, the ship lurched when another wave slammed into its side and started to roll once more. He had just succeeded in pulling his leg free when an un­expected gust of wind, far stronger than any of the previ­ous ones, caused the sail to suddenly backfill, breaking his grip. Unable to hold on any longer, Mathew thrust himself, all arms and legs, away from the yardarm toward one of the stay lines. The deck hurtled up to meet him. At the last possible moment he succeeded in grabbing hold of the line, or else he surely would have plummeted to his death. He clung there for a moment while he collected himself and regained his breath. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and then slowly, painfully, pulled himself back up hand over hand. Biggs reached out to help him the last few feet. Fortunately, the roll wasn't as bad or prolonged as it was before. In a moment the ship began to right herself.

  It took him a while to get back into position. Fatigue was beginning to set in, but he shut it out of his mind. Af­ter a glance to see that everyone was still with him, he

  called out again. "On three. Ready? One ... two ... three."

  Working rapidly, he pulled the dagger from his belt and sawed through the rope. The last strand separated with a snap and Vickers, now freed, swung out crazily, suspended by the line above him. Chalmers and Biggs grabbed for him and stopped him just before he would have collided with the mainmast. At a sign from Biggs, those on deck cautiously began to lower the man. War-renton, the third sailor on the yardarm, made the descent with Vickers to help guide him along. Once they were un­der way, the others swung out to the main brace, and to Mathew's chagrin, slid efficiently down to the deck. He was relegated to climbing awkwardly back down the shroud.

  By the time he reached the deck, a small crowd had gathered. He was so tired and weak he could barely stand. Oliver Donal and Zachariah Ward were there along with Biggs, Chalmers, and a few others. So was everyone else from his party. Several of the crew removed their hats and knuckled their foreheads to him. Captain Donal threw two massive arms around him in a hug, nearly crushing the wind out of his lungs.

  " 'Pon my soul, if you don't have the makings of a sea­faring man in you!"

  Someone in the crowd raised a cheer, and the others immediately picked it up. He was too exhausted and numb to care at the moment, but he managed a smile.

  "Vickers?" he asked, wanting to deflect the attention from himself.

  "Below, with the surgeon's mate, where you should be," Zachariah Ward replied, pumping his hand, a look of admiration in his eyes.

  Mathew nodded and started toward the companionway. He had only gotten a few steps when a grizzled-looking sailor named Kessington came forward, saluted, and said, "If you please, sir, you'll be needing these. I recovered your boots for you before they was washed over the side.

  A little wax and polish and they'll be good as new. Don't you worry none."

  Wonderful, he thought. "Thank you, I'm very grateful."

  The man's weathered face split into a grin. Mathew felt tired enough to go to sleep right there on the deck, but in­stead he squared his shoulders and walked stiffly to the stairs leading below.

  Father Thomas put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him as he went by. Collin was waiting there as well.

  "Can't let you out of my sight for a minute. Obviously you have a death wish, or you're so desperate to get rid of those boots you're likely to try anything."

  Mathew smiled, but was unable to think of anything intelligent to say. He just waved and descended the lad­der. He felt a little silly, soaked to the bone, dripping wet, and carrying his boots under one arm.

  Lara was waiting at the bottom.

  As soon as his feet stepped off the last rung, she was in his arms, her face buried in his chest. Then she started kissing him, his face, his forehead, his eyes, and finally his lips.

  "I was so worried about you," she whispered in his ear. "When the ship started to roll over, I thought... I thought..."

  "Shh," he said. "I'm fine. Nobody got hurt."

  "And then you started to fall." She was crying. "I saw you grab onto the rope and climb back out onto the beam," she said between sobs, "And I know how much you don't like heights, and—"

  "Yard. It's called a yard," he corrected gently.

  There was a pause.

  "What were you thinking?" she said, pounding her fist into his chest.

  "I wasn't thinking of anything," he said, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him. "I couldn't have just left him there, could I?"

  Lara looked at him, then sniffed, and wiped a tear from the comer of her eye.

  Mathew put his arm around her shoulders and they

  walked slowly to his cabin. Now that the excitement was over, his energy seemed to be draining out of his body. What he wanted was to lie down and close his eyes for a few minutes. After that, he'd go see how Vickers was do­ing. The ship continued to roll with the waves, and they gave the appearance of two people who had had too much to drink, swaying from one side of the corridor to the other as t
hey walked.

  When they got to his cabin, they hugged again. Mathew mumbled something in her ear amounting to a suggestion that she come in with him.

  Her response was to open the door and gently push him forward. But she didn't follow.

  "Aren't you coming in?" he asked. His tongue felt thick.

  "In your present damp and depleted condition, I doubt you'd survive it."

  He was certain there were several good arguments to counter that, but he was too weary to think of them. So he was relegated to raising his eyebrows and adopting a wounded expression.

  Lara giggled. "And looking like a lost puppy won't do you any good either."

  She stepped back just in time to avoid his grab at her waist.

  "But what if I fall out of bed and hurt myself in my weakened condition?" he asked.

  She drew a long breath. "Truly pathetic," she said, shaking her head.

  A second later he found himself looking at a closed door and listening to the sound of her feet echoing down the wooden planks of the corridor.

  25

  Great Southern Sea, 300 Miles Out

  He didn't know exactly how long he'd been asleep, but from the angle of the sun coming through the little window in his cabin and its reddish glow, he guessed that it was late in the day. The ship's motion quickly told him that they were no longer fighting the storm.

  On the little stool beside his bed he found a pair of dark blue breeches, a clean white shirt, hose and a pair of shoes, along with a note from Brenner, the captain's steward.

  Mr. Lewin:

  Captain Donal's compliments, sir. We had to guess at the sizes, but I think these will do until your clothes are properly dried out. I'm mending the shirt that was torn and will return it to you this eve­ning. The captain requests you join him for dinner in Miss Lara's cabin at four bells of the evening watch.