Brenner
Mathew swung his feet out of bed, dressed, and stepped into the corridor. The lamps weren't lit yet. That wasn't done until the evening watch, so there was still plenty of time before afternoon watch ended. During the
second day on board, he learned the ship's bell was rung for each half hour of the watch.
Mathew's memory had always been a good one, and he recalled that the sickbay was located on a half-deck at the stern of the ship below "Miss Lara's cabin." The layout of the ship had never presented any difficulty for him. For some reason, however, Collin had trouble finding where tilings were, much to his annoyance—and Mathew's amusement.
Because of his height, Mathew had to stoop as he walked along the corridor. His own cabin was amidships, so it took him only a minute to make his way back to the stern. Bales of cargo, all securely lashed down, lined the passageway and cargo holds. Not a spare inch was wasted on a seagoing vessel. There was no door to the tiny area they used as a sickbay, just a curtain hung from an archway, separating it from the cargo holds.
Vickers was on a cot lying on his back, his left foot heavily bandaged. When he saw Mathew, he started to rise.
"None of that, now," Mathew said, stopping him. "I just came to see how you were doing. Stay where you are."
"Aye aye, Mr. Lewin," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "I'm doing just fine, sir, thanks to you."
"And how's the leg?" Mathew asked.
"Nothing broke, so Weldon says. Just need to stay off it for a few days. It's probably sprained some."
Weldon, Mathew remembered, was the surgeon's mate, which was all they had on a ship the size of the Wave Dancer. He also recalled the bloody mess the rope made of the man's ankle. It would take quite a bit more than a few days to mend, but he had learned these sailors were a tough, stoic lot. Shipboard injuries were a fact of life, and they all seemed to accept them in stride.
Vickers told him he was from Stermark, in Queen's Province. It came as a surprise for Mathew to learn the man was married and had two small children at home. Like so many others, Vickers had heard the news of Duren's attack and was worried about his family.
"As soon as we finish unloading our cargo in Tyraine and the captain pays off, I'm headed back north to get them out of there," he said. "The fellow that told me the news also said people had seen Orlocks taking part in the fight. I don't know as I believe that. You know how people get when stories get told and retold."
Mathew felt the muscles in his neck tighten. For the last few days he had tried his best to forget about their dead, cruel faces—without success. He even dreamed about them. Battling the elements, he decided, was infinitely preferable to looking into those hate-filled eyes. Vickers's words brought it all back again.
"You may well believe it," he said, looking toward the corner of the cabin at a small black rat that poked its head out from behind a box. The rat twitched its nose specula- tively, testing the air. Mathew reached for a bandage roll and threw it. The rat eyed him for a second, then turned in a leisurely manner and disappeared behind the crate again.
"They comes with the ship," Vickers observed philosophically.
Mathew returned his attention to Vickers, who leaned back on his elbows.
"About the Orlocks, sir, do you believe it's true? I mean, I always thought they were just so much stories, you know."
"I'm afraid it's true, Vickers. They attacked Ashford— that's the town where I live," Mathew said.
The lie came no more easily to him than it did before. He was aware that Father Thomas had told Captain Donal the truth about where they were really from along with the reason for their journey. According to Ceta Woodall, he was completely trustworthy. She had also pointed out that he had a right to know the truth before putting himself in harm's way. For safety's sake, however, it was agreed that they would use the fictitious story with the crew.
Mathew went on, "They killed a farmer and his son and others."
Vickers shook his head and made a sign against evil with his hand. They talked for the next half hour. Vickers thanked him for saving his life and promised to do the same if the situations were ever reversed. Neither felt comfortable discussing what had happened, and each tacitly concluded the less said, the better.
Afterward, on his way up to the main deck, Mathew passed several crew members who doffed their hats to him. One of them, a tough-looking old sailor named Griffin, knuckled his forehead and said, "Good on ye for what ye done, Mr. Lewin. Good on ye."
Mathew returned an embarrassed smile and climbed the companion ladder, emerging on deck just aft of the mainmast. He wandered over to the starboard rail. Two sailors who were mending rope discreetly moved to the other side of the ship to give him privacy. He was aware of all that—aware that they were treating him differently than they had before. It made him slightly uncomfortable. As far as he was concerned, he simply did what was needed at the moment.
It was hard to believe that only a short while ago the ship he was now standing on so easily was flying up and down waves larger than most buildings he'd seen. The water was relatively calm at the moment, broken only by occasional rolls and swells.
No matter how hard he tried to think of other things, his mind kept returning to the conversation he and Collin were having before the storm hit. He was conscious of the ring hanging around his neck, and being honest, he had to admit he was frightened of it. For the better part of the week little else had occupied his thoughts, and he had refused to put it on again. Absently, Mathew touched the wound in his side. It throbbed, but not unduly so.
In his spare hours he had pored over the two books on the human brain Dr. Wycroft was kind enough to let him borrow before they sailed. He learned that the brain was possibly the least understood organ in the human body. It was so complex, with so many interconnecting structures; he doubted that a lifetime of study would make things much clearer. After hours of reading, he began to form a theory that a connection existed between the ring and the thoughts his mind produced. At the same time he knew it couldn't be every thought. That was the problem. Why some and not others? He'd worn the ring for quite a while and certainly had the chance to think about lots of things. None of them just materialized. A split second before the explosion in the stable, he was wishing for something to blast the Orlocks from the face of the earth. He recalled as much during his conversation with Collin. And that was exactly what happened. Just before the Orlocks attacked them in the forest, he wanted desperately to see how many were out there. Same result.
The sun, now a yellow disk, sank lower on the horizon, bathing the water with a warm light and creating myriad sparkles that appeared to move with a life of their own. It was beautiful, he thought.
Slowly, gradually, his hand moved to the ring, still suspended around his neck by the leather cord. The familiar chill went through his arm as soon as his hand closed around it. But this time there was something different. Directly in front of him, floating in the air over the starboard quarter, was a small patch of fog. He was certain it wasn't there a moment ago. The early evening sky was clear, apart from a few clouds. He spared a glance at the opposite side of the deck. Both of the sailors had finished their tasks and were walking aft. He turned back to the fog. After a moment, he decided that it wasn't fog at all, more a blurring of the air. There was nothing to either the right or left of the phenomena. It was more like trying to look through a gossamer curtain covering a doorway, he decided. But the doorway seemed to have no distinct boundaries. It kept moving and changing shape.
Curious, he watched it closely, grateful that no one else was around. He had no feelings of nervousness or stress now—only curiosity.
The fog, or whatever it was, was brighter in the center and had light radiating out softly from its sides. Mathew thought he could make out images on the inside, but they
were indistinct and hazy. He concentrated harder. Without warning, it moved closer to him, or he closer to it, he wasn't ce
rtain which. The images in the center began to clear, coalescing into recognizable shapes. There were trees and a path with shrubbery running into a small glade. The clarity astonished him, and he could almost feel the rough texture of the pebbles beneath his boots.
Cautiously, he peered around the glade and realized he could detect no sounds at all—from anything. Part of his mind acknowledged the sound of waves slapping against the side of the ship as it moved through the water, and the wind humming in the rigging, but these things were separate and apart. The light was almost gone then, except toward the horizon, where streaks of red and crimson contrasted with the ever-deepening blue sky. From the shadows in the vision he could tell it was sometime in the late morning or perhaps the early afternoon, yet on board the Wave Dancer it was nearly dusk.
Three people, a man and two women, now quite distinct, sat at a small table covered with a gold cloth by the side of the path. They were talking with each other. Mathew could see their lips moving. On the table was a bottle of red wine and three glasses. He was there, but not there.
One of the women was quite beautiful. He couldn't quite see the face of the other one, but she appeared to have the same black hair as the first, which fell loosely to her shoulders. From the clothes they wore, Mathew thought they might be some type of royalty. When he was twelve, Lord Kraelin and Lady Ardith had visited Devon-dale, and the fineness of their garments were still vivid to him. The first woman was dressed in a gown of white with long sleeves that came to a point at her wrist. The other woman was in silver. The man was clad completely in black—his boots, shirt, and cloak. Mathew could only see him from the side, but his features were sharp and he had an aquiline nose. Just behind them, water ran noiselessly over rocks down a small hill into a pond, making no sound at all. His left hand gripped the ship's rail tightly while he continued to watch, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
And then the man slowly turned.
In the process of lifting his glass of wine, the man appeared to freeze. Slowly, his head swiveled around in Mathew's direction and a pair of hooded eyes looked directly up at him. A second later the woman on his left also turned. The one with her back to him never did. Although he saw her shoulders stiffen, she kept looking straight ahead. The hint of a smile played at the corners of the man's mouth. It was cold and mirthless. The woman's face was utterly devoid of any .expression, though she was clearly aware of Mathew's presence, if it could be called that. There was little doubt in Mathew's mind they were looking at him. Their scrutiny unnerved him so much he took a step backward, letting go of the ring around his neck in the process.
Instantly the image was gone as if it had never existed. Only the rise and fall of the sea and the lowering clouds bathed in the last light of day remained.
Mathew stood there on the foredeck and considered whether he was losing his mind. He recalled a visit to Gravenhage with his father when he was much younger, when he saw a man wandering erratically down the street. The man was talking to himself and to other people who weren't there. Sometimes he shouted, but most times he just rambled on incoherently. Seeing him approach, his father gently moved him to his other side, shielding him. Mathew recalled being scared when the man crossed the street and came toward them. None of what he said made any sense. He was unshaven and badly needed a bath, and his hair was as unkempt as his clothes. At first he looked confused, then angry, and then he started to cry, before moving on. Bran watched him go, keeping his arm protectively around Mathew's shoulders, and shook his head sadly. When they rode home together, he asked his father about what happened. Bran told him that sickness sometimes affected the mind as well as the body.
The images of his father were so clear they were painful. He remembered the night by the river when Father Thomas had told him the pain would lessen over time, and he wished with all his heart it would be so. And soon.
In the end he made the only decision he could. Mathew smiled to himself and looked out over the water, resting his elbows on the rail. It was possible that he was crazy, but he didn't think so. People in Devondale, plain spoken and stubbornly practical, were made of sterner stuff. Eventually, Collin's suggestion about doing an experiment drifted back into his mind again.
Answers were what he needed, and answers were what he was going to get.
26
Great Southern Sea
Captain Donal's cabin was a good deal larger than his own. It actually consisted of two separate rooms and was comfortably decorated. The large stern windows created a light and open atmosphere through which the ocean could be seen foaming in the ship's wake. Overall, they added to a feeling of spaciousness at odds with the cramped life Mathew had come to expect on board the Wave Dancer.
In the first room, a plain oak desk and two side chairs were placed against the ship's starboard side. Behind the desk was a dark mahogany bookcase, about five feet high, filled with the books and memorabilia that Oliver Donal had collected over thirty years at sea. Several thick rugs were scattered about each of the rooms of the great cabin, as it was called. The sleeping quarters, now occupied by Lara Palmer, contained a bed of good size, like the captain himself, and a headboard with a small carving of a ship in the middle. Two storage trunks were placed at the foot of the bed. Above the bed was a painting of a lovely dark-haired woman and a pretty young girl, standing on either side of Oliver Donal. Mathew later learned they were his wife and daughter. After some consideration, he decided the artist had done a good job capturing the captain's features. In the second cabin, a dining table and six chairs were arranged for Oliver Donal's dinner.
When he and Collin arrived shortly after six bells, they saw Father Thomas and Lara standing by the stern windows talking to their host. The rain had long since
stopped and the windows were opened to allow in the first warm breezes that promised spring. Lara was wearing his favorite gray dress, and she had added a thin gold chain that circled her waist. It reminded him of the one Ceta wore.
Captain Donal's bearded face creased into a broad smile when they entered. He excused himself and crossed the room to shake their hands. Mathew noticed his beard was scented.
"Gentlemen, be welcome. Mistress Palmer has graciously consented to allow the use of her cabin for dinner this evening," he said, with only a touch of sarcasm. "I trust you are suffering no ill effects."
"No sir," Mathew replied.
"Good lad," he said, placing a hand on Mathew's shoulder. "You must really learn to take some instruction in flying before you start leaping about my rigging again."
He turned to Collin, "And you, no more attacks by flying fish?"
Collin grinned and shook his head. "It really looked like that's what happened—to me anyway. I was just standing there talking to Mat, and wham, a fish hits me in the head."
"You probably deserved it," Lara said, coming over to them.
Captain Donal began chuckling to himself all over again. There was a brief single knock at the door, followed by Zachariah Ward, who entered the cabin after the captain called out, "Come."
"Ah, Mr. Ward, there you are. I take it you have met everyone here already?"
"I have," he said, typical of the spare manner of his speech. "Your servant, ma'am," he added, making a small bow to Lara.
"Excellent. It seems that we are all accounted for. If you will all take your seats. Mistress Palmer, if you'll allow me," he said, holding out a chair for her.
Lara inclined her head graciously and allowed herself to be seated. She gave Mathew a smug look when he found himself seated between Father Thomas and Collin, a bit to his disgruntlement. A few minutes later Brenner began serving the food. The sun was practically gone from the horizon and evening stars were beginning to appear. From somewhere, Brenner produced two long wax candles in silver holders and placed them on both ends of the table before withdrawing again.
"A gift from my wife on our last voyage out," Captain Donal said, noting Collin's interest.
> "They're very nice," said Collin. "I have a friend who is a silversmith in our village. I'll bet he'd like them."
The two candlesticks were the only things that didn't seem to fit with the furnishings in the rest of the cabin. Both were ornately carved, and it was obvious that a great deal of work was involved in producing them.
"They're from Ritiba, or so my wife says. She refused, however, to divulge how she came by them. I secretly suspect there's a story there somewhere."
"If you've ever met the captain's wife, you'd know there's a story there," Zachariah Ward observed dryly.
"You see?" Oliver Donal said, looking around the table. "That's the problem with marrying a homely woman—they have nothing better to do with their time than to corrupt my crew and subvert discipline."
Mathew cast a quick glance at the portrait in the second cabin. Whatever words might be used to describe the woman whose visage hung there, "homely" was definitely not one of them.
When he looked back, he noticed that the captain and first mate were laughing quietly to themselves. A private joke, he guessed.
"I think you men are terrible," Lara said. "What would your poor wife say if she heard such talk?"
The captain turned and smiled at her. "Your pardon, Mistress Palmer. We generally do not have the pleasure of ladies on board a working ship. If the truth be known, you're about the age of my own daughter, who I suspect would defend her mother's honor with equal vigor."
Collin leaned over and whispered in Mathew's ear, "See, I told you they all belong to a club. Say something about one of them, and every woman for a thousand miles seems to know."
Mathew did his best to suppress a smile, but not before catching a raised eyebrow from Lara. Fortunately, Brenner chose that moment to bring out the soup, which smelled wonderful. Mathew watched the steam gently rising from the bowls in anticipation.
Looks can sometimes be deceiving. Despite its appetizing aroma, the broth was tasteless, little more than warm water. Watching Captain Donal and Zachariah Ward make liberal use of the salt shaker, Mathew decided to follow their lead. It was easy to see that Collin shared his opinion.
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 31