Falconer's Quest

by T. Davis Bunn

  Lieutenant Bivens directed the crew to fashion a sea anchor, a double loop of sail that was readied on the stern, there in case the ship lost either rudder or masts or both. The anchor would then be cast overboard to drag the ship about, keeping it from striking an oncoming wave amidships. In seas this mountainous, one wave striking the vessel sideways would be enough to flip it over and send them all to a watery grave.

  The helmsman, assigned to the ship’s wheel, shivered so hard his words were chopped into bits. “W-will w-we s-survive this?”

  In reply, Falconer unraveled the storm lashings, ropes coiled about the wheel’s stanchion. He took a double bite around the sailor’s chest and shoulders. “Can you breathe?”

  “Aye, s-sir.”

  Falconer used the second rope to tie himself into a similar cradle. “Are you right with God?”

  The sailor winced at twin lightning strikes, so close there was no space between the fire and the sound. “I-I am, sir. B-But m-my b-baby g-girl, she’s—”

  Falconer smelled the sulfurous whiff from the lightning, a scent akin to battle. He forced his voice into an iron hardness. “Focus upon the next wave, the next blast of wind, the next glimpse you have of the compass. The ship and all who sail her depend upon your doing your duty.”

  The sailor’s response was cut off by a sudden shriek of wind. The ship’s rigging hummed a frenzied warning. Then the wind subsided for a moment, allowing the ship’s crew to hear another sound, a sibilant rush, like a myriad striking snakes. The menacing hiss grew and grew and grew. Falconer watched the sheet of rain flying across the waves, illuminated by lightning on all sides.

  The full storm struck.

  All the noise and the waves and the rain became one screeching force. The whole ship was tossed into a cauldron whipped to insanity.

  Falconer reached one arm around the smaller helmsman so their bodies were melded as one. His reach was longer, so he gripped the wheel spokes just below the sailor’s clenched hands.

  The waves were often hidden behind the lashing rain, but when an incoming peak was spotted, he and the sailor fought to turn the ship slightly upwind. They could not face the wave directly head-on. They had to steer just off the windward quarter to keep the sails full. Otherwise, they would lose steering and the ship could founder. They nosed the ship into the wave, braced themselves against the shuddering wash of water that spewed over the gunnels, then steered the ship back a notch. Shifting the wheel that fraction of a degree took so much effort the sailor and Falconer groaned with one voice.

  The rain came in a sideways wall. The wind strengthened further still and tore the tops off the waves, such that there was no longer any separation between the sea and the storm. Falconer found it impossible to breathe unless he shifted his face away from the full brunt of the blasts. He timed his turns so that either he or the sailor was always facing forward.

  One instant the rain was pelting them, the next it had lifted like a curtain and the ship’s surface was covered in gray spume blown off the waves. A crewman slipped on the froth and tumbled over the railing. He would have been lost to the sea and the storm except for the lifeline tied to his middle. He clutched the rope and screamed his fear as his mates dragged him back on board.

  Whenever their vision somewhat cleared, Falconer and the sailor took aim for the next wave. They now faced a watery mountain the color of a gravestone. They rose and rose, tipped upon the peak, then slid down into the cavernous depths. From beneath his feet Falconer heard the shrieks and wails of the passengers trapped belowdecks. Falconer took time for a single anguished prayer for his boy. Then he recalled his instructions to the sailor and shouted aloud to the wind and the thunder and the storm’s ceaseless roar. Stout heart. Nothing less would serve them now.

  The top of the next wave looked higher than the masts. It broke and sent a massive wall of water tumbling down at them. Falconer and the seaman shouted as one, fighting the sea and the ship both as they met the white water head-on. The ship’s deck was completely awash, and for an instant Falconer feared they were lost. But the ship proved stronger than the wave. The nose punched through with stubborn ferocity, clambering up the maelstrom. The ship hung at the peak for a heart-stopping moment, shook off the load of white water, and slid down into the next trough.

  Falconer and the seaman gave a wordless cheer. Certainly the crashing storm was not over. Yet Falconer sensed a first hope that they might indeed survive.

  Another curtain of rain swept in, and their world shrank down to the next liquid face, the next blast of wind, the next turn of the wheel.

  The lieutenant used his lifeline as a guide rope and pulled himself across the deck. He checked each of the hatches in turn, ensuring that they remained watertight. When he arrived at the wheel, the incoming wave almost tossed him over the side. Falconer released one hand from the wheel, wrapped the lifeline around his forearm, and held grimly on until the lieutenant found his footing again.

  “Much obliged, sir!” Bivens was obviously frightened, as were they all. Yet he maintained a wry smile for the crew. “She’s a grand vessel, is she not?” he said as he moved to the next checkpoint.

  Falconer found himself liking the man immensely, respecting his ability to remain stable and somewhat cheerful in the face of this blow. “Not one in a hundred would have survived that last surge!”

  “I was there in Nantucket when they laid her keel,” the lieutenant shouted from across the deck. He had to stop then and wait as they crested the next rise and slid down into the enormous valley. “The shipwright claimed she was a singular vessel. I must remember to thank—”

  The lieutenant never completed his sentence. From overhead came a resounding crack, as loud as a rifle barrage above the storm’s savage wail, strong enough to halt work throughout the ship.

  The lieutenant cried, “The mast!”

  “No!” Falconer had managed one clear glimpse between the lash of rain. “The mid crosstie!”

  The captain roared from the quarterdeck. Falconer saw three sailors clutch the rigging and force themselves aloft. The next wall of rain swept down, blinding Falconer. The lieutenant was in the process of drawing his sword when, out of blackness and rain, a wooden pulley on the end of a rope plunged straight at them.

  Falconer shifted back and felt the winch whip within inches of his face. The lieutenant did not act swiftly enough, however. The pulley struck his shoulder with the force of a mallet. Bivens cried out and went down hard. His cutlass slipped from numbed fingers and went spinning across the deck.

  Falconer released the knot holding himself to the wheel. He shouted a warning to the helmsman, then flung himself at the lieutenant. A wall of water rose out of nowhere, high enough to crash down upon the deck. Falconer smothered the lieutenant with his body, ignoring the officer’s wail of pain. He gripped both arms about the nearest hatch, hugging the lieutenant between himself and the wood. The wave punched hard at him, so fierce that momentarily Falconer feared his grip would give way. Now that he was freed from the wheel, there was nothing save his own strength that kept him from being washed overboard, along with the lieutenant. But he held fast, the water sluiced off, and the officer was still with him.

  Falconer unlashed the man’s lifeline and retied it such that Bivens’ shoulder remained free while he was now firmly connected to the hatch. Falconer stripped off his own greatcoat and shirt, leaving just his undershirt on, and with frantic haste fashioned a crude sling from the shirt. He tied it tight about the young man’s chest and neck to keep the shoulder from shifting and shoved his own arms back into the greatcoat. He spotted the next incoming wave just in time and took a renewed hold upon the injured officer and the hatch.

  When the ship shook itself clear once more, Falconer spied two things at once. To his right, the helmsman yelled while dragging at the stubborn wheel. To his left, the sparring from the broken crosstie had tangled about the base of the mast. Rigging and canvas and wood now clung to the ship’s leeward side, dragging th
em about, threatening to turn the ship sideways. Meeting a wave of this size amidships would send them all to the deeps.

  Two sailors chopped at the sodden rigging with axes. The captain clambered down from the quarterdeck, drawing his sword as he did so. Falconer spied the lieutenant’s lost blade, caught by the railing. He leapt across the deck and snatched up the handle. Raising himself up, he sawed at the nearest rope with all his might.

  The ship’s railing cracked beneath the strain of the overboard rigging. In the distance, higher than the wind, the helmsman shrieked another warning.

  Falconer’s rope parted with a savage crack. The captain managed to saw through another. The sailors chopped their way through a third. Together Falconer and the captain began working on the final cord.

  The railing gave way altogether. The last remaining rope clamped itself to the deck, humming in taut fury. The captain shouted words lost to the rain. Falconer gripped the cutlass handle with both hands, ignored the looming wall of water that might fling him over the side, and hacked again with all his might.

  The rope came apart with a snap as loud as rifle fire. The ship realized it was free and righted itself with such bounding force the nose jammed about, meeting the next huge crash of water with agility.

  The incoming wave caught Captain Harkness full in the face, and he went down hard. Falconer released one hand from the rigging, all that kept him on the ship, and managed to catch hold of the captain’s sodden greatcoat. The skipper slid with the wash, headed now toward the gaping hole where the railing had once been. Eyes round with terror, the skipper’s hands clawed for a hold. Falconer roared with the strain of the captain’s weight and the wave’s furious strength.

  Then it was over. The ship shook off the wave and swooped down the next valley. The captain managed to reach the mainmast and hugged it with both arms, striving to keep his feet beneath him. Falconer struggled upright, massaging the hand burned first by the rope and now by salt. He raced back to the wheel, where he found the helmsman gray with exhaustion. Falconer tied himself back into place, then tore off the bottom of his undershirt, using his teeth and other hand to tie it around his damaged palm.

  He managed to grip the wheel just in time to meet the next incoming wave.

  It might have been an hour later. It might have been ten years. Falconer reckoned it was closer to the former, but only as time was measured outside the storm.

  The sun came out.

  The crew was captured by the unexpected shine. They squinted and stared fearfully about, looking like sodden beasts in the amber light. The universal sentiment was expressed by the helmsman, who croaked into Falconer’s ear, “What does it mean?”

  Before he could reply, Harkness shouted, “John Falconer!”

  “Aye, Captain!”

  Harkness was back on the quarterdeck. He had lost his canvas trumpet to the storm, but the wind had stilled with the appearance of daylight and his voice carried well. “Is this the eye?”

  Falconer used the piece of shirt tied about his right hand to clear his vision. He squinted and peered upward, making a slow circular sweep.

  During the time they had been lost in the storm’s perpetual darkness, dawn had come unnoticed. The eastern sky was brilliantly clear. To the south and west the rain continued with such force there was a partition between earth and sky.

  Falconer turned back to the captain. “I think not.”

  “Have you seen one before?”

  “Aye. Once.” Falconer nudged the helmsman. “Can you manage on your own for a while?”

  “Not if she blows again, sir.”

  “I’ll be back for that.” But Falconer did not think it was going to happen. He was certain enough to unlash himself from the wheel and start toward the quarterdeck.

  Simply because it had stopped raining did not mean the going was easy. The seas appeared even more immense in the light of the dawn. The deck was littered with rigging and sails ripped from the masts. Sea froth shimmered in the light and trembled in the lighter wind, slick as oil on glass. Falconer clambered forward using both hands for support, moving swiftly but with caution, for he wore no lifeline.

  When he arrived at the quarterdeck stairs, he said, “Permission to enter, sir.”

  “Don’t stand upon ceremony, Falconer. Up with you and be quick about it.” When Falconer had joined him, the captain said, “So, you’ve entered the eye of such a tempest and lived to tell the tale.”

  “It was not as fierce a storm as this, and we scarcely survived.”

  The captain motioned to a barrel lashed to the bulkhead. “There’s water. Not fresh, but I doubt you’ll care overmuch.”

  Falconer’s thirst was suddenly as strong as pain. He hammered off the lid and plunged his head beneath the surface, sucking in water like a dog. He drank until his belly felt distended, then came up blowing hard.

  Harkness did not turn from his inspection of the ship and the wall of clouds. “Tell me why you think we’re not trapped in the maelstrom.”

  “The clouds do not encircle us, sir.”

  “I’d heard that was the way of the eye but did not believe it.”

  “It’s true enough.” Despite the distance the captain had previously maintained from him, Falconer had found himself liking the man. Harkness was a fighter, for only a combatant could have risen from such low beginnings to captain a merchant vessel. Yet this strong, aggressive man did not shy away from admitting what he did not know. “I’ve heard of eyes so large the leading wall is beyond the horizon. But I don’t think that’s the case here,” Falconer explained.

  “And why not?”

  Falconer pointed at the massive waves, turned to brilliant silver by the sun. “Inside the eye, the water and the wind both come from all sides. The waves go into a madness. There is no other word for it. Peaks hit both gunnels at the same time. The ship bobs like a cork.”

  “So you think we’ve emerged from the storm’s far edge.”

  “The clouds are receding behind us, the wind is gradually shifting to the rear quarter, the waves are half a turn behind them.” Falconer nodded. “Aye, Captain. I’d say we have survived the beast’s attack.”

  “For the sake of my ship and my crew, sir, I hope and pray you are right.”

  “As do I, sir. May I say, Captain, that there could well be more tempests.”

  “Aye, I’ve heard that as well, how hurricanes spawn smaller storms.”

  “They’ll sweep out of nowhere,” Falconer said. “They will blow hard, pound us with more rain, and disappear.”

  “The warning is well taken, sir. I’ll thank you to resume your post at the wheel.”

  “Permission to see to my boy, Captain.”

  “Not just yet, I would beg you. Your strength is still required on deck, sir.” Harkness raised his voice. “Bosun!”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “Tell Cook to fire up the stoves. One watch to stand down but remain on deck. Another to tend the debris. A third to straighten the rigging. Send someone to check on the boy and report back to John Falconer. And send your best man aloft with a glass to eye the horizon. ’Ware more storms!”

  Chapter 7

  The crew battled their way through two further blows, both arriving with scarce more warning than the hurricane. But now the men were ready. The daylight helped enormously. The ship remained as battened down as the crew could make it. From his station at the wheel, Falconer watched with more moderate unease as both storms grew from black lines upon the horizon to thunderous onslaughts of wind and rain. The rigging shrieked, the rain lashed, the waves tore themselves to shreds. Then the blow passed, daylight returned, and the ship righted itself to less heart-stopping motion. The seas did not return to calm, but the waves were more regular in their ponderous rhythm.

  Two hours after the second blow faded, Captain Harkness ordered the watch on duty to stand down. The helmsman lashed alongside Falconer had to be helped belowdecks by two of his mates. Falconer patted the wheel twice, a silent trib
ute to a trim and trustworthy vessel. When he turned away, he saw that Harkness was watching. Though the captain made no sign, Falconer sensed the captain approved.

  When the captain dismissed him, Falconer did not rush belowdecks so much as stagger from wall to wall, allowing the ship’s roll to carry him forward. Overhead he heard crewmen hammering out the chocks and granting air to the unfortunate passengers within the fetid holds.

  When Falconer arrived at his cabin door, he was greeted by the sound of singing.

  “Father John!” The lad leapt from his bed and bounded across the cabin. “Father John!”

  “My boy.” Falconer lifted the lad and embraced him with all the force he had left in his spent form. “My dear boy.”

  When Matt’s feet returned to the floor, he refused to release Falconer’s hand. “Master Soap has been teaching me sea chanteys!”

  “He’s bright as a new penny, is your lad. And brave as they come.” Soap accepted Falconer’s hand with a large gap-toothed grin. “Ever so glad to be seeing yourself alive and well, Falconer.”

  “I am forever in your debt, my man.”

  “None of that. I was just doing the captain’s bidding, as would any able seaman.”

  “I’ve been teaching Soap our hymns, Father John!”

  “Never thought I’d see the like,” Soap said, “a young lad on his first sea voyage, in the belly of a storm as vicious as ever I’ve seen. And what does he do but sing!”

  “God was with us. Isn’t that so, Father John?”

  “Aye, lad. No question of that.” Falconer did not so much lower himself onto his bunk as collapse. Now that his boy was safe there beside him, he could no longer contain the rising fatigue. It came at him in waves as huge as those beyond the portal. He could barely move his lips to murmur to Soap, “It does my heart good to know you were here with the boy.”