Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  His back ached and he struggled to sit up in the hammock with his feet on the floor. It was difficult, but he managed it. Quinn was still asleep, his breath hissing between his swollen lips. Mansel needed to drink again, so he got more water from the water barrel and brought some to Quinn. This time the older man’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Thanks,” he croaked.

  “Forget it,” Mansel said, his own voice hoarse. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” Quinn said. “Help me out of this sack.”

  Mansel helped Quinn roll out of the hammock, and they stretched their backs on the rough planks of the cabin floor. Then Mansel got them both a loaf of bread, which wasn’t as soft as the day before, but it wasn’t stale yet. They ate and drank their water. Quinn was too weak to walk, so Mansel brought him water. Then Mansel laid a blanket on the floor and Quinn crawled onto it, curled up, and went to sleep again.

  Mansel wasn’t tired, he went out onto the deck and began walking. He felt better, stronger than the day before, but certainly not himself yet. He walked and walked, letting the sea breeze ruffle his hair and warm his blood. Then he asked about washing up and was given a bucket of seawater. The water was cold, but Mansel stripped down on the deck and poured water over his head, letting it trickle down his body. He found a clean rag in the cabin he shared with Quinn and scrubbed his body. Then he found clean clothes and put them on. He felt so much better that he washed his old clothes and hung them up before finding a place to sit on the deck of the ship and watch the shoreline in the distance pass by. There weren’t any other ships that he could see, and as the sun finally began to set, a sailor approached him.

  “The captain requests that you join him in his cabin for dinner,” the man said politely.

  “Oh, alright,” Mansel said, surprised. “When would that be?”

  “Listen for the ship’s bell, then go to the quarterdeck.”

  “Where?” Mansel asked, confused.

  “The rear of the vessel is called the quarterdeck. See,” the sailor pointed back to the raised portion of the ship that looked over the main deck, “there is the captain’s cabin. Someone will escort you inside.”

  “Should I bring Quinn?” Mansel asked.

  “If he is well enough,” the sailor said.

  Mansel nodded and the man walked away. He seemed put out, Mansel thought, although whether it was because of Mansel’s ignorance of ships or because he’d been invited to dinner, he didn’t know. Mansel went to check on Quinn. He opened the door to their cabin and found the older man struggling to get up.

  “I’m as stiff as the floor,” Quinn said. “Give me a hand.”

  Mansel gently pulled Quinn up.

  “Where’s the water?” he asked in a scratchy voice.

  “Out here,” Mansel said. “I’ll show you.”

  They went out on the deck and Mansel dipped out some water for Quinn. They stood drinking and watching the sky turn red as the sun set.

  “The captain wants us to have dinner with him, if you’re up to it.”

  “Not me,” Quinn said. “I feel worse than I look. My stomach’s not ready for real food yet.”

  “Okay, what can I do for you?” Mansel asked.

  “Nothing now. I’m going to drink a little more water, maybe eat a bite, and then turn back in. God, how I hate sailing.”

  “Are you still nauseous?”

  “A little, it never really goes away for me. I might sip a little wine and see if that helps.”

  “Okay, I’ll help you back to the cabin.”

  They walked back; Quinn kept his hand on Mansel’s shoulder to steady himself. When they got back, Quinn wrinkled his nose at the odor coming out of their quarters: it smelled like sweat and vomit.

  “Is there a way to prop this door open?” Quinn said. “We could use some fresh air in here.”

  Mansel propped the door open with a little wedge of wood kept by the door for that purpose. There was also a small window opposite the door, over their sea trunk. It was nothing more than a square of wood that was latched closed, with a leather hinge so that it could be opened and secured above the small opening. Mansel fastened the latch to a ring on the wall to hold the window open, and a breeze immediately started blowing through the cabin.

  “It might get chilly,” Mansel said.

  “But it’ll smell better. I’ll get cleaned up tomorrow and hopefully get used to this ceaseless rocking.”

  The ship’s bell rang out six times, and Mansel turned to Quinn.

  “That’s my signal for supper,” he said.

  “Okay, go easy on the wine. It might not be wise to lose your common sense in front of the captain.”

  Mansel felt his ire rise. He was sick of having Quinn lecture him about how much to drink. He nodded and left the room, not trusting himself to speak without giving his anger away. He thought it was stupid to worry about the sailors taking advantage of them, since they’d been totally helpless on board with seasickness. He pushed his anger down and tried to appear civil as he approached the captain’s cabin.

  “I’m supposed to meet the captain for dinner,” Mansel said to the sailor standing by the door.

  The man nodded and turned so that Mansel could enter the small room. The captain’s cabin was larger than Mansel and Quinn’s quarters. It also had glass windows that revealed the wake of the ship. There was a padded bench seat near the window and a hammock was hung in one corner. In the middle of the room was a table set with four chairs. A lantern hung, illuminating the small space with a dingy yellow light. The captain was looking out the window at the fading daylight. He turned when Mansel came in.

  “Ah, my guest has arrived,” the captain said in a strange accent that Mansel couldn’t place. “Is your compatriot not well enough to join us?”

  “No, he hasn’t gotten his sea legs yet.”

  “That is unfortunate, most unfortunate. But we shall not let it spoil our evening, eh? Would you care for wine, signore?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Mansel said, feeling out of place.

  The captain clapped his hands and another sailor came in with a large bottle of dark red wine. He poured it into the crystal goblets and the captain picked his up.

  “This is my steward. He cooks only for his captain and the captain’s guests.” He raised his glass. “To a safe voyage,” he said.

  “And a swift one,” Mansel added. They both drank. Mansel thought the wine was a bit too bitter, but it was a nice change from the water he’d been drinking.

  “My first officer will be joining us momentarily. I ordered him to get the latest update on our progress. I thought you might like to know.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Mansel managed to say.

  “I hope you are enjoying the voyage so far.”

  “Once I got over being sick, it has been very nice,” Mansel said. He wasn’t used to carrying on conversation, he usually left that to others. He could tell a good story, but he was usually loosened up by a few drinks by then. He took another drink of his wine, letting the familiar burn help him relax.

  “How long does it normally take to sail from Lorye to Brimington Bay?” Mansel asked.

  “Most ships take a month,” the captain said. “But they make many stops along the way. I hope to have you there in two weeks. We are sailing nonstop, so the trip should be much faster, so long as the winds remain favorable.”

  Mansel nodded again, wondering what would happen if the wind blew the opposite direction.

  Then the first officer arrived. He stepped into the room and saluted his captain.

  “Ah, we are all here,” the captain said. “We can eat at last. Shall we sit, signori?”

  They all sat down at the table and the steward immediately returned with a large tray. It had a small, suckling pig, roasted and surrounded by vegetables. The captain praised the sailor for the meal and immediately began carving the pig. He placed large portions of food on each of the plates.

  “Please, eat,” said the captain
loudly. “We will enjoy our meal tonight, eh?”

  Mansel nodded, but didn’t speak. Instead he started eating. He’d eaten nothing for four days except for bread. The food was delicious, the pig was tender and savory, the vegetables were slightly sweet. The steward brought ship’s bread, which were small, round loaves of coarse bread. Mansel noticed that the captain and first officer soaked up the juices from the pig with the bread, and so he did the same. The captain kept the conversation going with very little input from Mansel. He talked about food and women and sailing. It was an interesting diversion from the monotony of life aboard the ship.

  Mansel had finished his meal and was sipping his third goblet of wine when the steward brought in a tray full of fruit and different types of cheeses, along with another bottle of wine.

  “Now that we have eaten, I’m afraid I must turn to business,” said the captain. “How much time do we have?” he asked his first officer.

  “Perhaps twenty-four hours,” he replied.

  Mansel wasn’t sure what the other two men were talking about, but he lowered his glass. Perhaps now isn’t the best time to drink, he thought to himself.

  “You cannot see her from the deck,” said the captain, “but there is a ship following us. My men have seen her from the masthead. We should prepare for the worst, signore.”

  “What is the worst?” Mansel asked.

  “Pirates,” said the first officer.

  “Pirates? Are you sure?”

  “It is not uncommon,” said the captain. “As I said before, most trade ships sail from port to port. We are traveling straight to Brimington Bay. It is unusual. The ship behind us is also not stopping. It is not a coincidence, I think.”

  “You mean, you think they’re pursuing us,” Mansel said.

  “That is correct, signore.”

  “So what can we do?”

  “Well, the Nightingale is a fast ship. That is why you chose her, I think. Speed has always been our best weapon against these sea brigands.”

  “But the ship behind us is gaining on us,” the first officer said gruffly.

  “We are laden with cargo,” the captain said. “The ship behind us must not be.”

  “So they’re going to catch up with us,” Mansel said. “That’s what you’re telling me? There’s nothing we can do to outrun them?”

  “We have two options, signore,” said the captain. “The first is to turn in to port somewhere. But there are no large ports nearby, and the pirates will most likely just wait for us. And waiting is not a good option for you and your companion, yes? So that leaves only one other option—to fight.”

  “Is your crew able to fight off pirates?” Mansel asked.

  “That all depends,” the captain continued. “I do not know how many men they have, how they are armed, or their intent. It could be that they desire our cargo. If so, they will not damage our ship, but seek only to capture our crew. On the other hand, they may have enough men to kill us all and sail the Nightingale on their own.”

  “Or they may be after you,” said the first officer.

  “In that case,” said the captain, “they may fight to take you alive, or they may just attempt to sink us, killing everyone on board.”

  “They’ll not take me alive,” Mansel said, wishing he had his sword ready.

  “Tell me why you are in such a hurry to get to Osla,” said the captain. His friendly tone was gone.

  “What?”

  “I wish to know who you are and why the ship is following us,” he said.

  “I don’t know anything about pirates,” Mansel said. “We’re going to the Grand City, to protect Prince Wilam.”

  “Protect him from what?”

  “We’re just supposed to bring him home safely.”

  “So why the hurry?” the captain asked. “I think there is more you are not telling us.”

  “There’s not,” Mansel said.

  “I have put my ship, her crew and cargo, at risk by taking you and your companion aboard. Now you will tell me what I need to know.”

  “There is absolutely no reason that anyone should be pursuing us. If the ship following you is a pirate ship, they want your cargo.”

  “Ah, but how can I be sure?” the captain said. “Will you place yourself at my disposal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean turn over your weapons and all your possessions and remain in your cabin until we are certain that the ship following us is not after you and your friend.”

  “And what would you do if they were?”

  “Well, that would be my decision as captain of this vessel, but it would be better for you if you do this, I think.”

  Mansel was angry, but he didn’t want to antagonize the captain. He and Quinn were completely outnumbered, and even if they could fight off the ship’s crew, they had no way to sail the ship. Besides, he couldn’t imagine that the pirates, if that really was who was following them, were after him and Quinn.

  “Alright,” Mansel said. “I’m telling you honestly, the pirates aren’t after us. Quinn and I can fight. We’ll help you.”

  “Yes, I know, signore. One way or another, you will help us.”

  Chapter 19

  Mansel was escorted back to his cabin. The sailors took their weapons, saddles, and packs before going through their food supplies. Quinn was already asleep on the pallet he had made on the floor and took no notice of the sailors rifling through his things. Mansel wanted to wake him up, but he decided there was nothing he could do before morning, so he slumped on the hammock and tried to sleep. It was impossible to toss and turn on the hammock, so after a while he got up and went out to pace the deck of the ship. The constant rocking motion and cool ocean breezes helped him relax, even though his mind was racing. The stars were bright in the sky but cast little light on the deck of the ship. He could see the crests of the waves winking in the night and the shadows of the other sailors as they went about their nightly work.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. The wine made his head feel fuzzy and he had trouble forming his thoughts. He kept looking back, trying to see the ship that was pursuing them, but there was nothing but darkness. Occasionally he would see a light on the land far to his left. He paced and paced, back and forth across the deck, until finally his legs were tired and he felt like he could rest.

  He went back to his cabin and climbed carefully into the hammock. He closed his eyes and the rocking motion of the hammock actually helped lull him to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, Quinn was already stirring around the room. His head hurt and he thought to himself how much he preferred ale over wine. He took his time climbing out of the hammock, which seemed to have tangled up around him in the night.

  “Ah, you’re up early,” Quinn said. “How was your dinner with the captain?”

  “Fine,” Mansel mumbled. His mouth felt dry and the words seemed to scratch up out of his throat.

  Then he remembered what the captain had said. He felt a lump form in his stomach at the thought of telling Quinn about the pirates, but he knew he had to. He climbed carefully out of the hammock, holding on to the rigging for support. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and took a few steadying breaths before speaking.

  “We have a problem,” he said. “The captain says there is another ship following us. He thinks it’s pirates.”

  “Pirates? What makes him think that?”

  “He says the ship is following us. If it were just another merchant or cargo ship, it would’ve turned into port by now.”

  “How does he know that?”

  “He said that all the ships stop up and down the coast, unless they have a special reason, like the fact that we paid him to sail straight to Brimington Bay. He said it’s no coincidence that another ship would be traveling straight to Osla.”

  “But he doesn’t know for sure?”

  “No, he doesn’t know for sure, but that’s not the worst of it.”

  “What do you
mean?” Quinn asked.

  “He thinks the ship is coming to intercept us.”

  “You mean you and me?”

  “Yes. He’s afraid the other ship will simply try to destroy this vessel, and if that is the case, he’s planning to give us up to save his ship and crew.”