"Lads, grab the fuckin' sail. We'll try an' slide along the trough before it shoves us under!" He jerked his head at the crest of the wave poised overhead, held back by the slim power of wind and hope. He saw hands reaching out, hesitating, then grasping the battle-flag with growing confidence when others joined them.
"Cep, steer us along it!" Grimm bellowed over the crash of the sea at the other boat, ignoring the blows of the rain against his face as though trying to strip his cheeks to the bone. Cephill grunted, hunching his head as he hauled on the tiller in the disintegrating boat and pried at the twisted upper strake which interfered with the tiller bar.
Brak shoved the officer away and snatched the tiller bar, mirroring Cephill's movements, and called to Grimm. "Good to go!"
"Right. Come on, you idle bastards, tie the fucker off!"
"Larboard, or steerboard, Cox'n?" Brak bellowed, his face streaming with spray, which he flicked away with his free hand.
"Steerboard," Grimm pointed with his blade as they wallowed, water crashing to the stern. He grimaced, "It's shorter." He saw no-one react to the rising water level. "For the love of the fuckin' gods, bail us out!" Grimm thundered. His eyes fell on Carla. "You all right?" he asked the saturated woman, still pale and shaking from the plunge.
"I think so." She gave a wan smile, blowing tangled hair away from her face. Grimm was too tense for reassurance. He knew how she felt as his heart pounded amok in his chest. Fuck it, Grimm thought, sucking a breath through his teeth. Posturing and politeness could wait.
"He okay?" He stabbed a thick finger at Van Reiver. Carla moved to lift the officer's head, but couldn't reach. Her bindings stopped her hand to hover tantalisingly short over the slumped man.
Brak swapped hands on the tiller and lifted Van Reiver by the hair. The officer dribbled blood in a long tentacle from his left nostril and sported freshly forming bruises on his face, but they saw the eyelids flicker. Brak lowered the head with care, as Carla shuffled with her bindings and lifted Van Reiver in both hands, tenderly dabbing at the bloody smears. A fresh, massive bruise rose above his left eye and trickled blood down his neck.
"I think it's fair to say he knocked himself out," Brak observed, mopping his own face. Grimm let out a heavy sigh, looking about. Dagmar lolled over the controls, pinioned by Harcux with one hand and clasping the sail in the other, arm muscles bulging as he bit his lip.
"Bollocks. I dunno why we brought him." He snorted and looked to Carla, "Can you wake him?" Carla shook Van Reiver as she mopped the blood away, whispering his name. Grimm glanced at the other boat and back." Everyone all right? How's the cadet?"
Trevir scrambled between Dagmar and the boy. "He's a mess. What do you want me to do? Wrap him up by the sunjammer? There's another one forrard—dunno how long he'll last."
"Shit." Grimm spat blood over the side. "Aye, wrap them up, and do what you can."
"It's for the best," Merizus agreed, feeling a fresh bruise. "Do we have Robsin's bag?"
"Down here!" A man beside Carla replied in a strained voice.
"See if his flask's in it," Grimm picked up on Merizus's thought. The man turned around after a minute and waved a small leather-bound silver flask to Merizus. "Give it to the lady." Carla accepted the flask and saw hungry eyes following it.
"Any in it?" Seaman Meaun quipped.
"Stop the bickering." Grimm thundered. "You lot are worse 'n' halfwit kids lickin' that fuckin' lubberwort shit! Anythin' in the damn flask?" Carla shook it. Grimm heard a tinny slosh. "Give him a swig, if there's anythin' left pass it to Valant." Carla nodded, and Grimm spun to the bruised seaman whose eyes lit up. "For the officers, prick!" Valant's podgy face fell, his piggy eyes glittered at the flask, as though mourning a lost opportunity.
Merizus snorted, then tapped Grimm on the leg. "That went well, mate. How's pragmatism workin' for you?"
"Bastard! Be happy we float." Grimm spat again, too drained to squabble. He prodded his jaw for a second time and sheathed his dagger, feeling slacker teeth, and a bump forming. He angled his arm in the direction to take, throwing the last roll of their dice. Brak and Cephill mirrored the angle, surfing the boats along the crest of the monster wave.
26
Carla's first attempt at pouring Robsin's brandy failed, her hand trembling with the cold and unadulterated terror. Most ran down Van Reiver's chin, cutting a faint path through the dirt and stubble on his face. The second, aided by Brak clamping the navigator's skull tight, caused convulsive coughing and spluttering. The officer's eyes fluttered, and Brak tapped his face with the flat of his hand until the eyes opened, then closed.
"Pass it down," someone unfamiliar urged, and Carla let go to flip the lid, screw it tight, and pass the flask along. Even the man with bloody fingers handed it down without hesitation, despite sucking at his hand, which was turning the bilges an unpleasant urine-brown. Carla turned back, cradling Van Reiver's head as he coughed, groaned, and blinked his eyes open. She took care to wipe them, knowing the irritation caused by the acidic sea better than anyone after her misadventures. He looked up and squinted at her in recognition.
"Awake now?" she asked.
Unable to speak, Van Reiver nodded as Brak said good-naturedly. "I've got the tiller, boss," She saw the seaman gave a lazy grin, then thumbs up to Grimm. The cox'n turned to Dagmar by the dome, but Carla caught Lukas shake his head as his eyes followed the flask.
"Nah, he's well out; it'd be a waste. Better give it to Merizus as it's damn tempting." There was ribald laughter until Merizus looked at him with tight eyes and a malignant smirk.
"What makes you think I won't swig it?" The giant marine grinned, his teeth a beacon in the gloom, glowing like moonlight on a mirror.
"We all know you soddin' tin-heads drink the soft stuff. Girl's stuff." Harcux rumbled, voice dripping scorn as he hung on to the sail. Merizus swivelled like a weapon mount, injuries forgotten, and glowered. Harcux threw a smirk over his shoulder and widened his eyes in exaggeration, mocking the bigger serjeant, before blowing him a kiss. Grimm chortled at the testosterone-laden exchange, especially when one of his sailors held the advantage. He didn't agree with the sentiment. His first wife could drink any man under the table, and often a mate too.
Merizus glanced sideways to Trevir, "Remind me to chuck this grubby ape overboard before we get back, and the deck rats who laughed for good measure." Carla saw Grimm's jaw drop like a portcullis, as persiflage ensued from men who laughed at their fate, rather than succumb to wretchedness. Inside there was no laughter. She prayed for the wind and sea to hold the monstrous wave steady—you could only laugh at so much terror in a day.
.*.*.
"Get over, you motherless bitch!" growled Grimm, tension gripping him like a bear-trap, squeezing his organs until he felt his insides strain to explode. Unused to command, he was failing to keep his calm and could only will the boat to slide free. He unleashed his frustration by hammering his hand on the upper strake. "Come on, come on. Come ooooonnnn!" He beseeched, willing further progress. The flag snapped taut under a stronger gust and the extra momentum pushed the boat towards the crest. Nervous eyes scrutinised every line and knot, praying for the men and hemp to hold.
"A hundred yards to the crest!" Jenkans croaked from the other boat. A unified gasp as breaths were held.
"Fifty!" The lookout tensed.
"Come on, you lovely boat!" Grimm urged. A trip to a temple of Selionmael would be less dangerous than Merizus's fuckin' dominoes.
"Twenty!" Said Jenkans, wiping spray from his eyes.
"Keep a tight hold, ladies. Harcux, get ready to reef the fucker before we go belly up."
"I'll think about it."
"Arsehole." Grimm said it under his breath, but everyone heard.
"Cox—" Paska wheedled from the other boat.
"What?" Grimm snapped, chancing a glance at the interruption by the man on the other mast.
"I don't like the boat ride. I want a refund!" Paska cracked a mocking grin.
&
nbsp; "Fuck youuuuuuuuuuuuuu!" Grimm howled into an aptly timed flash of lightning, as their boat inched the last few yards to the crest.
"Ten!" Jenkans screamed, ducking under his safety line and securing himself. The cox'n considered doing the same, but he'd slashed the line and wasted the time he could have repaired it fretting.
Grimm felt a powerful arm from Merizus clamp around his thigh, propping him upright. The boats reared, poised on the crest with their keels acting as a fulcrum, before slapping down, propelled by the gentlest breath of wind to jolt everyone in their seats. Grimm felt himself go momentarily light, then tumbled forward into the bilges. The sail cracked as he toppled and hurled Harcux and Trevir into a tangle.
'It's loose an' Paska's down." Cephill called out. Grimm scrambled up, ignoring an excruciating stab of agony from his foot, as his toes crunched against something hard. The undulating sail blocked his view ahead, and he felt panic at the unknown tug at him.
"What do you see?" Grimm bellowed to Jenkans, who tugged his way upright along his safety line hand over hand. The sail made it difficult by dragging them down the opposite side of the wave into another huge trough. Jenkans' knees sagged, and Grimm almost fell again. Both men needed several hands to push them upright. The lookout lurched as though to topple overboard and snatched at the shroud from the top of their mast to the bows.
"Oh shit! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jenkans whooped as the waves on both sides soared higher than said mast. Far higher. The ocean lifted them, then forced the boats down into another huge trough, dwarfing the previous ones. As the bows fell away, Grimm felt his blood chill, then freeze ice-solid. Jenkans gawked like a bumpkin seeing his first city and wrapped both hands around the line, dropping his head to the hemp, as though seeking strength.
"Grab hold and pray!" Jenkans shouted into the appalling cacophony. The trough ahead wasn't flat, but a seething, frothing, foaming cauldron of water, whipped into a cyclonic frenzy by the collision of storm fronts and rogue waves. They'd found the eye of their storm. An unbelievable malignant horror, magnified beyond imagination and human comprehension. They were ants thrown into a riptide river to be devoured at supernatural ease.
"Well, if that ain't enough to make your arsehole pucker up tighter than a cat's shit-crack, then nothin' will," Harcux rumbled. He turned and gave Grimm a doomed smile, then tapped the vibrating oar, "Do we let it flap, or try 'n' cross?"
Grimm pondered, his brain screaming through options faster than he ever thought possible. Screwed or totally screwed? Decisions, decisions. He looked to Van Reiver for guidance, but the man sat goggle-eyed. Useless. Grimm shrugged, out of time and hope. "We're heading that way. Fuck it. We'll see if it'll stay on long enough to drag us across. Unless any meathead has a better idea? Anyone?"
No-one did. A few huddled mounds shook their heads. Most stared, numb with horror, or refused to meet Grimm's eyes. A few, the minority with a stronger faith, made prayers. Grimm would take all the help they would get, despite his aversion to priests and temples. Harcux nodded. Grimm knew he would keep the mast upright and the corner of the sail in his fist by venting his rage at the world.
.*.*.
"I'm sorry," Van Reiver mouthed to Carla, levering himself up for a last look at their fate a moment before the boats plunged into the maelstrom. With a grinding of hulls and twanging of tortured lines, the boats spun around like a leaf on a wind ravaged pond. With a whip-crack, Paska's line securing the sail snapped, and snaked demonically above people's heads, seeking their flesh like a wyvern's stinger. Everyone ducked. Harcux swore as the rope he'd coiled around the oar forming one leg of the A-frame made a break for freedom. Paska shook his head as though dazed and lunged for the rope. His hand slapped the rope, missing the grab, then the sodden sail struck him with a vicious slap in the face, kicking his feet out. Van Reiver saw him roll, clutching at a mangled ear that streamed blood before he slumped in the bilges.
He wasn't the only one. Jenkans vanished from view and Van Reiver saw a crippled Grimm flicked off his feet to crash backwards, hitting random arms, knees and the edge of a thwart with his head. Someone unseen howled, a long bestial shriek of agony. The navigator hoped Grimm hadn't just killed one of their wounded. There were too few of the bastards, and that would take the hardtack and no mistake.
A roiling wave burst over the stern to submerge Van Reiver, then it rushed the cox'n. Merizus alone saved Grimm from being swept overboard. The towering marine clung one-handed around Grimm's leg, while inhumanly buffeted by the flood. The grip strained as Merizus wobbled, turning his back to the water. Fabric slipped through fingers, eeling away, then held. Grimm grappled the arm slippery with seawater and righted himself. Like a harbour retaining wall, the arm had no give and rebuffed the sea. Merizus pulled the cox'n inch by inch into a bear hug when the horizon tilted crazily. Van Reiver couldn't help but be amazed as he heard Grimm grunt while it took all the officer's strength to push himself up. He'd just managed it when another cascade pounded over them to steal their breath and try to tear them free.
No one spoke, or screamed, as it took everything to hang on and flick the water out. The boat danced its mad jig in consort with the thundering waves. They exchanged partners between those liquid mountains who loomed and, and those who sadistically trapped them, toyed with them to nature's surging beat, dangling death, drowning and life with equal glee.
Van Reiver clutched the tiller bar with his bad hand in front of Brak's. Grimm spun with the motion, then slammed head-first into the thwart with a crunch. Trevir and Vaska kept Jenkans pinioned, but the man beside Vaska did not secure his safety line and bounced skyward. Panicked, he crashed back with the savage crack of bone on timber, and bounced screaming, knot undone. Before anyone could help, Van Reiver saw the man flipped backwards over the side, arms windmilling. In an eye-blink, he vanished, swallowed by the storm.
The boats slewed, yearning to free themselves like a pair of trapped wolves, and rebounded as though a monstrous hand grasped the keels and manically dragged the boats back and forward, forwards and back. Surging through the seething torrent with wild uncaring abandon, like a wine cork thrown into rapids, they gyrated, pummelled by unceasing waves and a motion indifferent to human sensitivities.
With a keening wail of abused timber, the damaged steerboard strakes on Onvice's boat snapped amidships, ripping a chunk from the next plank. The twisting of the sea ground the boats together, tearing the bow lashings as the damaged boat flexed. The boats slammed together, harder and harder, jostling each man or woman, wounded or fit, as though they were dolls. Each gyration prevented anyone from doing anything other than huddle in fright, tighter than an upset child, clutching a mother's skirt.
For several long, endless minutes, they ricocheted uncontrolled, loose crewmen clutching for handholds, mouths and eyes begging for an end. The sea mocked them, slung despair at them, teased and tormented their minds and bodies. The thwart in front of the makeshift mast in their battered boat cracked with a screech of wrecked treenails.
Van Reiver struggled to see through the flailing men in the stern. He clutched Carla's arm so hard with his free hand that she cried out. The sail ripped free of the spar, splashing alongside, as scarfed oars and men toppled. Flailing lines encumbered crewmen, weakening resistance to nature's ferocity. Crossing the boundary into the eye of disaster diminished the sheeting rain as though a lever had turned it off. He had to duck, as the sea struck out and snatched the man beside Merizus into the writhing depths. Fuck, ocean, beast? There was no time to think or care.
With growing apprehension, the steerboard oar in their boat supporting the mast flexed dangerously, the rope bar-taut. "Cut the mast! Cut it free!" Van Reiver croaked, as the wind rent his feeble words asunder. He spluttered as another roller crashed into them, striking him full in the face, smothering him, caressing him with icy tendrils.
Coughing himself free, he saw a stunned Grimm struggle to twist around in Merizus's death grip to see who spoke. Van Reiver stabbed his finger at
the dragging sail. "Cut the fucking mast free! Now!"
Unlike the others, Harcux reacted in a heartbeat, tearing the axe free and through the line as the blade slammed into the adjacent plank where it vibrated.
In the other boat, Paska was down, trapped by a tumble with his legs in the air. No-one reacted to Van Reiver's order, so busy were they in untangling themselves.
"Cut the mast!" Van Reiver repeated, urging someone, any of those nearby to do it before the sail killed them. A seaman by the fallen man cradling a broken arm moved first and tore at his safety line one-handed. He scrabbled for Paska's belt knife and swung. A savage gust twisted the oars, held by overstretched anchor cable. Nearly so damn close. The knife missed by a whisker, brushing the hemp, and rebounded. The man attempted a reverse swing, but stumbled, yanked off his feet when he reached the extent of his safety line.
Their flag-sail snapped taut from the sea, with a crack like a released catapult. The oar by Harcux in Van Reiver's boat screeched, tearing a deep scar along the duckboards until the bow line restrained it. It hummed, then unravelled as the boats slammed together, again and again. With tortured shrieks, the crude mast in Onvice's boat splintered the duckboards into kindling. Fractures zig-zagged on both boat's upper strakes as they hammered together.
"Cut it!" Van Reiver choked, pointing unnecessarily at the other boat. The seaman—Troya, Van Reiver now recalled his name—recovered and sliced his safety line. He tore free to slash the shroud, grinning in triumph at Van Reiver as the navigator staggered, arm windmilling for balance.
It became a despairing shriek as the motion flung the sailor towards the bows, with the knife vanishing overboard. In vain, Troya clawed with his injured arm before disappearing. Trevir groggily threw himself forward, hurled an arm out in a desperate lunge, and somehow snagged Troya's leg for a brief second, for the teasing of a moment, before the scales of fate tipped, and oblivion stole the man away.
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 24