Lost at Sea Bk. 02 Ch. 02

The Kestrel was a Caravel. A small, nimble vessel designed to be easily configured for different sails. As such she didn't have a large, sturdy sailbeam permanently affixed to the mast. Her mainsail beam was lightweight and tied in place so it could more easily be hoisted around. Will's guess was that it wasn't any larger across than three inches, and Lace was climbing out on it.

The higher up on a ship you got, the more the motion of the ocean translated into movement. If you were in the crows nest, you were constantly moving back and forth. The further out on a beam you got, the more a ship's natural swaying caused changes in elevation. Out on the end of a beam, instead of moving back and forth, you would be moving up and down. High up, out on a beam was the most unstable place a person could be. Usually riggers worked slow and had dual safety lines that they were constantly re-tying as they worked. Lace did not.

The sail beam was raising and lowering, and also swinging laterally. It shouldn't have been doing that. Will suddenly realized what line had broken.

In a square sail configuration, the four outer corners had stabilization lines that ran to the rear of the ship to keep the sail from pivoting freely. They could be given slack or hauled on to change their angle and help steer the ship, or to move forward in spite of a headwind. That kind of steering was called 'tacking.'" It always reminded Will of the dual-string kites he used to build as a child. It was one of those tack lines that had snapped first. With nothing to hold it steady the sail beam was able to swing forwards on that side.

Lace was laying across the beam moving forward something like a lizard, riding out the constant dips and the back and forth swinging of the beam. She was hauling what Will guessed was a forty pound coil of rope slung diagonally across her chest. She reached the end, sat up straddling the narrow beam, hooking her feet into the sail itself, and pulled off her coil of rope. She looped it over the end of the beam and let it hang, then started to untie the dangling, broken line.

"She's impressive," Will said.

"Aye. She's Akula. We joke that she's half spider," Harker said. He leaned against the rail, hooked his arms into the rigging ladder and watched Lace work.

"Haven't met many Akula," Will said. Up above on the other side of the ship, Lace called out then dropped the broken length of rope.

"Me neither, but the ones I've run into are all born sailors with a mean streak a fathom deep. Superstitious as anything too," Harker said while watching Lace work. "With her, it's like she's trying to outdo the rest."

"Wonderful," Will sighed.

Lace knotted the coil to the end of the sail beam and then tossed it out across the rigging ladder toward the aft of the ship. Will was surprised at how far the toss got the coil of rope. It was a heavy length of line, but her clean underhand lob had it uncoiling through the air perfectly. It cleared the ladder and landed on the deck on the far side with a thud.

Another rigger picked it up and ran it back toward the sterncastle where they'd already cleared away the other half of the broken line. With a few quick heaves and a tie-off, the sail was once again secure.

Lace waited until the line was done being tied off, then pushed herself up into a crouch on the end of the narrow beam and jumped.

The rigging ladder was only about five feet away from the sail beam, but still, a leap like that was impressive and dangerous. If the ship had rolled or shifted at the wrong moment she could have tossed herself sixty feet down into the ocean, or worse, to the deck. She caught herself on the rigging ladder and made her way down to the deck. She actually had to squeeze underneath the tack line because it was so close to the ladder. Will's brows furrowed. That didn't seem right to him. Lace dropped the last few feet to the deck.

"She does stuff like that often?" Will asked.

"All the time," Harker said.

"She's breaking every rigger's rule I've ever heard of," Will could only shake his head.

"Try telling her that." Harker wandered away to join another group of swabs. Lace was crossing the deck and apparently he had decided to be elsewhere.

Her gait was like a dancer crossed with a cat. Most sailors were graceful in a relaxed, loose-boned way, but she walked like the ship was moving right where her feet wanted it to be. There was a sharp edged confidence to her. She wore loose grey trousers that had dozens of tight, neat stitches holding together places where the fabric had torn. They'd once been black, but the color had long since faded. Her shoes were little more than slightly padded leather slippers laced across the ankle and top of her foot. A wide belt hugged her waist, dotted with closed leather holsters with small tools in them. At the small of her back was a wide, squarish knife, the sort Will had seen used in sugar cane fields. It was like a short machete with a sharp hook on the back. She wasn't wearing a shirt. Instead, she simply bound a wide strip of red cloth around her smallish breasts and tied a knot in front. At nearly any port it would have been scandalous attire. Even onboard a ship it was surprising to see a woman wearing so little. Her skin was dusky, like dark caramel. Will could see thin, darker tattoos across her shoulders that looked like spiderwebs. The sides of her head were shaved. The rest of her wavy black hair was pulled back in a short fishtail braid.

"Stare a little harder, swab," Lace said, barely looking at Will as she passed. Will's eyes still followed her. He was just too curious not to watch. Across her back was a large web tattoo, with a hand sized tribal-patterned spider sitting high between her shoulder blades.

She scanned the rope ladder and where the rope holding up the smallboat had snapped. She looked back over her shoulder at the sail beam where she'd repaired the tack line, considering. "I knew this was going to happen," she muttered to herself.

Jack walked back across the deck, distracting Will again. He mentally called himself an idiot. Losing his focus every time Jack entered his field of vision was not a good habit to get into. She didn't look at him this time. She seemed lost in thought. She stopped in front of the door to the Captain's cabin, looked like she was about to knock, but then simply opened the door and went in. Unexpected feelings of anger welled up. That was his room, and Bella was still inside. He stopped himself. No, that was the Captain's room. He was a guest there. It was where the navigation equipment was. It was more like his office than anything else. Bella could take care of herself. She and Jack had a lot to work out. He let go of his sudden negativity and found himself hoping that the two of them would make some progress in making up. Then for the second time in as many moments he wondered where the hell that thought had come from. Did she deserve his good wishes? No. Not at all. Then why did he have them? Shouldn't he be angrier? He found he just couldn't muster it, and that confused him even more. Jack's presence was really getting to him.

Danica North crossed over from where she'd been speaking with a group of swabs. "Any idea what happened?"

"Aye," Lace said, clearly exasperated. She gestured up to the rigging ladders. "They're too big. They're too close to the beams and the tack lines."

"Weren't they your idea?" Danica asked.

"Yes, and I still stand by it, but we didn't have time to make them. We had to buy them, and they're made for a ship three times this size. There's a reason Caravels don't have these. I had to cut off the bottom third off, and they're still too big!" She pointed to where the tack line was nearly touching the ladder. "It's too close. Even with the tack lines as tight as we can make them, there's still some sway to the sail beam. There has to be. That's why we put the bracing pins up at the hinge point." She pointed to where the mainsail beam was attached to the mast. "I was hoping that the pins would keep the mast from pivoting at all, but when the Captain decided to throw her into a list, the force of the jolt just crushed a pin to splinters. So then the mast could pivot, so it did." She pointed to the tack line that had snapped. "It pulled so hard it broke the line there." Then she pointed straight up to where the rigging ladder was near the sail beam, where she had jumped. "So with no tack line there, the beam was able to swing back here. It hit the ladder, which was already holding up the weight of all these damned boats. It's a wonder we didn't snap more than just one."

Danica nodded in thought. "Do you have a solution?"

"I put more pins in to brace the hinge point. There's not much more we can do there. We don't want to put gouges in our mainsail beam.

"No," Danica agreed.

"I'll get started on making rigging ladders with a narrower profile." Lace continued. "They won't be a triangle, so they won't come as close to the beam and the tack lines. The sides will slope, like a..." she made a gesture with her hands, starting at a top point and then arcing downward, struggling to find the right words.

"Like a flat-bottomed tear drop?" Will suggested.

"Aye, like that," Lace said, not bothering to look at Will before continuing. "We have plenty of rope, but it will take a few days. Until then, we have to be careful."

"I'll tell the Captain," Danica turned and headed toward the sterncastle.

Lace called to the swabs and started giving them hauling instructions, and got two riggers to help her tie knots. Will kept his mouth shut and helped the swabs haul ropes. A few minutes later the work was done and the smallboat was hanging securely again.

Lace stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the work she'd done. Her face was locked in disapproval. "What a fucking mess," she muttered. Her eyes locked on the captain's cabin. "Our fancy new Navigator's still in there?"

A few eyes flicked to Will. No one said anything.

"Aye, ma'am," Will said. The swabs glanced at each other. A few of them grinned.

Lace didn't notice. She wheeled on him. "None of that ma'am shit with me, newmeat. I have a name. Fucking use it."

"Well, you're going to have to tell me what it is then," Will said with a shrug.

"Mouthy-ass newmeat." She glared, giving Will a solid look for the first time. "I'm Lace."

"Will," he said with a smile.

The Rigging Master rolled her eyes and turned back to the captain's cabin door. "New fucker gets the best bunk aboard, and sleeps the day away while we're out here cleaning up the mess all this smallboat bullshit caused."

"What are all these boats for anyway?" Will asked Lace. Harker looked at him like he was a madman.

"No idea. Knowing the captain, it's something fucking crazy," Lace said, sounding resigned.

"You... don't seem like you really like it here," Will said. The audience was on the edge of their figurative seats.

Lace turned on him. "You seem awfully fucking nosy for a newmeat swab."

"Sorry," Will said. "Didn't mean anything by it."

"Vex is the best Captain I've ever seen. One of the best I've ever even heard of. She's got an eye for talent, and she treats her people right. I'd rather be here than anywhere else. None of that means it's a pleasure cruise. Every time she gets a new wild hair, I end up having to figure out ways to do shit that no one's ever needed to do before. Like rig nine smallboats off a fucking Caravel!" Lace threw her hands up in exasperation and spun on her heel. "I'm going to rip some hide off the newmeat Navigator once they decide they've had enough beauty sleep."

"Have you seen her yet?" Will asked. Harker looked like he was going to choke.

"Her? No." Lace snapped. "What's she look like?"

"Tall. Brown hair in a braid. She wore a hat with a skull on the brim," Will said.

"The one who came on with the nobleman and the green Asura?" Lace asked.

"That's her," Will said. "She just went into the Captain's cabin."

"Hope her maps are better than the rest of her plans," Lace growled.

"Miss Webber! Report!" Danica called from the sterncastle.

Lace left without a word and swayed off to the Captain's beckon.

The swabs let out their collective breath. "What the hell was that?" Harker asked. "You just threw the expedition leader to the wolves."

"We'll see," Will grinned.

"I'm gonna go find North. Need to change my bet," one of the swabs said.

"North? The First Mate is your bookie?" Will asked.

"Naw, the other one. The Quartermaster," Harker said.

"He didn't mention that," Will said.

"Seems to be a lot of that going around," Harker said, looking to where Lace was climbing the steps.

Harker said something else, but Will didn't hear it.

________________________

The ship lurched. Jack held herself in the stairwell, her arms braced against either side, riding out the sudden motion. Quinn didn't fight it. He simply rolled with it and leaned against the wall. Two snapping sounds echoed down the stairwell, followed by a wooden thud. Jack's brows raised. That didn't sound good.

Once things were stable again Jack climbed the last few steps out into the sun. The deck was bustling with activity.

"I hope they are quite done with whatever they were doing, throwing the ship around like that," Jack grumbled, tipping her head down to let her hat shield her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"They were performing a test of the Kestrel's steering capabilities. I told you when they knocked on the door," Quinn said softly, following Jack onto the deck. He didn't make any effort to save his eyes from the sun.

"Was I asleep at the time?" Jack asked.

"You woke up when I spoke with you," Quinn said.

"Did I respond?" Jack asked.

"You made an unintelligible noise and threw a pillow at me," Quinn said.

"So no." Jack walked toward the prow.

"Well, it was certainly a response," Quinn shrugged, following his mistress.

"I really cannot be held responsible for what I don't remember if you tell me while I am quite obviously asleep," Jack said flatly.

"I admit, my knowledge of human behavior is a bit rusty, but I don't think sleeping people throw pillows," Quinn mused.

"They do. Obviously," Jack clarified. She spotted Will standing near a group of swabs. They were hauling on a line, hefting one of the smallboats. He was watching her. A knot of frustration welled up in her chest. Talking to Quinn earlier had helped some, but there was a lot of bitterness and heartache still there. Seeing him welled up so many feelings, which she immediately shifted towards anger and pride because they were easier to deal with. She met his eyes with a look that she hoped was defiant and smoldering, then looked away and crossed the deck, knowing he was watching.

This wasn't her. She hated it. The feelings. The whole performance of it. She hated the fact that she felt any of it was necessary at all. She wasn't the sort to hold back what she felt, but letting it out would make it impossible to avoid why. If the why came out, Quinn would be in danger. She wasn't willing to take that risk. So she walked. Strutted really, telling Will with her whole body that she was angry and off-limits.

When she reached the prow she took a deep breath and leaned on the railing. She'd been in a surprisingly good mood. She didn't get enough sleep, but she was happy and excited to be out on the water on a new adventure. This was her greatest joy, and seeing Will at all had poisoned it. "I really hate this,"she muttered.

"If you wish to reconsider..." Quinn began.

"No. Thank you, but no. I am not willing to put you at risk, nor am I willing to put us at risk," Jack said. "Come here, please."

Quinn stepped closer. Jack pulled his thick arms around her shoulders, leaned back into his broad chest and let out a long breath.

The waves rolled, cut by the Kestrel's sharp prow, tossing a light spray into the air with ever gentle crest. She had hoped the cool spray would quell some of the hot anger inside her, but it didn't. It suddenly occurred to her that Will might still be watching. She looked down at Quinn's green arms and smiled slyly. "Is he still watching us?"

"He was. Now he is watching another woman. The one with the spiderweb markings. She seems to have been called up to the... the part of the ship with the steering device," Quinn said.

"The sterncastle. The steering device is the wheel," Jack explained.

"It is not a wheel. It is a circle with handles," Quinn deadpanned.

"Yes well, that's what it is called." Jack smiled just a bit. She was still angry, but Quinn's occasional exasperation with inconsequential human behaviors was always amusing. He didn't show it much. Getting him to open up at all had been a long process, which was still ongoing.

"Is there another way?" Quinn asked.

"What?" Jack said, glancing at her green-skinned companion.

"To speak with Mister Sterling and work through this... situation?" Quinn explained.

"We are really going to have to work on your segues," Jack sighed.

"Mister Sterling seems like a reasonable person. Perhaps if he understood your intentions he would be able to forgive you, and perhaps you could forgive yourself as well," Quinn kept a lot of his thoughts in reserve, but when he spoke he often said things that most people would leave implied.

The anger in Jack's breast churned and threatened to burst forth. The idea that she needed to forgive herself was... correct. No one liked when their deepest regrets and shames were unexpectedly exposed. She stopped herself from taking it out on Quinn. He would accept any punishment she decided to inflict, but he was trying his best to help her. He would not have spoken if he did not think the words would serve that purpose. Why was she so mad? Was it just a shield? The guilt was there. So was the indignation. The frustration from knowing that she should not have to feel this way. In a way, she blamed Will. She knew that was wrong and uncalled for, so there was another layer to the guilt. She was angry at herself, and it made her lash out.

It dawned on her. That was Quinn's purpose. He was making himself a target. He wanted to give her a safe outlet for her frustration. She just could not do it. Not to him. It would feel like kicking a dog. She sighed. The anger melted out of her leaving a hollow, sad ache behind. She shook her head. "Will is not as reasonable as he appears. Explorers never are. He's easy-going and adaptable, but it's a tactic. Underneath it is a restlessness and a will to win that is as uncompromising as nature itself. It has to be. The alternative is death," Jack said quietly. "Will is about as unreasonable as they come."

Quinn could read between the lines. She was not just talking about Will. "If the roles were reversed, what would you do?"

"Probably exactly what Will did. What he's still doing. I'd be angry," Jack said bitterly, looking out at the ocean again.

"And how would someone get through to you?" Quinn asked.

Jack was quiet for a long time. Quinn certainly knew how to ask the right questions. "Thank you, Quinn. I need some time to myself," she said, starting to walk away. Quinn gave her a solemn inclination of his head and turned to watch the sea.

Jack passed across the busy deck lost in her thoughts, oblivious to the swabs weaving around her. She glanced up at Will who was still on the sterncastle with most of the ship's officers. She reached the captain's cabin door, raised her hand to knock but hesitated. She stood there like she was paralyzed. Then, she simply opened the door and walked in.

______________________

Bella rolled in her sleep. She'd been in and out, trying to keep herself from fully waking. It had been hard with the ship trying to toss her out of bed. That seemed to have subsided, so she was out again, just at the edge of dreaming. She found a hand next to her. Her mouth twitched. She held onto it. It was cool and soft. Mostly smooth with a few rough spots. Calluses. The fingers were long and graceful, but strong. She felt something hard. A ring. All these small thoughts filtered through into the ragged edges of her consciousness, not crisp or clear. Impressions really. Other associated feelings formed. Comfort. Familiarity. Wistfulness. Hurt. Anger. She knew that hand.