Deathlands 118: Blood Red Tide by James Axler Page B

about, sipping from the last barrel of small beer, smoked pipes and took the rare moment to relax. Ryan and Krysty celebrated by sneaking down into the cable tiers. They were not the only ones, and moans, groans and downright caterwauling echoed around them in the dark of the hold.
    Ryan left Krysty smiling asleep in her hammock and went above deck. Crewmen nodded and acknowledged him. The one-eyed man glanced about. Ricky held court by the mainmast, surrounded by crewmen as he told the tale of the duel yet again. Jak stood nearby with his hand casually resting on the hilt of his ship’s knife. He stood watch at Ricky’s six for any fallout from the duel. There didn’t appear to be any.
    After declaring make and mend, Oracle had gone back to his cabin. He had ordered that he not be disturbed unless there was an emergency, and Ryan had learned the windows in the captain’s cabin had been covered. Ryan also learned this was not at all unusual on this ship. He spied Manrape and Sweet Marie by the foremast. They spoke quietly, but Manrape’s eyes constantly strayed to Ricky. Ryan noted that the leer on the bosun’s face and the gleam in his eye were gone. It seemed to have been replaced by something far more tender and requited. Ryan decided to take a gamble. He walked over and put a knuckle to his brow. “Begging the bosun’s pardon.”
    Manrape gazed upon Ryan mildly. “Mr. Ryan?”
    “You seen Doc?”
    What appeared to be a genuine smile appeared on Manrape’s face. “He’s forward.”
    Ryan glanced at the forecastle. Doc was nowhere to be seen. Sweet Marie threw back her head and laughed. “All the way forward, Ryan! Just keep walkin’ till there’s no deck beneath you and then look down!” Several nearby crewmen laughed.
    Ryan considered what this might mean and took a walk forward. Atlast, Hardstone, Koa and DontGo sat on their sea chests playing some variation of cards and passing a copper snuff box. There was no sign of Doc as Ryan passed. He came to the bowsprit and the end of the ship. Ryan suspected the joke was on him but took Sweet Marie’s advice anyway. He stepped onto the bowsprit, grabbed a sheet to steady himself, walked out over the water and looked down.
    Ryan blinked.
    He knew that Doc and Mr. Squid were spending a lot of time together, but Ryan’s eye was torn between two sights that even in the Deathlands one didn’t see every day. One was that of Mr. Squid hanging by one elongated arm from the lowest sheet below the bowsprit. The octopod’s head and mantle bobbled beneath the waves while its remaining seven arms twisted and fluttered in the apex of the Glory ’s bow wake like suckered streamers. Ryan was oddly reminded of a dog sticking its head out of a moving wag. Far more disturbing was the sight of Doc lying in the safety netting, naked except for what appeared to Ryan to be a pair of extremely skimpy, very tight, electric lime-green underwear. Doc seemed genuinely at ease as he absently gnawed on a piece of salt beef and paged through a book with a bullet hole in it.
    “Doc?”
    Doc squinted up happily. “My dear Ryan!”
    “I have to say you’re the last person I thought I’d see wearing gaudy house clothing.”
    “I found them in stores! There are a number of things there good Purser Forgiven has asked that Mildred and I might identify. Mildred says the garment is called a Speedo and assures me its a garment for men. I find they fit rather well!”
    Ryan found it would have been better had Doc simply been naked. “Doc, what are you doing?”
    “Why, I am air bathing! A practice much recommended by our good founding father Benjamin Franklin.” Doc blinked. “Of course, according to rumor even the French thought he smelled terrible. Nonetheless, soap and fresh water are in short supply and I must admit I find the wind, sun and spray most invigorating. I wear this twentieth century swimsuit, as it were, for modesty’s sake.”
    “What’s Squid doing?”
    “I believe