awake in the dim morning light, my hammock is nearly motionless, and the movement of the ship has changed. We are rolling in light swells, barely underway.
Danae is still burrowed under a mound of blankets, so I dress quietly and slip out of the cabin. After ascending the short ladder, I emerge on deck to find that a thick fog envelops us in an eerie silence.
A very light breeze blows off and on, just enough to puff up the sails for a few moments before fading. Captain Hanford stands on the foredeck, so I walk forward. Just as I am about to greet him, he holds up his hand and then touches his lips in a gesture for silence.
I lean on the cold rail and listen, then hear a distant, faint creaking and splashing which gradually increases. It is the sound of numerous oarlocks moving in unison, along with the splashes of oars hitting the water. As it draws closer, I make out a voice chanting, maintaining the cadence of the strokes.
“Mother—Earth—Sister—Sea—Holy—Bound—Fami—ly. Amen!” After the final word, a chorus of voices responds in unison with “Amen.” There must be at least a hundred men. I look at Hanford and he shakes his head silently.
“Corrupt—Works—Man—Made—Cleanse—Earth—With the—Blade. Amen!”
Clearly, a ship full of Disciples. The way sound carries in this fog, I cannot tell whether those voices are fifty feet away or five hundred. But they are too damn close for my comfort, because I swear I hear one of them rip a loud fart.
“On—Land—And—Sea—We—Serve—Faithful—ly. Amen!”
Slowly, as the caller maintains the pace, the voices begin to fade and move off into the distance. As far as I can tell, they are heading the direction we came from, which would be to the north, and far preferable than heading in the same direction we are going. That works for me.
Once the captain heaves a sigh and relaxes, I lean over to speak in a low voice. “What the hell was that?”
“I heard rumors that the Disciples had built a sort of long ship, but one with two decks of oars. They supposedly built three ships, but two of them ventured out to sea and got lost in a storm. Now this one stays close to shore. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
Great, Disciples on triremes—or biremes, as the case may be. The Archives would rather not meddle in politics, but these guys need to be kept in check, or they are going to become a major problem. When I return, I will put this in my debriefing report and then bring it up to the council—along with the fact that we have a potential traitor. But first, I have to get back.
The morning passes, and when the wind picks up again, the fog dissipates, but the cloud layer remains above us, and the deck is drenched in a steady but light rain. Danae comes up on deck and has another bout of sea sickness, then complains about the cold.
Captain Hanford points out that we have a small wood stove in our cabin, and we retreat to our quarters. The small iron stove is bolted to the deck beneath the hammock. After I get it lit, I pull a worn deck of cards out of my pack.
“I’m impressed,” Danae says. “I’ve seen cards back home, owned by the town nobles. But they keep them for games they play among themselves.”
“So you’ve never played any card games?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and I spend a few minutes showing her the deck and explaining the suits. Then I teach her how to play Casino. It is a simple, easy-to-learn game that plays well with two people. During the first few hands, she stumbles through while I explain the strategy, but by the fourth game she has picked it up, and beats me without any assistance.
She is undeniably a quick study; I suspect her potential has been wasted in that isolated community, but this is a world full of wasted potential.
We chat between hands. She has gotten her sea legs enough now that she can keep her supper down. After eating, we resume play, and she tells me a few stories from her
Danae is still burrowed under a mound of blankets, so I dress quietly and slip out of the cabin. After ascending the short ladder, I emerge on deck to find that a thick fog envelops us in an eerie silence.
A very light breeze blows off and on, just enough to puff up the sails for a few moments before fading. Captain Hanford stands on the foredeck, so I walk forward. Just as I am about to greet him, he holds up his hand and then touches his lips in a gesture for silence.
I lean on the cold rail and listen, then hear a distant, faint creaking and splashing which gradually increases. It is the sound of numerous oarlocks moving in unison, along with the splashes of oars hitting the water. As it draws closer, I make out a voice chanting, maintaining the cadence of the strokes.
“Mother—Earth—Sister—Sea—Holy—Bound—Fami—ly. Amen!” After the final word, a chorus of voices responds in unison with “Amen.” There must be at least a hundred men. I look at Hanford and he shakes his head silently.
“Corrupt—Works—Man—Made—Cleanse—Earth—With the—Blade. Amen!”
Clearly, a ship full of Disciples. The way sound carries in this fog, I cannot tell whether those voices are fifty feet away or five hundred. But they are too damn close for my comfort, because I swear I hear one of them rip a loud fart.
“On—Land—And—Sea—We—Serve—Faithful—ly. Amen!”
Slowly, as the caller maintains the pace, the voices begin to fade and move off into the distance. As far as I can tell, they are heading the direction we came from, which would be to the north, and far preferable than heading in the same direction we are going. That works for me.
Once the captain heaves a sigh and relaxes, I lean over to speak in a low voice. “What the hell was that?”
“I heard rumors that the Disciples had built a sort of long ship, but one with two decks of oars. They supposedly built three ships, but two of them ventured out to sea and got lost in a storm. Now this one stays close to shore. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
Great, Disciples on triremes—or biremes, as the case may be. The Archives would rather not meddle in politics, but these guys need to be kept in check, or they are going to become a major problem. When I return, I will put this in my debriefing report and then bring it up to the council—along with the fact that we have a potential traitor. But first, I have to get back.
The morning passes, and when the wind picks up again, the fog dissipates, but the cloud layer remains above us, and the deck is drenched in a steady but light rain. Danae comes up on deck and has another bout of sea sickness, then complains about the cold.
Captain Hanford points out that we have a small wood stove in our cabin, and we retreat to our quarters. The small iron stove is bolted to the deck beneath the hammock. After I get it lit, I pull a worn deck of cards out of my pack.
“I’m impressed,” Danae says. “I’ve seen cards back home, owned by the town nobles. But they keep them for games they play among themselves.”
“So you’ve never played any card games?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and I spend a few minutes showing her the deck and explaining the suits. Then I teach her how to play Casino. It is a simple, easy-to-learn game that plays well with two people. During the first few hands, she stumbles through while I explain the strategy, but by the fourth game she has picked it up, and beats me without any assistance.
She is undeniably a quick study; I suspect her potential has been wasted in that isolated community, but this is a world full of wasted potential.
We chat between hands. She has gotten her sea legs enough now that she can keep her supper down. After eating, we resume play, and she tells me a few stories from her
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