Voyage of the Fox Rider (11 page)

In the swaying light of the salon’s lanterns, Aravan looked across the table at Jatu and at Frizian, third in command, the small Gelender’s white face in stark contrast with that of the black Tchangan’s. Spread out before them was Aravan’s precious charts, marking winds and currents throughout the oceans of the world. Back in the shadows stood Tink, one of the cabin boys on this voyage, the flaxen-haired lad from far Rian. A knock sounded on the aft quarters door, and Tink sprang down the short passageway to open it, and in through wind and spray came Rico and Bokar, followed closely by Reydeau, second bo’s’n of the
Eroean
, all three wearing their weather gear, boots and slickers and cowls.

Tink took the dripping coats from them, hanging them on wall pegs in a corner. And all gathered ‘round the chart table, including the cabin boy.

Aravan’s finger stabbed down on the map. “In a day or three we will reach the waters of the Cape, and I would have ye all remind the crew what it is we face.”

“Storms,” breathed Tink, and then gasped at his own boldness, clamping a hand over his mouth to silence it.

Aravan smiled at the lad. “Aye, Tink, storms indeed. Summer storms at that.”

Bokar growled. “Stupid southern seasons. Just backwards! Here winter is the warm season and summer is the cold.”

Jatu laughed. “Ah, Bokar, backward or not, the polar realm is always frigid, though the Sun may ride the sky throughout the day.”

Rico nodded, adding, “A bad place, this cape, by damn. Hard on crew no matter season. Snow hammer on rigging, weigh down both sail and rope wit’ ice. In autumn, there be snow or sleet or freeze rain or anyt’ing, and same be true of spring. Even in heart of warm part of year it be not very different, ha! much of the time freeze rain hammer on ship. But in cold season, like now, storm always seem bear snow and ice, and wave run tall—greybeard all—¡
Diantre!
a hundred feet from crest to trough.”

Aravan gazed down at the chart. “It is ever so in these
polar realms, that raging Father Winter seldom looses his grasp.”

Tink, too, stared at the map. “And the winds, Cap’n, wot about the winds? Will they be the same as wot we came through before?”

“Aye, ‘tis the very same air—westerlies, and constantly running at gale force, or nearly so. Seldom do those winds rest, and the
Eroean
will be faring into the teeth of the blow.” Aravan looked up at the faces about him. “And I would have ye all recall to the crew just what it is that we likely face: thundering wind, ice, freezing rain, short days and long nights fighting our way through. Each jack will have to take utmost care to not be washed over the rails, for like as not, he will be lost. Remind them again that tether ropes are to be hooked at all times aloft…and, Rico, Reydeau, rig the extra deck lifelines for surely they will be needed.”

“The sails, Captain,” said Reydeau, the Gothan’s dark eyes glittering in the lantern light, “is there something spécial you would have me rendré?”

“The studs are already down,” replied Aravan. “Likely we will furl the starscrapers and moonrakers as soon as we round the shoulder of the cape…the gallants and royals as well. I deem that we’ll make our run on stays, jibs, tops, and mains, though likely we’ll reef them down somewhat.”

“And the spanker, too, eh, Cap’n?” put in Tink.

Aravan laughed, as did Jatu and Reydeau. “Aye, Tink,” answered the Elf, reaching out and tousling the towheaded cabin boy’s curls, “and the spanker, too.”

“Kapitan,” said Rico, “I t’ink you might speak to crew about running cape. They no doubt like word straight from you.”

A murmur of agreement rumbled ‘round the table.

“Aye, Rico, I had intended to. Assemble the Men, and thou, Bokar, gather the Drimma as well. Shall we say at the change of the noon watch on the morrow?”

Sleet pelted down upon the ship, while in the forward quarters below, Aravan stood on a sea chest and spoke to the
Eroean
’s crew, the weather too harsh to hold an assembly above. And as the hull clove through the rolling waves and brine billowed over the decks, all the Men
and Dwarves gathered ‘round their Elven captain, all but three remaining up top—Boder, the wheelman, and Geff and Slane, two aides.

Aravan spoke of the cape and reminded them all of the weather at this time of year, for although each had been through this passage before, it was two years past and in a different season. Too, they had made the transit from west to east, running with the wind, and this time they fared the opposite way, into the teeth of the gale. Aravan spoke of the ice that would form on the ropes, and of the driven snow that would blind them and weigh down the sails. “Yet,” he said, near the last, “we have made this run before. The
Eroean
is a sturdy ship, and ye are a fine crew. I fear not that we will see the Weston Ocean in but a week or so. Still, I would caution ye to take care, for if any be lost to the waters, we will not be able to wear around the wind in time to save ye in those chill waves, and to do so would put the entire ship at hazard. So, buckle up tightly when up top, for I would see ye all when we’ve passed beyond the horn.

“Be there any questions?”

Men and Dwarves stirred and peered ‘round at one another. At last a seaman raised a hand—Hogar, an aid to Trench the cook, signed on just two years past. At a nod from the Elf, the Man stood, cap in hand. “Cap’n Aravan, sir, why not ‘ead east across th’ South Polar Sea and make for th’ Silver Cape? Wot Oi mean, sir, not t’ question y’r judgement or skills, Oi wos but wonderin’ why run again’ th’ wind when we c’n run wi’ it instead?”

Aravan smiled. “This time of year, Hogar, the Silver Cape is all but impassable, those rocky straits filled with mountainous waves of grinding ice and the air with churning hurricanes. The Cape of Storms is fierce, but the Silver Cape is deadly.”

Hogar nodded and sat back down. Aravan looked about. “Any other questions?”

A Dwarf stood, Dask, one of Bokar’s lieutenants. Gesturing with a sweep of his hand at the other Dwarves assembled, he said, “Captain Aravan, we have made this passage before, both ways, and seldom has it been easy. The weather will be fierce, cold, and the crew on short shift, rotating often to stay warm. If the weather is as it has been, then doubtless all will be needed, Men and
Châkka alike. I speak only to remind you that we Châkka stand ready.”

A rumble of approval swept through the assembly, and without comment, Aravan grinned and cast a loose salute to Dask. When silence returned, Aravan looked about, seeking other questions or comments. When none was proffered, he said, “Jatu, an extra tot of rum for all, for hardy times lie ahead.”

A hearty cheer rang throughout the forward quarters as the Elven captain stepped down from the sea chest and made his way among the crew, while Jatu poured rum from a cask into the eagerly outheld cups.

Two days later found the
Eroean
rounding the shoulder of the cape. And over these same two days the wind had risen in strength and had risen again, and now the Elvenship beat to the windward into a shrieking gale. Great grey waves, their crests foaming, broke over the bow and smashed down upon the decks with unnumbered tons of water, clutching and grasping at timber and wood and rope, at fittings, at sails, the huge greybeards seeking to drag off and drown whatever they could, whatever might be loose or loosened.

In the teeth of the blow Jatu ordered all sails pulled but the stays, jibs, tops, and mains. And Men had struggled ‘cross decks awash—cold, drenching waves dragging them off their feet and trying to hurl them overboard and into the icy brine; yet the safety lines held fast, and the crew made their way up into the rigging, the frigid wind tearing at them, shrieking and threatening to hurl them away. But the Men fought the elements, haling in the silken sail and lashing it ‘round the spars, while all about them the halyards howled in the wind like giant harp strings yowling in torment, sawn by the screaming gale.

On the very next watch the wind force increased, and once again the crew was dispatched onto the dangerous decks and up to the hazardous spars, this time at Frizian’s command, and all jibs were pulled and the mains reefed to the last star. And now the ship ran mostly on the staysails and the upper lower topsails, the
Eroean
flying less than a third of full silk.

The following watch Aravan took command, and after
an hour or so, the wind picked up yet again, and the Elven captain ordered forth the crew to reef the mains and the crossjack to the full.

“
Diantre
, Kapitan,” shouted Rico above the wind, “I t’ink if this keep up, soon we be sailing on bare stick alone.”

Aravan grinned at the bo’s’n. “Mayhap, Rico. Mayhap. But if it’s to bare sticks we go, then backwards we will fare.”

Tink made his way up through the trapdoor and into the tiny wheelhouse, the lad bearing a tray of steaming mugs of tea. That he managed to carry the cups in the pitching ship without spilling a drop spoke well of his agility and balance. With a grin he passed the tray about to Aravan and Boder and Rico, then disappeared below decks once more.

Aravan sipped the welcome drink, commenting, “Boder, answer me this: with the galley locked down for the heavy seas, fire extinguished, how do Trench and Hogar manage to brew hot tea?”

“Well, Cap’n,” replied Boder, “I’d call it cook’s magic.”

As tons of icy water slammed down on the
Eroean
, the wheelhouse rang with laughter.

The moment Aravan drained the last of his drink and started to set the mug aside, as if by divination Tink reappeared, collecting the cups and away. Aravan looked at the closed trapdoor, commenting, “I suppose we’ve just seen cabin boy magic, too.”

Again the wheelhouse rang with laughter, drowning out even the wrath of the wind shrieking over the furious waves.

Aravan wiped the frost from the window and peered at the raging sea. “Pipe the crew on deck, Rico,” he called, taking a grip on the wheel on one side while Boder held the spokes across, “prepare to come about. On the starboard bow quarter this tack.”

At the moment Rico opened the trap to go below and summon the crew, a blinding wall of white engulfed the
Eroean
, the Cape of Storms living up to its name as wind-driven snow slammed horizontally across the Elvenship.

Eleven days it took to round the cape, sometimes the valiant
Eroean
seemingly driven abaft while at other times she surged ahead. And at all times the savage wind tore at her, while the greybeards struggled to wrench her down. Snow and ice weighed heavily on her rigging, and Men and Dwarves were sent aloft to break loose the pulleys so the ropes would run free. Tacking northwest up across the wind and southwest back down, Aravan sailed by dead reckoning, for no stars nor Moon in the long nights did he see, nor Sun in the short, short days. Nor did he see the southern aurora writhing far beyond the darkness above, shifting curtains of spectral light draped high in the icy skies.

Still, battered by wind and wave, eleven full days it took before the ship could run clear on northwesterly course, free of the cape at last, Aravan’s reckoning true, the crew superb in handling the ship and not a Man or Dwarf lost unto the grasping sea. Even so, all were weary, drained by this rugged pass, including her captain, a thing seldom seen by any of the crew. Yet finally the ship’s routine returned to something resembling normality though the winds yet blew agale. But they were steady on the larboard, and running on a course with the wind to the port, mains and crossjack and jibs back full, up into the Weston Ocean she ran, the log line humming out at nineteen knots, the
Eroean
flying o’er the waves.