Zypheria's Call (A Tanyth Fairport Adventure) (26 page)

When they got there, Tanyth managed to get across the plank without falling in, even with the heavy bundle of woolens and her staff. She hung the coat on one of the pegs and looped the belt loop of the trousers on another. She looked at the mass of the two items of clothing and shook her head. “You’ll never get them in your pack, old woman.”

Rebecca snickered. “You’re not plannin’ on takin’ them with you off the ship?”

Tanyth shrugged the problem aside for later and turned to laying out her bedroll on the bunk. It was a snug fit and she crawled up onto it, stretching out on top to try it out. She rolled her old heavy coat into a pillow and discovered that the narrow bunk suited her back quite well. The low overhead and solid head and foot made her feel very secure.

“Just like your own little cave, isn’t it, mum?” Rebecca said from across the way.

For a moment Tanyth remembered another cave under a fallen tree but banished that thought with a grunt.

“This is much better,” she muttered and closed her eyes, just for a moment, relaxing in the gentle sway of the ship and the quiet creaks of flexing wood and rope.

The nest had been damaged a bit but nothing a little repair couldn’t fix. The dimness protected them and the warmth of their bodies kept them comfortable. They’d run out when things got quiet and find food. Food would be good. Water would be good.

First, find something soft, something to unravel to fix the nest.

Tanyth’s eyes fluttered open. She glanced over and saw Rebecca still stretched out, her hands folded across her stomach. She heard steps on the deck outside followed by a light tread in the passage outside her door.

A double tap followed by “Mother Fairport?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Benjamin, mum. The Captain requests the pleasure of your company in dining ashore with us this evening.”

“Just a moment, Benjamin.”

She clambered out of the bunk, and scrubbed her face with her palms, still off balance from the brief dream. With a twist on the handle she opened the door and faced the first mate. “We’re not exactly supplied with fancy clothes, Mr. Groves.”

The young man nodded a greeting and flashed a smile at Rebecca who leaned out of her bunk. “What you’re wearing is fine, mum. There’s a tavern just off the pier. Mother’s coming to sup with us. It’s mostly a sailor’s dive but the stew is good and it’s handy to the ship. Not exactly a fancy eatery, but we like it.”

She considered her options, glanced at Rebecca who gave a small but eager nod, and realized that she didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in the tiny cabin herself. “All right,” she said. “When?”

“Four bells, mum.”

Tanyth cocked her head. “And when would that be?”

“Oh, sorry, mum.” He nodded at the tiny window. “Should be just about dark but you’ll hear the ship’s bell ring four times. It’ll sound like ding-ding, ding-ding.”

“You do a lot of this ding-dinging?”

“Every half hour, mum. It’s coming up on two bells. You’ll hear it, then three bells, and at four bells, I’ll come and collect you.”

“All right, then.”

He caught sight of the blue coat on the peg. “I see you found Mr. Harris.”

“Oh, yes. Very nice man. I should be warm enough now, I think.”

“You’ll be warm as the rest of us, I expect, but you’ll be glad for the extra clothing.”

“You’re not makin’ an old woman feel very comfortable about this trip, Mr. Groves.”

He gave her a short laugh but his face took a serious cast. “It’s the first trip of the season, mum. The next one will be warmer and easier, but this first one?” He shook his head. “Normally, we don’t take passengers on this trip at all.”

“Too dangerous?” she asked.

“Not that so much. Every trip is dangerous to a degree.” He shrugged. “The sea’s a powerful thing and man’s but a poor, fragile shell, as you probably know better’n me, mum.”

“Then why?”

He laughed again. “Because it’s just so miserable that if it weren’t for the profit we stand to earn, none of us would go either.”

She found his laughter hard to resist and soon laughed with him. “Well, we’ll all ride it out together then, I guess,” she said.

In the distance she heard, “ding-ding.”

“There! That’s two bells,” Groves said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

She nodded. “I’ll look forward to it.”

She started to close the door but stopped. “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Groves?”

“Yes, mum?”

“Is there a place aboard where I can wash up a bit?”

“Oh, of course. Let me give you the tour, mum.”

The tour, such as it was, took only a few minutes. The narrow space under the deck held the captain’s cabin across the width of the stern and a small cabin that the first and second mates shared.

Rebecca blinked at that arrangement. “There’s only one bunk?”

“We never sleep at the same time. When we’re underway, one of us is always up.”

“Sounds tirin’.”

Groves laughed. “It can be, but that’s life at sea. Between tiring and terrifying, most of us pick tiring.”

“I can understand that, Mr. Groves,” Tanyth said. Having been through her own share of terrifying, her agreement carried plenty of freight.

He showed her the “water closet” as well. He shrugged, clearly embarassed. “We don’t get many women passengers, mum. Facilities are a bit rough.”

She grinned at him. “Try sharin’ a privy with twenty other people.”

He barked a laugh. “It’ll get a bit ripe, but the bucket gets changed out regularly underway. And it’s always colder in here because of the vents.”

She nodded. “The alternative would be much more unpleasant, I think.”

He laughed again. “I believe you’re right, mum.”

They returned to the stateroom and he showed her where to find a small tin basin and a pitcher. “If you take this to the cookhouse on deck, mum. You can draw hot water from the tank on the stove.”

“That’s pretty handy.”

He shrugged. “Dirt and disease kill more sailors than salt water, mum. We try to avoid it where possible. Bring your pitcher and I’ll introduce you to Cook. You two should get on famously.”

She took up the metal handle and followed him out onto the deck. A small deckhouse between the two masts held a tidy kitchen. A rotund, clean-shaven man looked up from a pot of something when the door opened. “Mr. Groves,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn.

“Cook? This is Mother Fairport. She and her companion have taken passage to North Haven and will be staying aboard until we leave. I’ve come to show her where to get hot water.”

“Welcome aboard, mum.”

“Thank you, Cook?” She looked back and forth between the two men. “Is that the correct form of address?”

“Aye, mum. Most just calls me Cook. It’s been so long now I almost forgot my other name.”

“Almost?”

“Aye, mum. James, mum.”

“No one calls you James, then?”

“Only my mother, mum.” The man laughed. “O’course, she’s also Cook, and I learned from her before I joined up and went to sea.” The man laughed again. “We blame my father, mum.”

“Your father?” Tanyth looked to Mr. Groves who hid a smile behind a hand and tried to look innocent.

“Aye, mum. He’s the reason they call me Cook.”

“Why’s that, then?”

“Well, because he married my mother, mum. She was a Wilson before she was a Cook, and if he’d not married her they’d call me a—”

“Yes, Cook,” Mr. Groves interrupted. “We’ve a lady aboard.”

“Oh, sorry, mum,” Cook looked abashed. “I forget my manners sometimes.”

“It’s quite all right. I’ve heard much worse.”

In the distance they heard the ship’s bell ring twice and then once. “Three bells?” Tanyth asked.

“Just so, mum,” Mr. Groves agreed. “I’ll leave you to the tender mercies of the ship’s comedian and see to my own duties now, if that’s satisfactory?”

“Thank you, Mr. Groves. I think you were right. Cook and I will get on famously.”

He smiled and left the deckhouse, latching the door behind him.

“Well, Cook, if you’d show me where to get the water, I’ll get out of your way.”

“Oh, right here, mum. This spigot?” He handed her a towel. “Use this, mum. That gets a tad warm when the stove’s on.”

She filled the pitcher about half full with water so hot it steamed even near the heat of the stove. She was careful to hold the pitcher’s handle after nearly burning her hand on the metal base.

“There’s sweet water in that cask there, mum.” The cook pointed to a tapped barrel near the door. “You can use that for drinkin’ and washin’ up and such.”

“Sweet water?” she asked.

“Yes, mum. Not to be confused with salt. Don’t drink the salt water, mum.”

She looked about the cookhouse but saw only the one barrel. “And where would I find salt water, Cook?”

“Why, all around the outside of the ship, mum. Just drop a bucket anywhere. You’ll find all you need.”

She turned to look at him and saw his eyes twinkling. She laughed aloud and was still chuckling when she got back to Rebecca.

“What’s tickled ya this time, mum?” Rebecca asked.

“You’ll want to watch out for the cook, my dear. He’s a certain way with words that’ll tickle ya when you’re not expectin’ it.”

Rebecca frowned at the cryptic remark but took her turn at the warm water without asking for an explanation.

Chapter Twenty-One:
A Shift In The Wind

Mr. Groves rapped on their door at the fourth stroke of the bell and offered her his arm as they walked the pier toward the city. Rebecca walked beside Tanyth and occasionally leaned in to look at Groves.

“It’s easy to forget the city’s here sometimes, mum,” he said.

Tanyth looked at the hulking mass of warehouses along the quay and the buildings climbing the low hill beyond. Around them, a forest of masts and spars stood out in sharp relief against the darkening sky. “I can see why. It’s quite peaceful out here at the end of the pier. None of the hurly-burly of the city and such.”

“The ship itself is a spot of comfort on its own,” Mr. Groves said. “This pier seems almost too weak to bind her.”

Tanyth smiled up at her young escort. “Mr. Groves, I believe you’re a romantic.”

He smiled back. “All sailors are romantics at heart, mum. Else we’d stay at home and tend farms.”

In no time they found a well-lighted tavern named The Sailor’s Cradle that sported as its sign a full hammock strung on a standard and swinging in the breeze. Tanyth looked up at it as they approached. “A hammock?”

“Indeed, mum. The crew in the fo’c’sle—that’s up in the bow beyond the cookhouse—they sleep in hammocks, not bunks.”

“Why is that, Mr. Groves.”

He shrugged. “Part custom, part convenience. Part comfort, truth be told.”

She eyed the open weave net that formed the body of the hammock on display as they walked under it and into the tavern proper. “Comfort, Mr. Groves?”

“Aye, mum. Hung on both ends like that, when the ship rocks, the cradle doesn’t. You’re less likely to be tossed out of a hammock in heavy seas than you are a bunk.”

“Not to be an alarmed old lady, Mr. Groves, but is that likely?”

He grinned. “No, mum. Bunks on the
Call
run cross-wise in the ship. If we rock side to side, you’ll barely feel it and if we start climbing seas big enough to rock us that much bow and stern, we’ll have bigger problems than falling out of our bunks.”