Songs of Reamere entries: Chapter 3

Published Apr 15, 2022, 5:04:45 PM UTC | Last updated May 27, 2022, 6:54:53 PM | Total Chapters 4

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Chapter 3: Chapter 3

‘Suddenly, bubbles seemed bursting beneath my closed eyes; like vices my hands grasped the shrouds. Some invisible, gracious agency preserved me; with a shock I came back to life. And lo! Close under our lee, not forty fathoms off, a gigantic sea monster lay rolling in the water like the capsized hull of a frigate, her broad, glossy back, of an Audacian hue, glistening in the sun’s rays like a mirror.’ 

 

“Man the harpoons!”

 

Prendergast clutched his voice recorder close to his beak as he scrambled after the crew, watching them take up their positions like well-oiled machinery. There was first mate Ellis on the prow, the harpooners lining up along the deck with their namesake tools, and of course, there was Captain Wayre, steering the ship towards the big scary thing on the horizon.

 

The casua heard the thunk of metal on wood; Decima emerged from belowdeck, stumbling as the ship listed starboard. Prendergast dashed over and lowered his neck; she grabbed onto his sturdy frame, and step by step, they made their way onto the sturdier centreline of the topdeck.

 

Just in time, too! At Wayre’s cry, the harpooners fired their weapons at the moving mass in the dark water. Many missed, but one shot flew true, as evidenced by the squish of metal on flesh and the rope snapping taut.

 

‘But that pipe, poor beast, was thy last. The red tide now poured from all sides of the monster like brooks down a hill. Her tormented body rolled not in brine but in blood, which bubbled and seethed for furlongs behind in their wake.’

 

“You know we ‘ent killing her, right, matey?” Ellis said.

 

‘We aren’t?’

 

“Nay, Wayre’d have our hides if we did.”


Oh, well, that took some of the romanticism out of it.

 

“Look there, ‘tis a magic harpoon. There ‘ent even any blood.”

 

Prendergast looked, and lo! The point wasn’t even dug in, just hovering a few inches above Reamera’s undulating form. He supposed the squishing sound he’d heard had been enchanted into the harpoon, to let its wielder know if they’d hit their target. He had to admit it was an evocative cue.

 

Before he could correct himself in the recording, the boat tilted again, but this time, to the north. Then it started moving, fast.

 

“Trim sail!” Wayre hollered, and the crew reacted at once, throwing down their spent harpoon guns and scrambling onto the Nullarbor’s masts. Ellis and the third mate scrambled around the deck, picking up weapons before they slid off the ship and into the ocean.

 

Decima motioned to Prendergast to help, but Ellis waved his armful of weapons at them. “Nay, you stay there. You’d but get in the way.”

 

Harsh, but probably true. The crew up on the rigging had already made short work of the sails, and the ship was bobbing along at full speed, pulled along by their massive quarry.

 

“What now, cap’n?” Decima called up. Huh, bit of a sailor-y accent there. Probably from all the time she spent with the crew.

 

“Now, we wait.”

 

*

 

Being pulled along at 50 knots an hour by a giant sea monster was surprisingly relaxing. Other than the quarter-hourly watches, the crew had little to do except play and munch on salt tack. At one point, they even got bored enough to try Decima’s pouch of ginkgo nuts. They didn’t make that mistake a second time.

 

As the days wore on, the weather grew visibly colder, and one morning Prendergast woke up to see frost creeping up his porthole. As soon as Decima had finished her breakfast, the two made their way abovedeck to survey their surroundings. They were still out on open ocean, far from land, but the sky was pale, with a touch of pinkish-orange at the edge of the horizon. Their breath fogged up in their faces, and the night’s watch were shivering as they descended the stairs behind them. No one had thought to bring winter jackets at all.

 

“We passed Perenne’s Peninsula last night,” Wayre said, like he’d read the question right out of their minds. He left his perch up at the helm and sauntered down the stairs, his first mate close behind. “We’re in the Pernese, I reckon, or further north still. But Reamera shows no signs of slowing. Seeking something in the poles, mayhaps?”

 

“We have to turn back, cap’n,” Ellis said. By the exasperation in his voice, Prendergast guessed this wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. “The crew ‘ent dressed for the Pernese, and our water will freeze in their barrels.”

 

“We can’t. Not now, when we’re so close.”

 

Ellis turned to Decima and mimed a twirling ‘screw loose’ sign to her. Fortunately, the captain seemed to be distracted by something up ahead.

 

“All hands on deck! Double time!”

 

The two humans and one casua turned in unison, just in time to see a massive iceberg looming in the distance. They were heading right for it, at a blistering 50 knots an hour! Oh, how the tables had turned!

 

“Cut the rope!” Ellis shouted, as the bowels of the ship thundered with footsteps and confused yelling.

 

“No!” Wayre snapped, practically shoving him aside. “We can’t lose her!”

 

Crew members were scrambling around the ship, rigging sails and tying down loose items. Wayre thundered up to the helm, seized the wheel, and banked hard to port.

 

Prendergast hunkered down, digging his claws into the boards as his rider braced against him. Ellis took one look at the straining harpoon line, at the looming iceberg, and Prendergast saw the wheels turning in his head as he weighed his options. Then he pulled a knife out of his belt and began to inch his way across the ship, holding onto the taffrail for support.

 

“Ellis! Don’t you dare!”

 

Ten knots to impact, nine, eight…

 

Then Prendergast saw Ellis raise his knife and slash downwards. The rope unraveled with an audible ‘snap!’, as if a great tension had been lifted. The Nullarbor seemed to lift up at the prow, then lurch backwards, landing back on the water with a huge splash of spray and seawater. But the troubles weren’t over yet: their momentum was still carrying them towards the iceberg, no matter how Wayre tried to correct their course.

 

The crew had managed to unfurl the sails, and the added push from the wind gave the Nullarbor the final nudge it needed. The ship veered away, and its bow grazed the iceberg with a creak of wood against ice. Prendergast heard some cracking in the hull somewhere beneath them, but they’d avoided the worst of it. The worst, of course, being ‘smashed against a giant hunk of ice at twice the ship’s top speed’.

 

“We’re taking water! To the o’erlop!”

 

Ellis didn’t waste a single second, directing idle hands belowdeck to patch up the damage. Wayre, meanwhile, was seething. As soon as the ship had slowed enough to drop anchor, he stormed down the deck.

 

“You idiot! Do you know what you’ve done?”

 

“Saved our lives, you mean?”

 

“She’s gone! Reamera, gone into the north!”

 

But the rest of the sailors were shaking their heads and muttering among themselves. In the crew of public opinion, ‘being alive’ was an easy winner over ‘lying in pieces at the bottom of the ocean’.

 

“Look, cap’n, not all’s lost. The harpoon’s still stuck in her head, ‘ent it? These guns’ve got a simple tracking spell etched in the grip. We’ll patch the ship, find some port– Fyrrel, p’haps, and be back on the trail in a week, tops.”

 

“‘Tracking spell’... it’s an overblown compass, you lily-livered rat! She could be five knots away or a thousand, and this blasted thing wouldn’t know the difference!”

 

Decima looked like she was about to say something, but a quickly mouthed ‘No’ from one of the other sailors did much to dissuade her.

 

“Then we’ll let the crew decide. Those in favour of resupplying, hands up.”

 

The deck was a sea of arms. Wayre growled and turned away, storming into his captain’s quarters in the aft. The slam of the door echoed across the deck.

 

‘A titch odd’, Fresco had said. Quite the understatement, it seemed.

 

Still, there was no time to waste. The ship was still damaged, and the crew could use all the help they could get with bailing water and patching up the cracks with pine tar. Wayre’s outburst could wait, for now.

 

*

 

Apparently, it couldn’t.

 

Prendergast was woken from his sleep by someone loudly cursing and griping (well, louder than it usually was after a night of drinking, anyway). He blinked the sleep grit from his eyes, and as his vision focused, he saw that it was Ellis, because of course it was.

 

“That stubborn oaf– the nerve… he’ll be the death of us, he will…”

 

“What’s going on?” Decima said, looking up from her bunk.

 

“It’s the cap’n! He’s taken a lifeboat and gone off to hunt the beast!”

 

“...well, I can’t say I don’t admire his initiative.”

 

“The man’s gone mad,” Ellis grumbled. “And he’ll not last a day without help. Someone’ll have to go after him, but Day knows none of this lot will risk their hides for him.”

 

‘This isn’t one of those statements that’s actually a thinly-veiled request, is it?’

 

Ellis shrugged. Prendergast sighed.

 

“Here, take this. We’ll come look for you, once the repairs ‘ave finished.”

 

He handed Decima one of the harpoon points. The crew helped to load Prendergast’s saddlebags with all the rations, water, and survival tools they could fit in them, and then they were in a lifeboat and Ellis was rowing them towards the ice floes.

 

“He can’t ‘ave gone far. Last I saw, he was heading north, same as his monster. With that bird of yours, you’ll catch up to him, sure’s sherry.”

 

The lifeboat stopped at the edge of the sea floe, where the ice was solid enough to stand and walk on. There was nothing more to do but bid an awkward farewell to him, and then they were off, trekking across the ice after a madman’s trail.

 

Prendergast’s natural fluffiness was decent protection against the wind chill, but Decima was having a little more trouble. She’d wrapped her cloak around herself, and that rain jacket of hers seemed to be doing a decent job at insulation, but she had to keep one hand out to read her compass, and it didn’t take long for that hand to start shivering uncontrollably.

 

‘This was a stupid idea,’ Prendergast said. ‘We don’t even know if he really went north. He could be east or west or gone back south for all we kn–’

 

“Found him.”

 

He looked where his rider was pointing, and there in the distance, a crumpled mass of clothes and too-thin cloak, one hand still clutching the harpoon gun that served as his own compass.

 

“Good Day, he barely made it two miles. Kind of pathetic, if you think about it.”

 

Prendergast trotted over to him and crouched down, covering him completely in his giant fluffy bulk. Like an egg.

 

But that was just a temporary solution. They were still out in the middle of nowhere, barely prepared, and losing heat by the minute. They had to find shelter soon, before–

 

“Hail! Who fares?”

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