Hidden Island Chapter 16, part 1 of 3

Hidden Island
Chapter 16, part 1 of 3

"Bring her about to port, nice and gentle, but keep tightening the turn until she starts to listen.

Then pull back," Captain Vex said.

"Aye, Captain," Colin Strong said with much less enthusiasm than usual. The big man looked like hell. The whole right side of his face and parts of the left were swollen and bruised in an angry clash of colors: purples, yellows, and even some blues and greens. The impact points were the fierce dark red of irritated skin and broken blood vessels. His upper lip was swollen, his eyebrow was split, and a large scab was caked from being hit with the tankard. Or maybe from the boot heel. Or from having his face bounced off the floor. He wasn't sure. His right eye was now swollen shut, which was fine by him. Using both eyes quickly made his headache worse. His left arm was in a makeshift sling made from a triangle of old sailcloth.

He was slowly steering the ship with one arm. The crew had paused their work, put away their various tools, and were either down in the hold or holding onto something, ready in case anything went wrong. First Mate Danica North was mid-ship in the role of Bosun, her pipe in one hand, holding onto a mast line with the other.

The Kestrel gracefully shifted her heading, turning slowly to the left. They weren't tacking the sails at all. The captain wanted to see how she turned with nothing but the sea's help.

"Thirty degrees," Colin said, marking the previous point the Captain had ordered as the maximum turn. The Kestrel seemed to be doing fine, so Colin tightened the turn. Thirty-five."

The Kestrel was riding low in the water. The nine small boats added a lot of weight, and they'd countered the high balance with barrels of seawater down in the lower holds. Thirty-five degrees of turn was a hard turn for any more giant ship. Typically, it was easy for the Kestrel, but now the added weight and sub-optimal distribution quickly brought on a lot of back pressure. The rudder strained. Colin braced himself and held the wheel firm.

They were at full sail, but the wind was light, so they only traveled at about half their top speed. Captain Vex scowled. The ship wasn't listing yet, but she was close. Colin kept turning the wheel.

"Forty degrees," he said. The deck was leaning. The timbers had begun to creak slightly. They were feeling the bounce of every wave now instead of cutting them. This was the Kestrel's usual "safe" turning radius. It would have been considered quite tight, possibly dangerous for other ships, but she was built for this. The extra weight was doing a number on her, but she was holding on. She might not be able to take it at a higher speed, but for now, she was holding on the edge of steady.

"Forty-two... Forty-four..." A wave hit the starboard side of the prow, and the Kestrel lurched under the push. Colin yanked the wheel the other way.

The crew on the deck held tight as their weight was suddenly tossed. One man on the deck crew lost his footing and hit the deck but held tight to the mooring line in his grip. The ship creaked.

Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. The boat began to straighten out, the feeling and sounds of strain releasing. Colin released the wheel and let the water beneath them push the rudder back straight. He was trying not to show it, but the strain of fighting the wheel and then the abrupt jarring as the ship listed had Colin feeling nauseated. His blood was thudding in his head.

"Set the knot at forty," the Captain said.

The ship's helm worked by pulling on tiller lines, thick ropes that ran from the wheel down below the deck through a pulley system to the rudder below. Captain Vex had painted markings on her tiller lines, so the degrees of a turn were counted on the rope itself.

Colin took a knee, his breathing slow and measured as he fought back the throbbing between his eyes. He used his good hand to grab the tiller line above the forty-degree port mark. His mate grabbed below. They turned the thick rope in opposite directions. Colin's mate had to strain and use both hands. Untwisting a tiller line while it was under tension was not easy.

The three strands of rope uncoiled slightly. Colin's new helmsman's mate threaded a smaller length of red-dyed rope through the strands of the tiller line. Colin released it, letting it return to its usual tension. The short length of red rope was now trapped at the 40-degree mark.

The helm's mate wrapped the red rope around the line several times and tied it in a simple knot.

Now, if the wheel tried to turn past forty degrees, the knot would catch and stop it dead.

"So, we've lost about ten degrees," Captain Vex said, half to herself. "We're still doing better than most ships our size. We'll have to hope we don't need to do anything fancy." She was not happy with the loss of maneuverability. She noticed that all the color had gone out of Colin, leaving him looking sickly in the midday sun. "Have a seat, Mister Strong. You're relieved. Let's 'Ave your mate get some practice on the wheel."

"Aye, Captain," Colin mumbled. He was thankful. Just that much exertion, and he was worried he might vomit. He'd been in fights before, but nothing had ever felt this bad. He sat on the long bench that ran the length of the rear of the quarter-deck.

"What's your name, sailor?" the Captain asked the new Helmsman. I don't recognize you, so you must be one of the hires we picked up in Prince's Cove.

"Aye, ma'am. Name's Alejandro Mesa," the young man said excitedly.

"I'm Glad to have you, Mister Mesa. It's rare for a sailor to be anything but a rigger on their first day. I assume you have some experience at the helm.

"Aye, Captain. Some. Not on a ship this size, though, though." Mesa said excitedly. He was stocky and a few inches shorter than Belita. She guessed he was still a teenager from the sparseness of the hair on his face, but he had the athletic build of someone who'd been doing manual labor for years. "I grew up on a fishing boat. I had the wheel a few times."

"Well, this should feel similar. The Kestrel's bigger, but she moves like a ship half her size. Did your family go ocean fishing or stay in safe waters?" Belita asked.

"Ocean, Ma'am," the stocky kid said.

"Ma'am and' Sir are for military folks, sailor. Just Captain will do fine on the Kestrel," Belita smiled, but her tone was firm.

"Yes, Ma- uh, Captain," Helmsman Mesa said, a bit flustered.

"What's our course?" Belita asked.

"Uh..." the young man looked at the compass mounted to the top of the helm.

"The compass isn't going to tell ye our course, sailor," Belita said. She was deliberately giving him some pressure to see what he'd do.

"East? Nine... ah, ninety degrees," he said, trying to think, remembering what he overheard the First Mate telling Helmsman Strong earlier.

"And what's our heading?" The Captain asked.

The new helmsman looked at the compass again. "Northeast."

"So if our course is east, and our heading is northeast, our turn test took us pretty far off course.

How about ye get us back on track?" Belita asked.

"Aye, Captain," Mesa said with a smile. He slowly turned the wheel, bringing them back to their intended course. The ship gently and gracefully swung back toward the east.

"Now we're running parallel to our intended course," Belita said once the ship was headed east again. We are pretty close, but if we were to correct our heading after a storm or after being pushed off our track by a current, we might miss our destination if all we did was get back on our original heading. After going off course, the heading has to be reassessed."

"How do I do that?" the Mesa asked. He looked like he realized he was over his head but was handling it well.

"Ye don't," Belita shook her head. She pointed to Will, who had just come out of the cabin directly below them and was squinting into the glare of the noonday sun. "That's the Navigator's or the First Mate's job if the Navigator is off duty or indisposed. If both of them are unavailable, then it falls on me."

"All right. So, what do I do until I get a reassessment?" he asked.

"Stay the course you've been given," Belita said. As you gain more experience, you'll learn to feel when you go off your course. The ship tells you. When that happens, you ask whoever has command of the deck for a course check. Never be afraid to speak up about that. Keeping us on course is your second most important duty."

"What's the first?" the Mesa asked.

"Don't crash." Colin rumbled from behind them.

Belita laughed, "Aye. Don't crash."

"So I should ask for a course check now?" the young helmsman asked.

"Not quite yet. We still have another steering check to do. Just keep her steady while the deck crew makes sure nothing came loose when we listed." the Captain said.

"Aye, Captain," Helmsman Mesa said, setting his eyes dead ahead and feeling the waters beneath. He tried to pull on the wheel gently. He wasn't doing much, but steering the ship was critical. His young heart swelled.

"Missus North, we all secure?" Captain Vex called down from the rail.

Danica blew a retort on her whistle and glanced around the deck and the rigging. No one signaled a problem.

"All secure, Captain!" Danica called out.

"Stand by for another steering check!" Captain Vex called back.

"Standing by, Captain!" came the reply.

"All right, Mister Mesa, it's your turn." Vex said to Alejandro. "Turn the wheel slow, just like Mister Strong did. The waters will fight you after a while, but keep up the pressure. We want to see how far we can go before the Kestrel tells us she's had enough."

Mesa was nervous. On day one, he was on a new ship and being asked to endanger the crew deliberately. The Helmsman's job was to try to stop the ship from listing whenever possible. This went against everything his father had ever taught him. He started turning the wheel.

What he didn't realize was that Captain Vex was testing him again. She needed to know what the ship could do right now, but she also needed to know that whoever was at the helm would do precisely what she told them to do, even when it seemed dangerous. Perhaps, especially when it seemed risky, she waited to see if he would balk when the ocean started pushing back.

Mesa took the turn slower than Strong had—almost agonizingly slow. Captain Vex just waited.

The markings on the tiller line climbed—fifteen degrees, twenty, twenty-five. The ocean played along. Mesa could feel the tension growing as the rudder displaced more water.

It felt like half-hearted arm wrestling.

When the turn reached thirty degrees, the waves started hitting the prow strangely, shoving and jolting a bit rather than being cut by the keel. Mesa was straining against the wheel. He was stocky and had been hauling fishing nets his whole life. He was strong and used to work hard, but the Kestrel was winning the wrestling match. He felt like he couldn't push the wheel any further.

Now they were arm wrestling, and Mesa was starting to lose. Captain Vex held tightly to the railing and waited. Mesa braced, got low, and shifted his grip so that he could lift and engage the strength of his legs. The tiller line began to move again.

Just past thirty-five degrees, a sizable wave hit from the wrong angle, and the ship lurched. The sound of a rope snapping rang out high on the port side. The mainsail pivoted awkwardly. Mesa lost his footing and went to a knee. The wheel shoved down, torquing his wrist and wrenching free of his hands, spinning freely. Another rope snapping on the port side echoed across the deck. The edge of the rigging ladder flapped. The small boat beneath it shifted oddly, coming partially unsecured, then swung out with the momentum of the Kestrel's listing. It came back to thump hard against the ship's hull. Captain Vex winced at the sound of the impact. She hadn't heard any wood splintering, so hopefully, it was just a bump. Still, her rigging master was going to be in a fury. She hated the small boats anyway, which would fuel her fire more.

Mesa grabbed the wheel and tried to stop its spin. He managed to catch the handles, and by then, the rudder was straight enough that the wheel wasn't threatening to break his arm. The Kestrel steadied, and he carefully brought the wheel back to zero degrees, dead ahead.

"Resecure that boat!" Danica called out from the deck, pointing to the still-swaying small boat. The crew got their feet under them as the Kestrel righted herself and scrambled into action.

"You all right, Mister Mesa?" Captain Vex asked.

"Aye, Captain. I got my wrist bent a little funny. Might be sore, but doesn't feel too bad." Mesa said, shaking out his hand.

"It's a bad idea to get underneath the wheel. Your legs are stronger than your arms, but if the ocean decides to fight back, it's a lot harder just to let go in that position," Vex explained.

"Lesson learned, Captain. What should I have done differently?" Mesa asked.

"Get on top of her. She'll get unruly sometimes; if you get under her, she'll have her way with you.

Move your hand lower on the side you're turning to and sink your weight like you're trying to sit on her and hold her down. It'll be rare for her to be able to lift and throw your whole weight off.

Also, feel free to ask for help. Your big mistake was trying to do it alone. If she's fighting you, call in an extra set of hands," Captain Vex explained. Mesa's face got redder and redder as she spoke, but she managed not to laugh at her discomfort.

"A-aye captain," Mesa said hesitantly.

"You all right, Mister Strong?" Belita said over her shoulder. Colin nodded, which was how she knew he wasn't doing well. Colin wasn't one to not sound off. She knew he'd balk if she completely relieved him of duty. He was stubborn.

"Get a knot set at 35 degrees port. Ye have the wheel, Mister Mesa. If you have questions, ask Mister Strong, but don't let him take over. It would be best if you had the practice, so he's relieved until I say otherwise," Belita said wryly, glancing at her primary Helmsman. Colin sighed.

Captain Vex strode down the stairs to the main deck, her boot heels clicking on the wood.

Will stepped in to help haul a line, lifting and steadying the small boat that had come unsecured.

Someone had tossed a boarding grapple down and hooked it beneath one of the seats, so now a handful of sailors were holding the small boat up while the riggers figured out a solution. Most small ships were designed to be easily carried by four men, so hoisting them was easy. The issue was that it was being stowed off the ship's side, so it was suspended over the water. They'd rigged it while the Kestrel was docked and steady. Trying to rig a small boat off the ship's edge while the ocean rolled was different. Even in calm waters, the sea was never constant. The swabs mostly tried to keep the small boat steady so the ocean's rolling didn't smash it against the Kestrel's hull.

The rigging master's solution to the small boat problem was to rig the Kestrel in a square mainsail configuration, then run a rigging ladder from near the top of the mainmast down to each of the Kestrel's side railings. Rigging ladders were triangular, running from all across the midship rails up to a central point high on the mast. The small boats were secured to the rigging ladders. It was a clever solution. Each small ship had a main support rope and two stabilizing ropes running along the rigging ladder to different points. The whole thing looked like a spiderweb or a Nivelles Dreamcatcher.

Will had never seen anything like it. Of course, he also had yet to see any ship this size carry this many small boats. It was an elegant solution as long as none of the ropes snapped. So, of course, that is what had happened. It definitely shouldn't have. Those ropes were sturdy, and small boats were not heavy. It was a strange fluke. Will didn't know if it was his fault, but he had a guilty conscience regarding unlucky coincidences.

Jack crossed the deck, followed by Quinn, weaving around the swabs and riggers. Will tracked her with his gaze, trying to ignore the mixture of feelings that welled up when he saw her. He was glad he was holding a line and had something else to do, or he wasn't sure he could stop himself from talking to her. She looked back at him, their eyes meeting for a moment. A flicker of bitterness passed over her face before settling into a defiant glare. She looked away and walked to the prow with enough swing in her hips that Will knew she knew he was still watching.

She stopped and stood there, grabbing the railing and watching the waves. After a few moments, she pulled Quinn's arms around her. Will raised an eyebrow. It figured. Will wasn't usually jealous, but something about that got to him. He turned away and focused on the job to distract himself.

A human storm cloud came up from below decks, shielding her eyes from the glare and starting to yell before she could even get a good look at the situation. "Mac, did you put those brace pins on the sail beam like I told you to?"

"Aye!" A woman working up on the mainmast called out.

"Then what the hell happened?" The angry woman stalked over to the mast and looked up. She didn't seem to be wearing much. A red strip of cloth was all that kept her from being topless.

"The pin busted!" Mac, the rigger, called out.

"Well, shit," the angry woman muttered. She grabbed three more belaying pins from the barrel, roped to the base of the mast, tucked them into her belt behind her back, and went up the mast like nothing Will had ever seen. She could have given Jack the Monkey a good race. Moments later, she was sitting astride the mainsail beam with the other rigger, and the two of them were looking at something Will couldn't make out. It took them a few minutes to do whatever they were doing.

"Tie it off, take a break," Danica North said to the swabs. The grapple line was looped and pulled into a couple of half-hitch knots around the railing. The swabs relaxed. A few of them looked Will up and down. It was the first time many of them had seen him.

"Are you the new navigator?" a wiry, heavily tanned man with a few flecks of silver in his black hair asked. He looked like he'd gone to a barber and gotten his hair cut and his face shaved when they'd come ashore, but it had been a few days. Stubble was growing. He was handsome and glinted in the eye of someone who knew it.

"Guilty as charged," Will tried to sound self-effacing. He knew word would have gotten out about whose fault it was that they were hauling so many lifeboats. "Will Stirling."

"Harker," the sailor said. "What the hell do we need nine small boats for?" There it was. Will knew they'd hound him about it forever if he gave an inch.


To be continued