Hidden Island Chapter 16, part 2 of 3

Hidden Island
Chapter 16, part 2 of 3

"A magic trick," Will said with a wry grin.

"I hope it involves you turning invisible. Lace wants to hang you," Harker chuckled.

"Usually, people have to meet me first before they want me dead. Who's Lace?" Will asked.

Harker gestured with his head toward the mast. "Take a guess."

"She's your rigging master?" Will asked. "I hear there's a betting pool."

"I have five crowns down on you dangling by the ankles from the boom, so if you could try to steer her in that direction, I'd appreciate it," Harker smirked.

"I'll see what I can do," Will half-chuckled, half-sighed.

Up in the rigging, Lace started climbing out on the mainsail beam, a considerable length of coiled rope looped diagonally across her chest. Will's brows rose.

The Kestrel was a Caravel. She was a small, agile vessel designed to be easily configured for different sails. As such, she didn't have a large, sturdy sail beam permanently affixed to the mast.

Her mainsail beam was lightweight and tied in place to be hoisted more easily. Will guessed it wasn't any larger across than three inches, and Lace was climbing.

The higher up on a ship you got, the more the motion of the ocean translated into movement. If you were in the crow's nest, you constantly moved back and forth. The further out on a beam you got, the more a ship's natural swaying caused elevation changes. Out on the end of a beam, you would move up and down instead of back and forth. High up, out on a beam, was a person's most unstable place.

Riggers usually worked slowly and had dual safety lines that they constantly re-tied as they worked. Lace did not.

The sail beam was raising and lowering and also swinging laterally. It shouldn't have been doing that. Will suddenly realize what line had broken.

In a square sail configuration, the four outer corners had stabilization lines that ran to the ship's rear to keep the sail from pivoting freely. They could be given slack or hauled on to change their angle and help steer the boat or move forward despite a headwind. That kind of steering was called 'tacking.'" It always reminded Will of the dual-string kites he used to build as a child. It was one of those tack lines that had snapped first. The sail beam could swing forward on that side with nothing to hold it steady.

Lace lay across the beam, moving forward like a lizard, riding out the beam's constant dips and back-and-forth swinging.

She was hauling what Will guessed was a forty-pound coil of rope slung diagonally across her chest. She reached the end, sat up straddling the narrow beam, hooking her feet into the sail itself, and pulled off her coil of rope. She looped it over the end of the beam and let it hang, then started to untie the dangling, broken line.

"She's impressive," Will said.

"Aye. She's Akula. We joke that she's a half-spider," Harker said. He leaned against the rail, hooked his arms into the rigging ladder, and watched Lace work.

"I haven't met many Akula," Will said. Up above on the other side of the ship, Lace called out and then dropped the broken length of rope.

"Me neither, but the ones I've run into are all born sailors with a mean streak a fathom deep.

Superstitious as anything, too," Harker said while watching Lace work. "With her, it's like she's trying to outdo the rest."

"Wonderful," Will sighed.

Lace knotted the coil to the end of the sail beam and then tossed it out across the rigging ladder toward the aft of the ship. Will was surprised at how far the toss got the coil of rope. It was a heavy line, but her clean underhand lob had it uncoiled through the air perfectly. It cleared the ladder and landed on the deck on the far side with a thud.

Another rigger picked it up and ran it back toward the sterncastle, where they'd already cleared away the other half of the broken line. With a few quick heaves and a tie-off, the sail was secure again.

Lace waited until the line was done being tied off, then pushed herself into a crouch on the end of the narrow beam and jumped.

The rigging ladder was about five feet away from the sail beam, but a leap like that was impressive and dangerous. If the ship had rolled or shifted at the wrong moment, she could have tossed herself sixty feet into the ocean or, worse, to the deck. She caught herself on the rigging ladder and went down to the deck. She had to squeeze underneath the tack line because it was so close to the ladder. Will's brows furrowed. That didn't seem right to him. Lace dropped the last few feet to the deck.

"She does stuff like that often?" Will asked.

"All the time," Harker said.

"She's breaking every rigger's rule I've ever heard of," Will could only shake his head.

"Try telling her that." Harker wandered away to join another group of swabs. Lace was crossing the deck, and apparently, he had decided to go elsewhere.

Her gait was like a dancer crossed with a cat. Most sailors were graceful in a relaxed, loose-boned way, but she walked like the ship was moving right where her feet wanted it to be. There was a sharp-edged confidence in her. She wore loose grey trousers with dozens of tight, neat stitches holding together places where the fabric had torn. They'd once been black, but the color had long since faded. Her shoes were little more than slightly padded leather slippers laced across the ankle and top of her foot. A wide belt hugged her waist, dotted with closed leather holsters with small tools. At the small of her back was a vast, squarish knife that Will had seen used in sugar cane fields. It was like a short machete with a sharp hook on the back. She wasn't wearing a shirt. Instead, she bound a wide strip of red cloth around her smallish breasts and tied a knot in front.

At nearly any port, it would have been scandalous attire. It was surprising to see a woman wearing so little onboard a ship. Her skin was dusky, like dark caramel. Will could see thin, darker tattoos across her shoulders that looked like spiderwebs. The sides of her head were shaved. The rest of her wavy black hair was pulled back in a short fishtail braid.

"Stare a little harder, swab," Lace said, barely looking at Will as she passed. Will's eyes still followed her. He was just too curious not to watch.

Across her back was a large web tattoo, with a hand-sized tribal-patterned spider sitting high between her shoulder blades.

She scanned the rope ladder and where the rope holding the small boat had snapped. She looked over her shoulder at the sail beam where she'd repaired the tack line, considering. "I knew this was going to happen," she muttered.

Jack walked back across the deck, distracting Will again. He mentally called himself an idiot.

Losing his focus every time Jack entered his field of vision could have been a better habit to get into. She didn't look at him this time. She seemed lost in thought. She stopped in front of the door to the Captain's cabin. It looked like she was about to knock, but she opened the door and entered.

Unexpected feelings of anger welled up. That was his room, and Bella was still inside. He stopped himself. No, that was the Captain's room. He was a guest there. It was where the navigation equipment was. It was more like his office than anything else. Bella could take care of herself.

She and Jack had a lot to work out. He let go of his sudden negativity and found himself hoping that the two of them would make some progress in making up. Then, for the second time in as many moments, he wondered where that thought had come from. Did she deserve his good wishes? No. Not at all. Then why did he have them? Shouldn't he be angrier?

He couldn't muster it, which confused him even more. Jack's presence was getting to him.

Danica North crossed over from where she'd been speaking with a group of swabs. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Aye," Lace said, clearly exasperated. She gestured up to the rigging ladders. "They're too big.

They're too close to the beams and the tack lines."

"Weren't they your idea?" Danica asked.

"Yes, and I still stand by it, but we didn't have time to make them. We had to buy them, and they're made for a ship three times this size. There's a reason Caravels don't have these. I had to cut off the bottom third, and they're still too big!" She pointed to where the tack line was nearly touching the ladder. "It's too close. Even with the tack lines as tight as we can make them, there's still some way to the sail beam. There has to be.

That's why we put the bracing pins at the hinge point." She pointed to where the mainsail beam was attached to the mast. "I was hoping that the pins would keep the mast from pivoting at all, but when the Captain threw her into a list, the force of the jolt just crushed a pin to splinters. So then the mast could pivot, so it did." She pointed to the tack line that had snapped. "It pulled so hard it broke the line there." Then she pointed straight up to where the rigging ladder was near the sail beam, where she had jumped. "So with no tack line, the beam could swing back here. It hit the ladder, which was already holding up the weight of all these damned boats. It's a wonder we didn't snap more than just one."

Danica nodded in thought. "Do you have a solution?"

"I put more pins in to brace the hinge point. There's only so much more we can do there. We want to avoid putting gouges in our mainsail beam.

"No," Danica agreed.

"I'll start making rigging ladders with a narrower profile." Lace continued. "They won't be a triangle so they won't come as close to the beam and the tack lines. The sides will slope, like a..." She made a gesture with her hands, starting at a top point and then arcing downward, struggling to find the right words.

"Like a flat-bottomed teardrop?" Will suggested.

"Aye, like that," Lace said, not bothering to look at Will before continuing. "We have plenty of rope, but it will take a few days. Until then, we have to be careful."

"I'll tell the Captain," Danica turned and headed toward the sterncastle.

Lace called the swabs and started giving them hauling instructions. She got two riggers to help her tie knots. Will kept his mouth shut and helped the swabs haul ropes. A few minutes later, the work was done, and the small boat was hanging securely again.

Lace stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the work she'd done. Her face was locked in disapproval. "What a fucking mess," she muttered. Her eyes locked on the captain's cabin. "Our fancy new Navigator's still in there?"

A few eyes flicked to Will. No one said anything.

"Aye, ma'am," Will said. The swabs glanced at each other. A few of them grinned.

Lace didn't notice. She wheeled on him. "None of that ma'am shit with me, newmeat. I have a name. Fucking use it."

"Well, you'll have to tell me what it is then," Will said with a shrug.

"Mouthy-ass newmeat." She glared, giving Will a solid look for the first time. "I'm Lace."

"Will," he said with a smile.

The Rigging Master rolled her eyes and returned to the captain's cabin door. "New fucker gets the best bunk aboard and sleeps the day away while we're out here cleaning up the mess all this small boat bullshit caused."

"What are all these boats for, anyway?" Will asked Lace. Harker looked at him like a madman.

"No idea. Knowing the captain, it's something fucking crazy," Lace said, sounding resigned.

"You... don't seem like you like it here," Will said. The audience was on the edge of their figurative seats.

Lace turned on him. "You seem fucking nosy for a new meat swab."

"Sorry," Will said. "Didn't mean anything by it."

"Vex is the best Captain I've ever seen. It's one of the best I've ever even heard of. She has an eye for talent and treats her people right. I'd rather be here than anywhere else. None of that means it's a pleasure cruise. Every time she gets new wild hair, I end up having to figure out ways to do shit that no one's ever needed to do before. Like rig nine small boats off a fucking Caravel!" Lace threw her hands up in exasperation and spun on her heel. "I'm going to rip some hide off the newmeat Navigator once they decide they've had enough beauty sleep."

"Have you seen her yet?" Will asked. Harker looked like he was going to choke.

"Her? No." Lace snapped. "What does she look like?"

"Tall. Brown hair in a braid. She wore a hat with a skull on the brim," Will said.

"The one who came on with the nobleman and the green Asura?" Lace asked.

"That's her," Will said. "She just went into the Captain's cabin."

"Hope her maps are better than the rest of her plans," Lace growled.

"Miss Webber! Report!" Danica called from the sterncastle.

Lace left without a word and swayed off to the Captain's beckon.

The swabs let out their collective breath. "What the hell was that?" Harker asked. "You just threw the expedition leader to the wolves."

"We'll see," Will grinned.

One of the swabs said, "I'm going to find North. I need to change my bet."

"North? The First Mate is your bookie?" Will asked.

"Naw, the other one. The Quartermaster," Harker said.

"He didn't mention that," Will said.

"Seems to be a lot of that going around," Harker said, looking where Lace was climbing the steps.

Harker said something else, but Will didn't hear it.

The ship lurched. Jack held herself in the stairwell, her arms braced against either side, riding out the sudden motion. Quinn didn't fight it. He rolled with it and leaned against the wall. Two snapping sounds echoed down the stairwell, followed by a wooden thud. Jack's brows raised.

That didn't sound good.

Once things were stable again, Jack climbed the last few steps out into the sun. The deck was bustling with activity.

"I hope they are quite done with whatever they were doing, throwing the ship around like that,"
Jack grumbled, tipping her head down to let her hat shield her eyes from the sun's glare.

"They were performing a test of the Kestrel's steering capabilities. I told you when they knocked on the door," Quinn said softly, following Jack onto the deck. He didn't make any effort to save his eyes from the sun.

"Was I asleep at the time?" Jack asked.

"You woke up when I spoke with you," Quinn said.

"Did I respond?" Jack asked.

"You made an unintelligible noise and threw a pillow at me," Quinn said.

"So no." Jack walked toward the prow.

"Well, it was certainly a response," Quinn shrugged, following his mistress.

"I really cannot be held responsible for what I don't remember if you tell me while I am quite asleep," Jack said flatly.

"I admit, my knowledge of human behavior is a bit rusty, but I don't think sleeping people throw pillows," Quinn mused.

"They do. Obviously," Jack clarified. She spotted Will standing near a group of swabs. They were hauling on a line, hefting one of the small boats. He was watching her. A knot of frustration welled up in her chest. Talking to Quinn earlier had helped some, but there was a lot of bitterness and heartache. Seeing him welled up so many feelings, she immediately shifted towards anger and pride because they were easier to deal with. She met his eyes with a look that she hoped was defiant and smoldering, then looked away and crossed the deck, knowing he was watching.

This wasn't her. She hated the feelings and the whole performance and felt that any of it was necessary. She wasn't the sort to hold back what she felt, but letting it out would make it impossible to avoid why. If the why came out, Quinn would be in danger. She wasn't willing to take that risk. So she walked—rutted, really—telling Will with her whole body that she was angry and off-limits.



To be continued