Chapter 9

Sea Foam

The wind caught the sails and blasted them seaward. Arabella’s Man-Of-War hot on their tail. Waves crashed against the bow of the ship as they sliced their way through the sea. Locke was immediately sent below deck to patch what holes remained and keep the Augustus from taking on water. He grabbed some planks and began nailing them in place as sea water splashed it’s way inside the hull. He had limited intervals, if the plank wasn’t nailed in place in time the ship would crash forward knocking Locke about, forcing him to restart.

Lana appeared at the stairs. “How are we doing down here kid?” The crashing waves nearly overpowered her commanding voice.

“I’m used to dry dock repairs!” Locke shouted back, spitting the sea water from his face.

“Well you better get used to wet dock repairs.” She exclaimed, grabbing the plank he’d just dropped. “I thought you said the repairs were finished… On three okay? One, two, three!”

Locke swung his hammer nailing the plank in place. He tried to swing in rhythm with the rocking of the ship. “Well Vicious made it quite clear you were leaving. What was I supposed to say, no?” Once that plank was in place they moved to the next one and then the next one and before long had patched what holes remained.

“Grab a bucket we’ll toss what we can overboard!” She said looking at the water that had accumulated at their feet.

Locke grabbed two buckets and tossed one at her. They scooped as much water as they could and ran topside to toss it back where it belonged. Locke was singular in his focus. He and Lana made several trips up and down the ship. They dodged crew members and stopped for nothing. It was only on the final trip, once they had made it topside, Locke had total sensory overload. It took his brain a moment to register the sheer volume of immediate inputs. The wind blasted him in the face and the crew bumped into him as he stood in awe. He could smell the fresh sea air, mixed with the scent of the soaked wooden ship and the odor of the hard working crew. The cacophony of yelling and crashing waves clogged his ears. Yet Vicious’ sharp commanding voice rang through.

Vicious barked orders at his men as they heaved on ropes and sails. The helmsman spun the ship's wheel in hypnotic circles. Locke was still struggling to take it all in. Crew members frantically grabbed him for assistance. One second he was helping raise some sails, the next he was tying down cannons. He could barely remember the last time he was this shell shocked. He hadn’t been on a seafaring vessel since he was six years old on the way back from the capital with his father. Yet here he was, back at sea, and he was already in above his head. Being a shipwright, Locke knew ships in and out. From the bow to the stern he could keep the whole thing in tip top shape. Sailing however was not his strong suit. He was definitely out of his depth. He looked around and tried to find Bellamy, something familiar. Yet there was no sight of him, or maybe there was, Locke couldn’t tell.

“What’s our Speed?” Vicious demanded.

Two crew members were hanging off the side of the ship, one with a reel and the other with an hourglass. The one tossed the end of the line into the water and waited for the other to tell him the hourglass had run out. “6 knots captain!” He yelled.

“We need more canvas!” Vicious exclaimed. “Boatswain! Where’s my canvas?”

The Boatswain was standing near the helm of the ship. His black skin shining in the remaining sunlight, a bandana tied tightly around his forehead. “All the canvas is up Captain!” He bellowed back.

“Where are my topgallants?”

“Those sails aren’t rigged Captain!”

“What do you mean they’re not rigged?” Vicious said, visibly upset.

Locke interjected. “I had just finished replacing the yards when the Man-of-War showed up. We got the sails on board but rigging them now would be impossible.”

“Fuck!” Vicious yelled angrily. “She’ll be on us by dark if we can’t gain at least another knot.” Vicious said with absolute certainty.

Off to the port side Locke could see the rough waters and rain that lingered from last night's storm. The dark clouds, still out there, brooding. The winds picked up as they approached and Locke could feel them pulling the ship in.

Lana laid out their options. “At our current speed we can’t stay course, if we bear off the wind she’s got us and if we tack we’ll be heading straight for that storm.”

Vicious vaulted onto the ship’s edge, drawing his spyglass from his waistcoat. He looked astern, the Man-of-War remained hot on their tail, and then at the storm in the distance. “Turn her five degrees into the storm.” Vicious exclaimed. He had made his decision.

“What?! Are you crazy?” Locke questioned. “The patchwork on the hull won’t hold.”

“That bitch is gonna sink us with her front cannons if she gets much closer. Besides, you saw what she did to us last time, the Augustus is not fit for a broadside stand off with that thing.”

“But she’s not fit for that storm!”

Vicious’ demeanor shifted suddenly. “We’re gonna skirt it kid,” he said, a wide grin across his face.

“Skirt it Captain?” Lana interjected. “Winds like that will pull us straight in, and if they don’t they’ll shred what remains of the rigging.”

“You said it yourself, we don’t have the knots.”

“It’ll totally dismast us, It’s suicide!”

“Precisely why they won’t be able to follow us.”

Vicious winked at Locke, his sheer confidence at the helm was undeniable. “Reef the sails men. I want everything we have pulled taut.” He barked orders and the men obliged.

“Reefed sails? We need to take them down! It’ll be impossible to furl them in that storm! The bow’s gonna dig in, and what remains open will drag us into the drink!”

“I escaped em last time, and I’ll do it again this time.” Vicious said unabated.

The crew reefed the sails as commanded; Shrinking their surface area and pulling them as tight as they could. The Augustus came to slow just before it hit the windline and lurched forward. The crew was tossed backwards as the strength of the storm gripped its freshly taut sails. The mast threatened to dislodge but it held too, for now. As they picked up speed the bow plunged downward attempting to submerge itself. Waves began breaching over it; crew members tying themselves off with lifelines so as to not get dragged overboard as the ocean ragdolled them across the deck.

Locke saw the tailing ship bare off to starboard, pivoting out of the storm’s path, foregoing the chase. The crew of the Augustus had escaped one danger and were now headed directly into another. The beasts frothing maw lay agape as they sailed straight into its embrace.

The wind howled around them, its harsh pitch, deafening. Rain flurried in their faces, nature’s unrelenting blunderbuss threatening to pierce their skin. Their hands their only protection; warding off the devil’s screams. The sea sprayed upward from all directions making their eyes as useless as their ears. Sea foam filled the air, as oxygen became increasingly scarce. Locke couldn’t breathe, his airways were flooded with the blue’s burning brine. He clutched the ship’s rail attempting to steady himself, it’s slick surface sliding in his drenched palms, he had never felt so helpless. Soaked to the bone, not a single one of his senses were working. He gasped what air he could before slamming his mouth shut.

A gargantuan wave rocked the Augustus to its core. The gale that created it grabbed hold of the canvas, dragging the ship’s mast parallel with the horizon. Locke smashed into the guardrail, as direction became meaningless. The newly fitted yards dragged in the ocean, the mast creaked and cracked under the pressure. They crested the summit and were violently launched back across the deck as the weight of the ship cleared the fulcrum. Latching onto a rope as he slid, Locke clung to it with all his might.

Vicious had planted himself at the helm, straining to resist the wheel’s savage tendencies. His stoic figure, a mere facade for the adrenaline and rage burning inside. His fury, determined to overpower Poseidon's wrath. The ship raced along at remarkable speed as Vicious imposed his unbending will upon the ocean; keeping them several degrees shy of total disaster.

The violent rocking slowly died down. Locke loosened his grip on the rope that had most certainly saved his life. His heart was pounding through his chest; his blood racing through his veins. He opened his eyes wide. He felt alive again. The Augustus had rung itself around the eye of the storm and came out on the other side still intact.

As the ship slowed and the moisture left the air, Locke began coughing up the burning water that had been marinating in his airways. He took in two deep breaths before finding himself hanging over the half-wall, vomiting up Lenore’s homemade sandwich, with some other crew members who were also losing their lunch.

He felt a few swift pats on his back as his vomiting came to a halt. Locke stood up and there was Bellamy’s stupid grin, laughing at his friends misfortune. “Still finding your sea legs huh?” He said rhetorically.

Locke straightened up and laughed along. “What happened to you? I thought we lost you for sure.” Locke said putting his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, before hunching over the railing to throw up one last time.

“Oh please, I’ve faced worse storms while out fishing. A little sea water in your lungs will put some hair on your chest.” Bellamy jested.

Vicious walked over to the two boys. He seemed quite proud of himself. “I’d like to see her try to follow us through that.” He said confidently before looking down at Locke. “I’ll be honest, I had my money on fishboy hurling first.”

Locke stood up. “I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve been at sea.” He said, still grappling with the pit in his stomach. “But that was some sailing back there, where’d you learn that trick?”

Vicious laughed. “The sea is just a wild animal that needs taming. The great captains of the west used to sail straight into a storm's eye to assert their will.”

“I guess that maneuver is a little out of your league then.” Bellamy interjected.

“I wasn’t trying to wait out the storm, fishboy, I was shaking those imperial bastards off our tail. Besides this puts the Augustus on a direct course for home.” Vicious asserted.

“Hmph.” Bellamy exhaled. “Where does she make berth anyway?” He asked.

Vicious patted the boys on the back with a thud. “Carthage, my friends.” He said with a smirk. “A haven for those the empire has branded as pirates.”

“But Bellamy and I aren’t exactly pirates.”

“Tell you what, you keep the Augustus in good shape and we’ll make pirates out of you yet.”

Locke looked a little puzzled.

“You’re our new shipwright kid. And I’m pretty sure you’ve got some fresh holes to patch up.”

Locke nodded. Visible excitement plastered across his face. “Aye aye Captain.”