Chapter 12: Blood, Fish, and Saltwater

Blood, Fish, and Saltwater

Sprite was apparently not considered a ‘lively’ boat, still she (boats are all apparently women according to the captain) seemed to rock alarmingly easily in the small waves we encountered once free of the harbour. We did manage to pass ‘The Spit’ before nightfall, and Jacques lead me and Ellen through raising the little sail, allowing Sprite to catch the breeze and sail downwind to the west. The men ‘shipped’ the oars and tied them down in the coming dark before lying back against the hull and Jaques tied off the big oar he was using to steer the boat with.

“Sunrise be soon like, git’ some rest.” Our captain was a man of few words and I recalled what he’d said earlier about us asking him incessant questions and bit my tongue. Ellen seemed to know most of what was happening anyways, even so far as to shift about and out of his way as he climbed about; tying off the wood beams that supported the little square sail.

Rupert was queasy, and complained of it until he vomited overboard. Then he just groaned and hung his head over the side in the dark. The moon had not yet risen, and I chided myself for forgetting that Chaos had no moon, when I felt a small hand upon me. A familiar smelling head brushed my face as she unbuttoned my trousers and inhaled my cock. I sat rock still, never having done this before with her but in no way was I going to complain. She lacked skill, but had obviously either seen it performed or taken some verbal instruction. I would bet that it came from Diane, since she was attempting to do that thing with her tongue that Diane always did just to get me off quickly for the first time.

It worked as well as it normally did. I let out a sigh just before I let out my seed, little Ellen gamely swallowed, managing not to make much noise during the whole interlude. I was quietly sucked clean and buttoned back up. Drifting off with her head on my chest, I wondered why I didn’t bring a comfort woman along before?

I kept expecting the moon to come up behind us but knew it would not. If a man wasn’t all that familiar with the stars, then seeing that Chaos had no moon was one way to convince them that we weren’t on Earth. What a great number of stars we could see when they weren’t drowned out by the white glow of our moon.

Jacques adjusted the ropes on his oar, and promptly nodded off again. Having no choice but to trust his reckoning of the situation, I gave myself up to sleep again for the rest of the night, stirring occasionally as either Ellen shifted, or someone puked overboard. The rocking of the boat, the creaking of the wood and the rhythmic slapping of the waves all combined into a soothing peaceful orchestra, and I slept better than I ever had on Chaos.

Sunrise over the water is an event not to be missed. If you can, see it at least once in your lifetime. A false dawn grows slowly; the stars in the sky dim and your eyesight switches back to daytime. Just then, a small piercing dot that blasts your eyesight pops over the horizon in the distance which quickly turns into an arch, and all of a sudden it is day.

I looked over the packs, they were dry and off the bottom of the boat. Tom was scraping the water up using a small cup and tipping it overboard. Besides the creaks of the wood, and the cry of the odd bird, it was peaceful. “I am liking this so far, how about you Ellen?” I asked the sleeping head on my lap. She had just laid her head down on my lap eventually, after having trouble falling asleep while seated.

“I always wanted to be involved in father’s business, my brothers were, and I was so jealous. The boys were sent to be crew on his best boats and came back with stories of adventure and all the places they had gone while I was at home learning to sing, dance, hold witty discourse.” She said wistfully. “Now I’m a camp girl, keeping my voice low and dancing about the packs and the boat.”

“I appreciated your version of witty discourse after the sun fell...” I whispered.

She giggled quietly, I gazed about and saw everyone studiously avoiding eye contact. “That was a definitely more recent training. Old madam Sonai the comportment instructor would never have taught that, though she might have known how. After all, she did manage to keep the house and business together for over twenty years after her husband passed.”

“Up you get and feed the camp, wench!” I said louder than before. I knew she would take it as teasing, and the men really would need a morning meal. Breakfast was simple watered wine (warm but clean) and some provisions from the Inn. We wouldn’t be full, but today would probably be a quiet day anyway.

Well ... it was quiet at least. Except for the creaking of the oars and the odd grunt of us rowers it was nearly silent. The wind had shifted, and the sail was hauled down as the oars were put out. We rowed in shifts and even Ellen put in the odd hour. By the time the sun was setting my back ached and my palms were burning where they rubbed on the oar.

“T’morrah we’ll make Sheet harbour. We kin take on mere water ‘n may’b sell summat too. Not mere din two dozen men inat port d’o”. Jaques spoke for the first time that day since breakfast when he pointed out the coast we would follow to Black Harbour on the second leg of our journey.

It was small comfort as we sat in the oar seats.

Night fell again after another cold meal. Jaques and Ellen spoke about putting up the sail overnight. I got the feeling that Ellen’s family prioritized speed while Jaques’ focus was on safety. I suppose you don’t get to be an old sailor by taking risks. Much like being an old Hero. I tried to lead the group through some stretches but the space was very limited. The day’s exercises left me less tired than the others, despite taking more shifts at the oars than anyone else. I thanked Diane silently as the others (Ellen included) groaned while they shuffled about and made themselves as comfortable as possible.

This time it was my hand on her in the night. Snaking up her long dress, she put up a token resistance against my fingers. Though she didn’t cry out, anyone still awake couldn’t miss her labouring breathing. If they had, her shuddering against the gunwales would make our actions obvious. I was bemused as she clung to me with the aftershocks, thinking again just how much fun she was to have about. A woman from Cassandra would have screamed herself hoarse, distracting the men and riling them up. There was quite a pleasant difference and I enjoyed teasing (and pleasing) her without it having to turn into yet another marathon fuck-session.