Chapter 13: A Black Rock and a Bloody Stump

The wind was our friend again, pulling us along at a rate too great for me to even try at helping Sprite along with an oar. All the better, for I had things to talk about with our captain.

“The innkeeper at the Raven was a generous man, we ate well and he spoke with us at length...” I casually mentioned to Jacques as he hung his arm over the oar.

“H’rd ta ‘magin that ol’ coot had anythin’ ta say what was interestin’ “ Jaques replied offhandedly.

“I do, and it was with interest that I listened to him about the fact that you are one of the last ‘free-traders’ as he called them. Now, I have an idea what is going on but I would rather you tell me why I am here so it is clear to all.” I replied with a bit of heat. This asshole ‘let’ us on his boat at a pittance, even having us pull his oars. Now I had the idea that we were his defence force as well, filling in for men scared or hired away from his boat.

There was a long pause.

“Dammit ... a giant bastard by da name o’ Eric shows up as a trader ‘bout t’ree season ago ‘n boats start dis’pearn. He come back wit’ a damage’d boat’s ‘n half his crew gon’. D’is happen two’r t’ree time a seas’n.” He stopped, shoulders dropped with his hands on the tiller oar. “You’s fighters! I could see d’at ... d’en you need a ride an’ it sorta fell inna place ... I was goin out, mebbe fer da’ last time ... I need’ a crew an’ I figured ya might see me through it.” He admitted. I had thought it would be something like that, the banker back where we’d dropped had inferred that this ‘Eric’ was a troublemaker...

There was silence for a few moments, then oddly it was Rupert who spoke. “Sir, how many normal men can you kill in straight combat?”

“One after another or all at once?”

“Both?”

I thought about it. “Maybe three if they all attacked at the same time, and maybe as many as six if they fought one at a time ... I’d just get too tired.”

“So it’s a numbers game then.” He replied. “Captain, what is the most men we could expect to attack us from a boat?”

“Dunno...” he looked around. “If I was only out’a port fer a day ... maybe twenty?”

“So there are six of us, each shoots two men on the other boat; then my Laird can kill the other six or so...” Rupert said with satisfaction and the certainty that comes with never having really seen battle.

One thing I have learned about exchequers is that they reduce everything to a number; even those things which should never be reduced to a number, like death. Trouble was, we didn’t have any other choice.

“So, Jacques: how many men could this Eric be likely to have with him? We have a rough estimate for the most number of men, what is the minimum number he could have, and what do you think is most likely if we need him away from port? If we have to fight him, I need to make a few plans.” I asked, and everyone onboard looked to him (except for Bill, he was still out cold).

“Well, ‘is boat is the same as Sprite, so the few’st men he’d ‘ave would be five. I ‘spect they might ‘ave nine men tho’ ... double set o’ oarsmen, and Eric. Besides, I rec’on dat’ de’res only eight sailors left in dat port!”

So, somewhere between nine and twenty. I had one first-rate fighter, three second rate fighters, a camp-girl with minimal strength and skills in combat, and Jacques.

We were doomed.

“Jacques, how will they get near us?”

“De’ll t’row hooks across ‘n pull us in t’ill we’re stuck to ‘em”

“Can we cut them free?”

“D’ey got chain fer’ da first few feet.”

“Alright...” I paused. “We have bows and crossbows, and big logs to hide behind. That can help while they are dragging us in. We can also jettison the logs if we need to. Maybe they can cause trouble for a ship trying to close on us.”

“Mebbe...” Jacques sighed without enthusiasm.

His interest perked up after I had him spar with Rupert. He was disarmed and ‘killed’ in seconds. When Rupert mentioned he was the worst of us, Jacques beamed. “Mebbe, jus’ mebbe...”

Hero Billy woke at this point, he was obviously in great pain, but his skin colour looked better. His mouth also worked, and he ran it; cursing me, the Blacksmith, and Ellen. Somehow it was her fault that he lost a hand even though she had done everything in her power to save the damn thing. The healing chambers on Crossroads would grow him a new one anyways, I just couldn’t mention that out loud in the present company.

We sailed on, with some rough plans made and a few drills completed. The timber Sprite had carried out had been traded for a combination of raw wool, and scrap iron. Jacques was adamant that he could trade that back at Little River for a hefty profit ... if only he could make it there in one piece.

Night fell without interruption and since it had been cloudy all day, the night was darker than it had been for the last four nights. I wasn’t surprised when I felt Ellen’s hand on my trousers again. This time she freed me then shuffled so her knees were on the seat with her head hanging overboard. I didn’t need a second invitation, and once again I thanked what gods there were that she only had the normal womanly response. Entrance was wet and easy, the stubble around her little quim had grown in to the point where it added an interesting extra sensation (for me at least) and I simply slowly polled her without finesse but also without the normal slapping of flesh. The other men in the boat didn’t need it rubbed in their faces that I was ripping one off while they were stuck with their hand. It took some time, and I resisted the urge to speed up but when I came it was long and drawn-out, not quite reaching the peak as high, but lasting much longer. I really can’t say what she was going through, but yet she again she wiped us both up and fell asleep in my lap.