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Splintered Light Chapter 1.2: After the Sun Sets

Viktor had come to enjoy the beautiful red sunsets out at sea and his night started with a spectacularly vibrant one. A few short, feathery clouds hung in the air above the horizon creating small rosettes of pink amidst blazing hues of golds and oranges as the sun dipped into the ocean. The Hare knew better than to stare directly at the sight but he was able to get enough glances at it as he moved through the rigging to appreciate the good omen when he encountered it.

Long ago back on Soyria he'd heard one of the village herders always refer to what was called "Pastush'ya Rhume", or "The Shepherd's Rhyme". "Krasnoye nebo v nochnoye vremya eto vostorg pashtush'ye." It meant roughly that shepherds looked favorably on red sunsets. The Ilysean sailors, as it turned out had a very similar rhyme that went "A red sky at night is a sailor's delight." but the basic meaning was the same. Either way, assuming the folklore held true then the Wave Rider would have a pleasant voyage.

After the sun set and the rich, deep purple of the night's sky flowed overhead Viktor continued enjoying the evening by looping an ankle and a wrist in the swath of cargo net he'd had installed to aid in rapid climbing up and down the rigging. From his perch above deck the Hare was able to see far south, following the direction the ship would be heading with his eyes. He enjoyed the warm breeze as it his his face from the side-- a sure sign that they were still tacking, though far less than when they'd left port. Viktor was content to enjoy the breeze and did so for hours at a time.

The temperament of the wind in the South Sea was mixed but one thing was for certain; it was far more temperate than it was in his native homeland and he didn't mind feeling it push through his bodyfur as he hung from the ropes letting the sea pass by beneath him. It was quiet in the rigging, especially at night when scarcely half of the standard crew accompaniment was on shift. In addition to himself, the only other crewmen working high above deck were Nikolay de Sandoval, who was practically on the opposite side of the ship, and the two barrelmen working overhead in the crow's nest.

The Hare made it a point to avoid prejudging anyone but the Greyhound and the Borzoi had a habit of living up to their breeds' stereotypical love of sleeping in. Offers and Moot were usually lazy enough that they preferred to sleep in past wake up call which meant that they, more often than not, got the four hour shift from 22:00 to 02:00. They had taken up their positions perhaps a half hour past and that was Viktor's only indication of the time. Aside from the sound of the air flowing past, the soft splashing when the Wave Rider hit a small wave on an otherwise smooth sea, or the rare word or two that reached his ear from the discussion in the crow's nest, the Hare was able to enjoy peace... until Nikolay whistled to get his attention.

Glancing over his shoulder, Viktor saw that the Husky was perched on a boom; one of his paws was holding onto the mast and the other was pointing down at the deck. Considering the distance between them it would still have been possible for Viktor's keen ears to catch anything the Dog might have had to say, but Nikolay knew enough that a gesture of a paw was good enough. The Rigger looked down at the deck which was lit here-and-there with small splotches of light provided by hanging oil lamps. Within the small island of illumination on the sterncastle Viktor saw Willem looking up at him. The Hare's mood dipped significantly when he realized that he was being called.

Loosing the ropes holding him in place he looked for his easiest descent and found one of the loose guide lines for a sail that hadn't been unfurled. He grabbed hold of the rope and slid down to the deck and approached the old Goat Foreman. He could tell by the way Willem stood that the Goat was going to complain about something so the Hare beat him to it. "Isn't a Foreman's task to focus on the front of the ship?"

Willem didn't bother answering the question, choosing instead to start right in with an order, pointing back toward the front of the boat over his shoulder without even looking. "You need to adjust the staysail."

Victor wasn't about to jump to comply to such a stupid order. "Why do I need to adjust the staysail? It looks fine to me."

The Goat's scowl got even deeper, if such a thing was possible. The Foreman took a step closer, arm, finger pointing at Viktor. "You and your men should be unfurling more jibs. You're costing us speed, Hare."

The Rigger didn't particularly care what the Foreman thought; Rigging wasn't his job. "It makes more sense to use less sail."

Willem was obviously ready to argue; he took a step closer and poked his finger into the Hare's chest. "We want all the sail we can get when there's low wind. YOU're a Rigger-- why do you need ME explaining that?"

Viktor calmly brushed the Goat's hand away from him. "We're making fine time as we are with two, Foreman Zuider. If I have the men unfurl the other two we'll have issues with tacking. I know you're used to running things on deck so, in case you forgot I'd be happy to remind you: the larger the area of your sails the harder it is to maneuver."

Willem snorted and made it a point of sticking a thick, wrinkled digit into his muzzle before holding it up un front of him. He glanced left, then glanced right, then stuck the finger in the hare's face. "See that? It means we're traveling WITH the wind, Bunny. We don't have to worry about tacking if--"

The Hare scowled; he'd been trying to be as amicable as possible with the crotchety old Goat but apparently the Foreman was being his usual self. "We're out at sea and we're not taking a commonly policed trade lane. If we encounter pirates--"

The Goat's snort interrupted his comment. "If we run into pirates we'll worry about it THEN, Viktor. I want all four jibs."

The Hare didn't relent. "You DO realize that it's night time and we don't have a full crew on deck. More sail means sails are harder to handle down here as well as up there."

Willem folded his arms across his chest. "My men can handle it if yours can. Besides, it's not an issue of the ship's not being close-hauled, and since we're sailing with the wind it's STILL not a problem... now do as you're told, Mr. Viktor!"

The Hare took the opportunity to cross his arms as well and Nikolay, who had just started climbing down one of the loose lead ropes paused in his descent, adjusted his grip, and quickly began climbing right back up. Viktor leveled his gaze at the Goat. "Where in the registry does it say a Forman has control of the rigging when there's a Captain, First Mate, AND Bosun still aboard the ship?"

The sound of the Goat's teeth grating would have been audible even if the Rigger didn't have such large ears and Willem's response was practically a growl; it would have been funny due to its bleating nature if not for the fact that the old Foreman thought he was right. "A Foreman ranks higher than a Rigger and you know it, Mr. Viktor."

Victor had been straightening his body up to improve his standing height in a vain attempt to compete with the Foreman, who had over six inches on him. He quickly returned to a more casual stance as he thought of a suitable response. It didn't take him long. "Last time I checked, Foreman, a Bosun ranks higher yet."

The counter was more than enough to get Willem to pause, and it was so good in fact that the Goat did a double-take. "ROLF told you to furl half the jibs?"

The Rigger crossed his arms anew. "Is that so hard to believe?"

The Foreman snorted. "Why would the Bosun be giving orders to you instead of passing them along through me?"

Viktor shrugged. "It's not my place to second guess my Bosun. If you want to know why then go ask him yourself."

The Hare could have stuck around on deck to wait for Willem to come up with a reason to continue the argument but Viktor came to the conclusion that he'd already wasted far too many minutes of a perfectly good night in a perfectly awful conversation. Grabbing hold of the same rope he'd used to descend, the Rigger scurried right back up toward his perch. Willem Zuider had a tendency to throw his weight around even when he didn't really have any authority for backing up his orders and Viktor really wasn't interested in playing that kind of game.

The entire exchange was a waste of time in his opinion, especially since the two jibs that were not in use had haulyards along the deck; the deck crew could easily have handled unfurling them if it was that important to the Foreman. The Goat had wandered off by the time Viktor settled into his spot up in the rigging and a moment later Nikolay came to take a seat beside him, speaking in Soyrian. "What was that about?"

The Husky had a tendency to go back to the Mother Tongue when they were alone which, in the scheme of things wasn't as bad as if he chose to use it around others but, truth be told, Viktor really had no great love of his home nation... not with what it had meant for him in his youth. Despite understanding what Nikolay had said the Hare chose to make him start again. "Use Mehnzilian, Nikolay-- everyone onboard does."

The Husky hung beside Viktor, using the coils of rope around the mast as a pawhold. He continued using Syorian. "You know Soyrian, Viktor... why not speak it?"

The Hare had a number of suitable reasons to provide (and a few not-so suitable ones) but chose the easiest, least likely to cause an argument one. "Because you need to practice your Mehnzilian."

Nikolay blinked, subdue a frown by taking the opportunity to lick his nose. It was a personal trait Viktor realized that the Husky had developed since moving further south... especially as his wholly black Dog nose had begun to develop a pinkness to it; the Hare wondered if it was uncomfortable-- he had no idea what it would feel like if his own pink nose started turning black. The Husky's delay gave him long enough to consider it before Nikolay replied; when the Husky did, however, it was in Mehnzilian. "Fine. I practice Mehnzilian, and you speak to me in Soyrian."

It was another argument worth not having so Viktor relented. He replied in Soyrian to Nikolay's first question. "The Foreman was telling me we need all four jibs."

Nikolay's steel blue eyes shifted from the Hare to the front of the ship where two of the smaller, triangular sails remained flattened in place then back again. The Husky started his follow up question in Soyrian but switched to Mehnzilian. "You... disagreed?"

Viktor nodded. "We're keeping a fine speed. We don't need the extra wind if it sacrifices our ability to maneuver."

The Dog didn't respond for a long moment before finally speaking up. "What did you say to him then?"

The Rigger shrugged, finally shifting his weight so he could sit onto the spar stretched out just below where he was hanging. "He was just throwing his weight around. Don't worry so much about it."

Even without all of the information Nikolay was obviously astute enough to foresee the end result of the argument. The Husky switched back to Soyrian. "He is going to speak with the Bosun, isn't he?"

Viktor responded in Mehnzilian. "Probably."

* * * * *

Dinner with Captain Jacksoni wasn't a common experience for Rolf but it also wasn't entirely uncommon. Sharing the experience with his brother and the good Doctor was new, and it had been enjoyable. Although Alistair made it a point to eat from the same galley as the rest of the crew, the Tiger DID enjoy a few personal items he kept in his private quarters and whenever he hosted guests something always came out; this time it had been a rich bodied wine and some fresh cheese.

Tobias, the younger of the two Severna brothers also had an observation about the fresh cream that had come with their tea and coffee setting. "There are definitely benefits to having a private ice box on board."

Rolf chuckled in response, reaching out to grab his brother by neck and pulling him into a one armed rough-housing hug. "Well, if you're captain you're allowed some luxuries. Makes sense, doesn't it?"

Although Rolf had only known Dr. Brownell for a few months he liked her; the way she gave the two brothers space to do their own thing was just another one of those traits. Regardless, she kept pace with them as they approached the stairs leading down off the poop deck. "You said that Captain Jacksoni's cabin was called something else, Rolf? What was the word again? You called it the--?"

She hung onto the question, waiting for him to fill in the word. Rolf let go of his brother and did so as he offered a hand to help the doctor down the steps. "The cuddy. He also has an office but the cuddy is basically his cabin so nobody'll be confused if that's what you choose to call it."

Tobias stroked the faint tuft of fur beneath his muzzle, batting Rolf's hand away so he could help the Mouse instead. Dr. Brownell refused assistance from either of them and made her own way down. Unrelenting, Tobias offered her his arm, which she accepted. The younger Prong Horn glanced back to Rolf. "So, the captain lives under the sterncastle and the officers live mid ship, and most of the crew live in the forecastle?"

Rolf came to a stop immediately upon hearing his brother's pronunciation. "It's not fore-castle, Budder... it's fawk-sul."

The scientist likewise came to a stop. "No... I read about them. F-O-R-E-C-A-S-T-L-E. Forecastle... not fox-hole."

The Bosun wasn't sure whether he wanted to slap his own forehead or Tobias' muzzle. "It's fawk-sul... not fox-hole and not fore castle. Fawk-sul."

Dr. Brownell butted into the conversation. "So, from front to back--"

Rolf was actually having an incredible time making a game of it all. "Stem to stern."

She didn't so much as bat an eye-- not nearly as fun as his brother. "From Stem to stern you have quarters for crew, passengers, officers, and captain?"

The Bosun nodded. "Aye-- you've got it."

The humor continued a moment later when Tobias asked his next question. "Does The Wave Rider have a plank?"

There were any number of things that the scholar could have meant but Rolf chose the one that had the opportunity to create the most humor. "Sure-- ship's made up of hundreds of em. You're walking on em right now."

Tobias was put off balance enough by the response that he stopped, sputtering as he attempted to rephrase his question. That provided enough time for Rolf to glance back toward the hold, where one of the doors leading below deck opened and Lee, the ship's cabin boy emerged. A moment later he looked back and was joined in the shadow of the doorway by Mr Chen; Rolf didn't have a clear view but the Armourer's smooth movements and glinting felines were a giveaway.

The Bosun missed his brother's clarifying question when he saw the Cabin Boy take hold of the Armourer by his scruff and pull him in close for a rather domineering kiss. Rolf glanced back to Tobias, who, apparently having missed the exchange stood as if awaiting an answer. The Bosun's blank expression must have been good enough for him to realize that he'd have to ask again. "One of those planks that pirates put people on and make them walk it."

Rolf glanced back toward the door, which was closed once again, both parties gone. He answered without looking back at his brother. "That's a gang plank-- most ships have them... in fact, you walked up it when you boarded. And, no-- most pirates usually just slit peoples' throats and throw em overboard... the whole 'walking the plank' thing's just a story. G'night."

It might not have been the most genteel or courteous way to part ways with his brother and his brother's 'significant female friend' but he suddenly found himself with a few questions of his own. The Bosun made his way to the mid-ship, heading for the hatch that would take him down below deck. He didn't quite make it.

The gruff, bleating call was unmistakably Willem. "Bosun! Herr Severna, sir!"

Rolf sighed; judging from the Foreman's tone whatever he was about to discuss wasn't going to be pleasant. Sometimes obligations of leadership sucked.