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These Hallowed Halls (part I)

In which our heroes are welcomed back on solid earth. chapter i | chapter ii 

The next few weeks were spent navigating more familiar seas; the Numanari Approach took the Maiden and her crew around the tip of Vodacce and the Signore Islands and into the Widow’s Sea and past Castille and Montaigne. From there, she swung North from her Westerly bearings and passed through the Montaigne/Avalon Strait which would take her to Wandesborrow’s docks. The Ivory Maiden sailed at a fraction of her speed, the trip stretching into weeks upon weeks, for all the damage she had endured over the course of her far-flung travels. The crew undertook what repairs they could while at sea, working suspended from ropes and using small saws on rope and wood.

Haru, for his own duties, was put on light work to give him a chance to recover, and this last leg of their journey proved to be an idyllic time for conversing and spending time with Owen. He had begun to learn the names of the men, get to know how they lived and how they enjoyed time away from their backbreaking labor. Lord Berek sent letters with every ship that happened by and part of Haru’s work was to ferry the letters back and forth with Mr. Beckett. The small jollyboat was also put out to sea to allow him to learn more of sails, navigation, and seamanship; it was amazing how much Mr. Beckett knew, at such a tender age. The journey even left its marks upon the young lieutenant; his face and frame grew leaner and less youthful as he entered his teenage years. His face, too, had no shortage of acne and he sought Haru’s assistance in covering and ridding himself of the damn marks.

If Haru evoked fraternal feelings within Lannigan, he in turn treated young Beckett much the same outside of their lessons. The lieutenant’s unfortunate spots were treated with natural ingredients taken from the ship’s stores, Haru cursing the lack of green tea which he swore by. He passed along other pieces of knowledge, too, most dealing with personal grooming and care; he was determined to see Beckett pass from adolescence to manhood as gracefully as possible. (Though the art of shaving would have to be learned from someone else; Haru’s face remained youthfully smooth and he felt uncomfortable imparting what he knew of the practice as what he knew he gleaned from watching Hayes at his morning ablutions).

When not placed in near-constant mortal peril, Haru found that life on the Ivory Maiden was quite … comfortable wasn’t quite the word, as the cramped quarters were just that, and enjoyable didn’t fully fit, either, but there was something to be said for the rhythm he finally settled into. Mr. Beckett proved an invaluable teacher and Haru an eager student; the pair might have presented an unlikely, even comical, picture, but that he came into his nautical own in these weeks spoke volumes to the young lieutenant’s ability.

While his days were spent in the company of Beckett and the crew, and with each passing day Haru found himself liking these rough yet honest men more and more, his evenings were devoted to languid hours with Owen and posing ever more questions to Berek during their dinners. Being so close to Avalon, Haru’s curiosity about the place only grew and nearly everyone on the ship was subject to a seeming unending barrage of questions on customs and beliefs, people and places, history and myth. Hayes’ collective of books were voraciously devoured leading the captain to believe his lover never actually slept.

What struck him the most in these weeks, however, was the truth in the adage of things staying the same despite changing. While he gained nautical knowledge and became more comfortable amongst his Thean shipmates, he retained much of his old ways. His hair stayed long, though by now white was giving way to natural jet black, and on the rare occasion he wore shoes he stuck with the familiar wooden sandals he had come on board with. He still practiced his religion, praying in his room and leaving small offerings to kami and Goodly Folk alike. And though his duties were light, the daily exercise saw lean muscle developing on his slender frame; when he did finally catch his own reflection, Haru was struck by how closely he resembled his brother.

When word came that they would be putting into port and allowed off ship Haru went into a near-frenzy, picking through what few garments he had in his possession. Not since his days attending his daimyo’s court had he put so much thought into what to wear; his fretting might have been a point of mockery, but this would be his first time stepping foot on his new homeland and he wanted desperately to present as perfect a picture as he could. That inborn Crane pride and vanity demanded nothing less.

Forgoing his well-worn wear, he retrieved his remaining secondary kimono from its chest (the formal silk was given a longing look before being discounted; it wasn’t made for traipsing through town) and donned along all the accompanying accoutrements. A lacquered comb, rarely used of late, was run through ombre locks, detangling and smoothing the unruly mess which was left, for now, loose. Over this distinctly Rokugani garb went a Thean jacket, a cast-off that had been tailored to better fit, while his wakizashi was tucked into the obi at his waist. It surprised Haru how odd it felt to be wearing the blade once more after going so long without it.

It was an unusual look, to be sure, but it best represented the transplanted Rokugani.

Orderly lines marched off the ship as the lieutenants unleashed the sailors upon the town. Haru set foot on a stone port for the first time in what seemed liked ages, joined by Mr. Beckett. Stepping from gangplank to solid earth, he was surprised by how unnatural the ground felt to legs and feet now long accustomed to the constant rocking of a ship. Though he had Beckett as company, he hung slightly back, waiting for Owen but also to give himself a few moment’s time to take in the alien sights and sounds and smells of an Avalonian port town.

It was, perhaps, fated that a small voice would cry, “Oi, lads! Lookit that foreign lady!” A small crowd of gawkers appeared, with a smallish dock lad pointing at Haru with an outstretched finger, snaggle-toothed mouth open in a gape.

The urchin and his assembled cronies were met with an indignant look from Haru, though he refrained from comment. He just arrived, after all, and he didn’t want to devote any more time or attention to this unexpected bit of rudeness than was absolutely necessary. Instead, he cast a glance about his immediate surroundings, taking in as much as he could.

Of the most interest were the people, but only because there were so many of them. Sailors, merchants, laborers and lords, Haru watched them all, taking in the differences in their clothing and carriage. Beckett, being close by, was questioned mercilessly about the choices passing strangers made and what it all meant. A Swordsman made a particularly strong impression as he had become quite taken with the notion of Thean dueling thanks to the more romantically-tinged adventure novels in Owen’s collection. He knew little of fighting with a cutlass from seeing Owen in action and his lessons with Beckett, but he longed to see another style especially as demonstrated by a master.

As interesting as the mixing of classes was (and how it boggled his mind that the men he took for lords were not given a wide berth as they passed through crowds) the sight of his first Avalonian woman proved downright shocking. In Rokugan, women’s dress covered them from throat to ankle, with geisha only revealing the back of the neck in a show of subtle eroticism. Here, the entire female form was on display for all to see. Small waists flared into wide hips which gave him enough pause as he tried to work out how this was possible, while throats and the tops of swelling breasts could plainly be seen despite heavy cloaks and capes and, indeed, were the focus of fashion and attention. Curls framed painted faces, the Avalonian fashion favored reddened cheeks and lips he saw, though many ladies carried parasols to protect delicate complexions from the winter’s weak sun.

“Do all Thean women look like this?” He quietly asked Beckett, as if the boy was an expert on the subject.

Beckett flushed and shrugged a shoulder. “Well, that, err, is to say, Mr. Haru, that … I suppose it’s the case?” He offered, looking up to Owen as the captain joined them. He had been the last off the ship, as was custom.

“Not all Thean women,” Owen replied, saving his lieutenant from himself. “There are subtle differences, of course, from place to place and woman to woman.” He gave Haru and Edward a crooked, conspiratorial grin “Well, shipmates, shall we find something to eat?”

Beckett offered a quick nod. “Aye, captain, and right away, I should think!”

“Let’s take the long way, shall we, Haru?” Owen suggested, fully intending to tour through the market. Haru fell into step beside the captain and almost immediately fell behind, his attention diverted by a particularly interesting passing pair. Besides the people, now that they were in the market proper, there were stalls and criers to contend with; Haru seemed intent on stopping at nearly every single one, eyes greedily taking in all to be seen.

His neck craned to see a selection of brightly colored fabrics as they wound their way through the market then, again, to catch a display of kettles and teacups and saucers. So distracted was he by, well, everything, that he found himself rather rudely jostled back as he accidentally ran into the broad-backed fellow before him. Looking ahead, now, all he could make out was a frustratingly large and immobile crowd. Another observation he had been quick to make: By Avalonian standards he was rather short.

Still, despite the mass of people, Haru’s eyes found the Swordsman once more and, now, he took in the brightly colored tabbard he wore over his clothes and the small buckler on one arm. So distracted, he was surprised to find himself surrounded by a ring of people who had taken to staring at him. His appearance had begun to create a buzz through the crowd, beginning with the stalls he had stopped at and moving along, following him unseen like one of the kami. Now, it swirled about him, a sea of wide eyes and gaping mouths and hushed voices pierced by the occasional loudly spoken comment or question. The situation was an uncomfortable one and he quickly cast about for an exit.

Beckett straightened in indignation as more snippets of conversation marking Haru as a very striking woman reached his ears. “Mr. Haru, these bloody idiots think you’re - you’re …!” He seemed ready to take a step forward, though Owen’s hand clapped on his shoulder stopping him.

“I’m sure Mr. Haru can handle his own affairs, lieutenant,” Owen cautioned; he had taken in the size (and easily swayed mood) of the crowd, too.

Beckett seemed to want to protest, but he finally nodded, defeated. “Aye, sir.”

Owen gave his younger shipmate an approving smile, then pointed over the crowds to a sign hanging on a wooden post: The Old Bull. “Seems we’ve arrived. Make way, please!” He called in his captain’s voice, causing the crowd to instinctively part for the trio. Beckett kicked the shin of one of the men who’d been speaking a bit too loudly, sending the man howling and hopping back to disappear behind the crowd.

Ignoring those closest to him, though it was a difficult and trying thing, Haru summoned every once of Rokugani bushido bravado he could and pushed his way through the crowd, one hand resting on the hilt of the wakizashi at his side. More than one person gasped and grunted in surprised disapproval and he heard a few variations of ‘foreign bitch’ thrown his way. And though it was sorely tempting, he said nothing to set anyone aright regarding his gender; doing so would keep them rooted to one spot for an eternity and Haru would rather spend that time taking in more of the sights with his lover and friend.

Thankfully, the crowd didn’t follow them inside. Of course, Haru was made uncomfortable yet again as, upon entering the tavern, the music went through a lilt as people gaped at him for a moment, before slowly turning back to their drinks, food, or fiddle playing.

“I see we’ve been beaten here,” Hayes remarked dryly, nodding to Doctor MacMorgan, already drowsing in a corner set, several mugs stacked and tilted down in front of him.

Looking to where Hayes gestured, Haru suppressed a laugh. “Perhaps we should leave him,” he said, his voice low, “I had thought I escaped his awful playing when we left the ship …”

“If you were dismayed at his playing, I’m not certain what you’d think of his singing voice.”

Haru pulled a grimace, showing what he thought of the prospect. Thankfully, Doctor MacMorgan seemed more suited to drowse in the corner of the establishment. He painted the picture of a large slumbering bear, projecting a feeling of ease in his closed eyes and crossed arms.

Hayes found a quiet table to sit at and called for a bill of fare, which a serving girl brought over. She was roughly the same age as Beckett, though a touch taller and smooth-skinned, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed and no doubt a sight for Edward’s sore eyes. He busied himself with trying to look impressive and well-mannered.

Owen looked over the tavern’s fare, finger tapping his chin thoughtfully as he rattled off the local dishes. “Roast potatoes and lamb … beef and leeks … even Whistwick puddings!” He peered over at Haru with a half grin. “Shall we order them all, so you can try them?”

Haru recognized some of the dishes being rattled off, most of the fare was a mystery, albeit a tantalizing one; he was incredibly curious about Avalon’s cuisine when divorced of the confines of one of Her Majesty’s ships. Surely, no weevils would be found in the bread in what he assumed to be a respectable establishment. He nodded to Hayes’ suggestion, though a sly smile accompanied the gesture. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were trying to fatten me up with all this food …”

Owen laughed, returning the sly smile. “You’re still rail thin, Haru, and after what we’ve been through, some rich food will benefit us all. Or perhaps I’m letting Avalon’s cuisine entice you even further.”

“I’ll place the order, sir!” Beckett eagerly supplied, nearly jumping from his seat.

Hayes laughed and waved the boy along, “Right, off you go to your fair maiden.”

Beckett flushed. “I … I just wanted to make certain everything befits the captain of the Ivory Maiden.”

“Quite, good Mr. Beckett, quite,” came the captain’s wry retort. He removed his hat, balancing it on one knee, and ran a hand through his hair to brush it back. Beckett nodded and strode to the bar. Once Edward was there, and fully engaged with the serving girl, Owen sighed wistfully and placed a hand over Haru’s. “I’m not ready for him to get any older, Haru.”

Haru’s eyes followed Beckett as he made his way to the bar and commenced in an innocent fliration with the girl. Though not very many years separated them in age, he found himself looking on the scene with a bit of wistful nostalgia; to be so young and just discovering oneself and love … Hayes’ hand on his own brought his mind and attention back to the present. Placing his free hand atop the captain’s, he gave him a reassuring smile.

“You sound like a wistful parent … Our Mr. Beckett won’t remain a child forever, but he’s had an excellent mentor and role model in you, Owen. He’ll be a fine young man to make anyone proud.”

“I hope so. The navy is a brutal profession, despite all our pomp and circumstance. Sometimes I wish Beckett’s parents had steered him into politics or …” He stopped, smiling and shaking his head. “But wishes are nothing but phantoms, aren’t they? The Beckett we have now is still a dear friend of mine … and I’m entitled to mourn the passing of his youth.”

Beckett returned, assisting the giggling serving girl with a large platter of bread, hard cheese, and beer. Apparently this would be a dining style much like Jeremiah Berek preferred, one in multiple courses. Haru was relieved, however, that the use of a fork and knife seemed to only be a suggestion.

In mixed company once more, Haru carefully extracted his hand from Owen’s and assisted in the passing around and placement of dishes and mugs. Owen did the same declaring, “Now here’s a proper feast!” He gave Beckett and the young miss a grateful smile; she missed it, all her attention on the young lieutenant. She remained thusly enthralled even after she returned to the bar.

Everything smelled wonderful, Haru was pleased to note, and as the three tucked in, he looked to Beckett.

“Will you be visiting your family while we’re in port?” Owen’s earlier comment had sparked a thought and that was that Haru knew next to nothing about the lieutenant’s life outside of the ship they shared. “Or has your young lady taken all your attention?” This was said with an affectionate, mild teasing. “She is very pretty, after all …”

“Hm?” Beckett was distracted, but quickly recovered. “Oh, well, no. My family’s estate is outside of Carleon. I’ll visit them after we’re done with the admiralty.” He flushed bright red and Owen chuckled, hiding a grin behind a soft roll. “She — she probably sees ten better than me every moment, Mr. Haru. Besides, my father would never approve …”

Owen’s grin faded slowly and he tilted his head. “Lord Beckett isn’t *here*, Edward. Talk to her.”

“I know something of dispproving fathers, Beckett-san,” Haru said, gently, “And I can give you this advice: Your father need not know every detail of your life. Talk to the girl, take what happiness that comes to you when it comes without question. And do not doubt yourself so; she’s casting eyes only at you.”

Beckett took in the advice, poking and prodding thoughtfully at the food before him, before he asked them both in a whisper, “Should I — should I ask her to dance?”

Owen smiled. “That would be a good start, Mr. Beckett. Here.” He dug into his pocket and came out with a shilling, handing it over to the young lieutenant. “For the fiddler,” he explained.

Beckett beamed at him. “Thank you, sir, Mr. Haru.” He nodded to them both, almost tripping his gawky legs over the bench in his hurry.

Of everything that had been prepared and was laid before him, Haru’s favorite remained the simple, soft rolls. The other fare, while delicious, was still too rich and heavy for his taste (and stomach) and, Owen’s comment on his thinness notwithstanding, he had no desire to put on an abundance of excess weight. With an air of grace, he buttered one of the rolls, his skill in handling knives and forks much improved, and directed a question to Hayes.

“Do you ever wish your father had … dissuaded you from joining the navy?” The topic was carefully broached; for all his traveling ‘round the world to be with the man he loved, he knew precious little of Owen’s background and family.

“My father and mother …” Hayes began, taking a moment to dab a napkin at his mouth, “They let me explore. I didn’t join the navy on their insistence. I was only a boy when they were lost at sea. My uncle moved in after that and stands currently at the manor. He wanted me to join the army, I think. But I wanted to understand the thing that took my parents. He never truly agreed with my appointment in the navy.” There was a pain in his eyes, but it was a scar, not a fresh wound. “I’d have made a terrible soldier, all that marching …” A lopsided smirk crossed his face.

Looking up, he met and held Hayes’ eyes, one hand coming to rest briefly against a rough cheek. “I’m sorry for your loss, truly. And just as truly, I’m glad you went to sea …”

“Such things happen, Haru, beyond anyone’s control … but thank you. I’m glad that I was swept along to Rokugan.”

Both had more to say, but the sound of a fiddle interrupted, turning their attention from conversation to what passed for a dance floor in the tavern. Haru had heard some fiddling aboard the Ivory Maiden, from what he could gather the Innish were particularly fond of the instrument, and he much preferred its sounds to the doctor’s contraption. The dancing, however, was completely new to his eyes. Again, on the ship, he had seen singular jigs performed, but never had he seen a couple moving in time to music. In Rokugan, there was no concept of social dance; it was a performing art, reserved for theater or a geisha’s skilled entertainment, and never done with as much earnestness as Beckett and his lady displayed.

The unfolding scene soon brought a smile back to Haru’s lips and, with a touch more enthusiasm than previously shown, he sampled all the foodstuffs that mysteriously made its way onto his plate.

Hayes smiled warmly, thumping his foot on the floor in time to the tune and, suddenly, the entire inn was doing the same. There was something liberating about the closeness of it all, none of the silent pretense of a Rokugani theater, each person a different, solitary mind. This was a riot of good will, people hopping up to join in the dance, laughing.

On a whim, Hayes took Haru by the arm, tugging him up and out of his seat. “Let’s join them, come on!” He said encouragingly, all smiles and good cheer.

Haru squawked slightly in surprise. He would have been content to sit and act as a silent observer; for as inviting as it all seemed, a part of him clung to Rokugani ideals of reservation and decorum. And though he remembered the captain’s boast of being an excellent dancer, he hadn’t thought the man would have them both join the crowd. “Owen, I don’t know if this is a good idea …”

“It’s a terrible idea!” Owen conceded, still grinning widely and leading Haru to where the fiddler continued his playing. “It’s no different than those kah-tahs that Ishoya used to perform,” he said, trying to assure his lover’s worries.

Haru doubted that the dance was anything like Ishoya’s katas, but he kept this to himself. His wooden sandals clopped on the slotted floor, marking a different time than the heavy leather soles on everyone else’s feet. Coming to the edge of the crowd, he cast a somewhat nervous glance at the spinning, stepping pairs. Up close, the movements that had seemed so simple now looked incomprehensible, feet flashing too fast for him to make sense of anything. Looking up at Owen, he said, “I hope you have as much faith in your teaching skills as you do in your dancing, Captain Hayes …”

“I need none of that, Haru, I’ve faith in *you.*” Hayes took his hand, pressing their palms together, his other hand resting at Haru’s waist. The movements that followed were obviously meant for flat-heeled shoes and not sandals, but the pattern behind them began to emerge. This wasn’t courtly dance, it was something done by the peasantry and, thus, it was easier than a nobleman’s affair. Still, Hayes knew the steps well and imparted them with impressive ease. Owen had patience and seemed to know where Haru would snarl the steps and he helped him untangle his feet time after time before the movements became natural.

At first, Haru kept his eyes glued to the floor, trying to mimic the steps Hayes so effortlessly made. It was a slow and, at times, frustrating, process, punctuated with repeated sheepish utterings of “Sorry” and “Gomen” as he accidentally stepped on toes or bumped into another body. However, with enough repetition and warm encouragement from Hayes, he did eventually pick up on the thing. Not for the first time, he marveled at how freeing it was, to be in a place, and amongst a group of people, that had no concept of Face or the rigid social structures of Rokugan. He was free to make mistakes, learn from them, even laugh at his own bumbling.

Owen’s hand at the small of his back, the closeness of their bodies, at times pressed closer if an over-eager pair spun too wide, this, too, was an exhilarating, freeing thing.

“Here’s the fun bit …” Hayes grinned wickedly, taking both of Haru’s hands and stepping back, forming a peak as Beckett and his lady danced through the bridge of arms with a few shouts of joy from the assembled dancers. Out of the corner of his eye, Haru saw Doctor MacMorgan come to life, sitting up and fetching his awful concertina to stand at the fiddler’s shoulder. Both instruments seemed to be made to function in league with each other and the box didn’t sound quite so terrible. Eventually, it was Hayes and Haru’s turn to rush under the expanse of arms, though they had to duck lower to it through Beckett and his companion’s bridge. Once they ended their travel, the song began to die down and people applauded each other and the fiddler.

Haru was approached several times for a shake of hands as they mingled freely with the patrons of the tavern and, after a while, he began to feel more comfortable and he was fairly sure that at least in this place people had caught on that he was indeed a man. They were curious, of course, asking question after question, which Haru answered graciously. He felt less pressed by this group than he had by the crowd in the market. His accounts of Rokugan, and his journey to Avalon, were heavily edited, but he did not leave out the high regard he held for the crew, to a man, of the Ivory Maiden.

After some time, Hayes appeared and Haru apologized for leaving so much unanswered, though he doubted he could answer every question put to him (and in this moment he felt a pang of sympathy for what he must have put Lord Berek through). He followed Hayes and Beckett back to their table and reclaimed his abandoned seat. Picking up his mug of beer, he smiled over the brim of it at Beckett, saying, “You’re positively beaming, Beckett-san. Having a sweetheart suits you …”

Beckett smiled, his face a-glow, and sighed dreamily, “Her name is Annie …”

Owen shared a clandestine smile with Haru at their love-struck’s friend expense. “Well done, Beckett,” he remarked, settling back against the wooden wall of the tavern. Haru had a feeling they would be hearing much of Annie and her various charms in the coming days and weeks.

The music eventually died down, with the fiddler making his rounds and accepting a pittance of coins from each table. Doctor MacMorgan chastised those who didn’t loosen their pursestrings sufficiently and, once the fiddler made his exit, he joined Hayes and Haru and Beckett at their table.

“Ah, gentlemen, what a wondrous afternoon it was. Hopefully the night will be just as lovely.” He eyed Haru with a chuckle. “And you, Mr. Haru! Did you enjoy the little tune we played? The Handmaiden’s Basket it was called; one of the very first songs I did learn on my poor concertina.”

“I did, indeed, doctor!” Haru said, speaking honestly for once on the man’s playing. “Your concertina plays much better on land … The fiddle complimented it beautifully.”

“Yes, yes, but I was told of a good fellow who will look at it … If, that is, we’ll be staying in port until the next noon?” MacMorgan eyed Hayes seriously, pulling down his glasses a hair.

Hayes laughed, nodding. “We’ll take on supplies and we’ve a mizzenmast that needs to be fixed. It should keep us busy a few days before we depart for Carleon.”

MacMorgan thumped a fist on the table. “Brilliant! I’ll obtain a surgeon for my concertina and perhaps inquire about some fresh medical supplies of my own …”

“What are the day’s remaining plans?” Haru asked, glancing about at his companions. “Will we see more of the city?” He tried not to sound overly eager, but it was plain he desired to see as much as possible of this new place.

“We’re free of duty for the time, Mr. Haru,” Hayes answered. “I should get a letter to my uncle while I’m in port.” His tone gave away the fact that this task wasn’t one he much relished the thought of.

Beckett cleared his throat. “Annie will be showing me the sights, so I’m afraid I’ll be indisposed …”

Doctor MacMorgan shook with laughter. “Oh, go on, ye young rogue!” Beckett turned scarlet from his collar to his ears.

Haru weighed his options, teeth catching and worrying at the inside of one cheek; he wasn’t ready to retire just yet, but the prospect of exploring on his own raised some internal concerns. Still, if he didn’t stray too terribly far he should be safe enough …

“I think I’ll strike out on my own,” he said with a decisive nod. “There’s still so much more to see and I would rather not waste the opportunity by going to bed early and alone …” That this course of action would change if Owen were retiring as well would not be missed by the captain.

“I’ll be careful,” he continued, warding off any words of friendly warning. “Though … Should I return here or to the ship? I have no money to pay for a room and it’s been explained I can hardly demand free boarding …” He felt more than a little silly asking the question; surely, the answer was an obvious thing to his more seasoned companions.

“If that’s what you decide, Mr. Haru.” Owen smiled and nodded and he got the feeling that the captain would probably come along once his duties were seen to. “I’ll book the officers’ rooms here in the Old Bull. If you’d like, Haru, you can return here.”

Doctor MacMorgan scoffed. “A crime! Captain, to send a sailor into the city with not even a shilling to his name? For *shame*!” He dug into his coat, producing a few large silver coins. “I’ll donate to this poor man’s warchest!” He slid the coins over to Haru. Mr. Beckett smiled and produced coins as well, followed by Owen.

“My tyrant’s hand, shown to be false, I suppose,” Owen drawled dryly, casting a sidelong glance to Haru.

The small pile of silver in front of Haru wasn’t much, but it was enough to enjoy himself, certainly. He balked, initially, at his companions’ generosity, but finally accepted the coins with a deep, albeit seated, bow. It felt strange, rude, to accept the gift upon its presentation, but he had learned that this was the Thean way of doing things. Early in his and Owen’s romance, the Avalonian had given him a small token and his initial refusal of it had lead to a gross misunderstanding and hurt feelings that had taken days to soothe.

“Domo arigatou gozaimashita,” he said, slipping into the formal words of his native tongue. “Thank you very much, I am greatly humbled by your generosity …” The Avalonian words didn’t seem, to his ears, to convey just how grateful he was. With great care the coins were collected, Hayes explaining each one’s worth, and placed in some secret pocket in the interior of his kimono; Haru knew enough to not carry money in the easily picked pockets of his jacket.

“Think nothing of it,” Doctor MacMorgan assured him, as the trio made their goodbyes.

Owen smiled and nodded. “Perhaps I’ll see if I can find you once the doctor and I have our discussion.”

MacMorgan held up a finger, “… about that advance … the concertina, you see …”

Beckett quickly weasled his way away from the table, disappearing among the tavern’s crowds to be with Annie.

Leaving the others to their own devices, Haru bid them farewell, thanking them again for the gifted money, and made his way out of the Bull to the streets beyond its front door. Looking down the way they had come, through the main vein of the marketplace, he could recall the route that took them from ship to cobbled shore. It was an enticing thought, to revisit the market, but more appealing was the prospect of streets yet unseen. Heading in the opposite direction, then, he set out to see what else the port town had to offer.

[fntstory-blog]

Jaws of Neptune (part IX)

In which a storm is weathered | chapter i | pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv | pt v | pt vi | pt vii | pt viii

Owen looked up to the crow’s nest, naval-honed instinct niggling at him though his attention had been on Haru and doctor. A cry came from that lofty position, “Rocks spotted, toward bow!”

Hayes strode up to the edge of the forecastle, begging a spyglass and holding it to one eye. “Blast it,” he hissed in dismay. “Something’s wrong …”

The cry of rocks spotted pulled Haru’s attention from doctor and captain to the silver sea spreading before them. He followed after Hayes, taking to the ropes rather than deck. There, suspended above deck and sea, he could more easily make out the rocky teeth jutting up and out of the water’s surface.

Doctor MacMorgan stood up, his anxiety quickly rising. “Wrong? I thought this was meant to be easy!” He approached and Hayes handed him the spyglass. The doctor held it to one eye and immediately saw what had captured the captain’s attention. “In Theus’ name - the jaws! They’re closed! We’ve no way back!”

Clambering back down, and Beckett’s lessons were well taught and remembered in the speed and care he showed, Haru rejoined the pair. Looking to Hayes, he asked, “What did Marco-san say about this? Surely, if it’s a … A doorway, it opens? Or can be opened?” Then, thinking of the Vodacce man, and feeling a strong pang of guilt for not having thought of him or his ship before now, “His ship did survive the storm …?”

“Marco didn’t say anything about the rocks. When we passed through, it was open like an archway; did it collapse?” Captain Hayes wondered aloud, his voice going grim. “If the jaws are closed, what does that say about our chances making it home …”

Doctor MacMorgan crowded in on the pair, his voice a dismayed cry, “We don’t have a compass, do we? How can —”

Owen spun, his own voice a bark, “You will be quiet, Doctor!”

MacMorgan got ahold of his rising panic, nodding. The last thing the men would need to hear was his frightened and hasty words.

Glancing back to Haru, Owen shook his head. “I don’t know. We haven’t had sight of Il Tresoro since we came out of the storm …” He frowned, then turned to address the ship’s crew. “Ease off mainsail!” The order echoed down the deck, carried by lieutenants to their workcrews. The sails began to pull back; the ship didn’t slow.

“Captain! The helm!” The helmsman cried out as the wheel was wrenched from his grasp and the ship began to speed, headed straight for the closed jaws. Owen ran towards the helm, his captain’s jacket billowing behind him as the crew moved from his reckless path.

At the wheel, Owen fought it as the helmsman continued shouting, but it seemed to be a losing battle. Spray from the waves revealed they had been caught in a current, some rush of water that would surely batter them on the rocks. He thought of the ship smashing to pieces, his journey ending in horrific failure.

Of a sudden Haru recalled the Vodacce Fate Witch’s warning words and his dream from the night before. For all the good it did him and would do the Ivory Maiden and her crew; he could still make no sense of it. Here were the teeth, just as he had seen and been told, but he could see no way to avoid their collision and destruction …

Except …

Except for that the Witch had told him that he, and Owen, make it to Avalon and their garden of rumor and scandal and the changes that fate had in store for them. She had told him, too, that she and he would meet again in a year’s time, a thing which would be impossible were both, or either, of their ships smashed to pieces in the Seventh Sea.

“We make it back,” Haru said absently. “We have to, she saw it …” He quickly looked up to the sails he only just begun to learn the working of and, spotting his earlier workcrew, struggling with the weighty canvas, he rushed to their aid, though he knew not how much he could give. What he did know, however, was that he would not stand idly by and do nothing; if they did perish here, now, it would not be due to his cowardice.

With a silent prayer to gods and ancestors, he joined the struggling sailors, hands gripping and pulling on rough rope. As the ship came closer to the rocks, a glance at the piled rock revealed something that, to him, was clear as day. There was a gap! Several of the rocks that jutted from the arch had shattered on each other. Broken teeth! He wasn’t sure if Owen could see it, but the canvas was raised as men began to descend from the rigging.

Haru felt a clap on his shoulder; the Highland Marcher. “Good, well done!” He said, climbing downwards, not seeming to be hindered by the kilt he wore.

Taking only the smallest of moments to bask in the Marcher’s praise, Haru turned his head and peered more closely at what he thought he had seen.

Another voice cut through the shouts of the men, that of Beckett. “Get down, you daft man!” He was shouting at Haru, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his cracking voice.

“There’s a gap in the rocks!” He shouted down to Beckett as he descended to the deck. This was the only explanation he gave, dashing past the lieutenant with hardly a second glance, bare feet skidding on the slick wood as he ran towards the helm and the floundering Owen.

Forgoing any formality or pretense at respectability, he crowded in at the captain’s side, opposite the frantic helmsman, face lifted to make himself heard over the crashing waves and cries, a hand pulling at Hayes’ jacket’s sleeve. “Owen! There’s a gap in the rocks! We can make it!” Arm and hand raised, he pointed to the spot he had just sighted.

Owen had managed to wrench the wheel more or less into position, though it took every ounce of his strength to maintain control of the straining instrument. His eyes widened at Haru’s assessment and, in a moment, he nodded, trusting implicitly in what his lover claimed to see.

“Captain!” The helmsman protested. “I don’t see any gaps! We have to come about!”

Hayes snarled at the man, “We’re stuck in a current and the only way is forward! Haru, tell me where to steer this bloody ship!” His hands gripped the wood even tighter, though it seemed impossible, and it was plain to see the scarlet dripping from his palms; several pins had been roughly shattered as the men had wrestled with it.

Haru could see the gap, plain as day. Was it the magic of the Vodacce Witch or was he mistaken? The weather grew steadily worse, clouds billowing in the silver sky and turning it to a shade of iron. The seas began to toss once more, each motion more violent than the last. He could see men going below, as more sailors boiled up from belowdecks, taking their positions as they were hounded by their lieutenants into action. He made out a red coat, too, Pierce, coming up to see what his men could do.

The wind howled now and it was a chilling sound. Not the scream of a storm, but the wailing of one of the dark kami of Rokugan, furious that this ship was not doomed to meet its fate on the Jaws of Neptune.

The directions Haru gave were a mix of naval terms and civilian; his to-date sparse lessons had hardly begun to cover directions, the points of a compass, the measure of degrees on which a ship’s course was plotted. Still, he managed to get the course across, all the while shouting encouragement that they were, indeed, heading towards a gap and not certain doom.

Though his magic had left him, his religious sensibilities had not. With the wind’s howling rising in furor and fury, Haru stood his ground, and invoked a prayer of protection, naming such spirits and ancestors under whose purveyance the Ivory Maiden and her crew fell. A special prayer for strength was uttered for Hayes; all Haru could do was act as eyes, it would be the captain who would, ultimately, steer them to safety.

Things happened in a flurry; there was a furious rock of the ship as Hayes desperately attempted to obey Haru’s callings, the sound of wood being scraped against jagged rock. But after that tense moment, they were through. The temperature plummeted, nearly immediately, and the seas seemed to unfurl their full fury. Once again the Ivory Maiden was tossed and hurled and Hayes handed control of the wheel back to the helmsman.

Once the ship was through the rocky maw, Haru exhaled the breath he had, unconsciously, been holding. He realized, too, that it had been naive to think that the worst of the voyage was now over; having been spared the first storm the ship passed through, the violence he now witnessed was overwhelming in its ferocity. On the heels of this came another, strangely comforting, thought: He and the crew need not stand by and think of what it would be to be washed overboard or have the ship sundered under their feet. There were duties to be performed, vital tasks that left little room for fear.

“Hold fast! All of you! Hold fast!” He shouted over the din, his voice rough and ragged. Men who had been staring, shivering, or in the midst of cries of joy were hammered by freezing water. “Mr. Haru!” He called, clapping one hand on his shoulder, the gesture morphing from a friendly one to something more intimate with the briefest caress. “Well done.” He smiled, a fierce thing that was warm in the sudden chill now fogging his breath. “You’d best go find Mr. Beckett, I think …” He lurched slightly as a wave threatened to pull men overboard as it rocked the already badly battered ship.

The lieutenants were already acting, having the men tie ropes about themselves or head up into the rigging which, by now, was starting to grow hoary with frost.

Holding onto the warmth of Hayes’ smile, Haru slipped and skidded his way back to Beckett, who was rising to his own feet after after having been spilled over by a particularly fearsome wave. “About time, Mr. Haru! Tie yourself to this!” He handed Haru part of a rope and pointed to the sail. “We’ve got to reef her! If the sail’s still in irons, the ship might pitch!”

Haru puzzled the meaning through; right now, the ship was configured to slow down in the face of the wind. Now she was being battered and the sails would only serve as great counterweights to her pitch and roll. The mizzenmast creaked dangerously, men already striving to climb to the top of the rigging. He took the rope and tied it about himself; thanks be had that he had at least learned to tie a knot fast. He then set to, once more, make his way up into the treacherous rigging.

It was a different beast altogether, climbing while soaked to the skin, hands and feet numb with cold, frosted rope stiffening and showing none of the give that had made it so easy before. But still he pressed on, spurred ever on and forward by the sight of his fellows and the knowledge that to give up now was to invite certain disaster and death. High enough, now, that Beckett’s voice was lost amidst the roar of an uncaring, cruel ocean, Haru took his lead from the more experienced sailors, doing all he could to reef the sail.

Three familiar faces were met up here: Lannigan, Swann, and McConnell. Glad to be among friendly faces, Haru threw himself completely into the difficult work, his earnestness and ability making up for his still incomplete lack of sailing knowledge.  

Willing unfeeling, cold-numbed fingers and painfully sore muscles to move in unison he gave all he had, refusing to give into weakness or weariness. Bit by bit they managed to get the sail up. Swann whooped aloud, thumping the mizzenmast with a fist. His joy only lasted a moment, though. With a creaking, cracking sound, the mizzenmast began to sway drunkenly. “Get clear!” Beckett cried from below, but it was too late. The mast snapped, and Haru and his fellows were falling.

The breaking of the mizzenmast seemed to happen in half-time; the sounds it made as it shifted and broke were sickening and Haru’s heart fell to his feet as he tried, desperately, to get himself clear.

When they landed, Haru’s senses were dimmed, his eyes swimming and his hearing buzzing. He could vaguely make out the sounds of shouting from the distance. With slow horror, he found that he was attached to the mast. Yes - the pain from the rope holding him above the freezing water started to make itself known. Beneath him, the water foamed and roared. If he screamed as he fell, he didn’t know, but he could guess that the ribs that had only been bruised were now, partially at least, fractured. Not that there was time to assess the pain robbing him of precious breath, if he didn’t move he would soon find himself lost at sea.

With tremendous effort, and pain lancing his entire frame with each movement, he pulled himself hand over hand up the rope until he was close enough to hook a leg over the broken mast. In agonizing slowness, he hauled himself bodily onto the beam, straddling it; looking up from ocean’s churning infinity and out, he saw ship’s deck and the faces of his fellows. Another look to the mast, the rope at his waist, the ferocious waves swelling and threatening to overtake him told him he had to uncouple himself from the mast and get to the deck.

Hands near useless from cold and nerves and pain, Haru picked at the knot, the thing made even more difficult by the near-constant spray of freezing water. Finally, after an eternity of effort, the rope came undone and fell away. No longer tethered, he once more braced himself, teeth gritted and jaw set, and got to his feet. Without any thought than than “run” he did just that, one foot put in front of the other, building what speed he could until he had passed over the length of the broken, dangling mast. With one last burst of effort and energy, he jumped from jagged edge to the deck, landing with a heavy thump and rolling to one side.

Fully realizing what he had just done, and ribs screaming in unbearable pain, he got up on one elbow and retched.

“Haru!” Hayes’ voice was approaching, cutting through the chaos like a sword. “Your leg!”

Still muddled from this latest brush with death, Haru was slow to realize that he hadn’t cleared himself fully from danger. Slowly the pieces came together; the rope twisted about his leg, Hayes’ shouts, the sensation of being drug backwards and back out to the sea that so desperately wanted him. Scrambling desperately, instinctually, he searched for any purchase, but found none; the deck was too slick and his hands slapped helplessly against the waterlogged wood.

Hayes’ appearance and saving grasp came like a miracle, infusing Haru with hope and determination. Gripping the captain’s arm tightly, he tried to position his battered legs so the captain’s swinging blade could better hack into the rope. All this soon proved to be for naught; stomach once more lurching, he felt himself, and Owen, being drug mercilessly across the deck, waves crashing over them like searching, greedy hands. For one terrifying instant it seemed they would both be lost, the Fate Witch’s predictions coming to nothing. “Save yourself!” Haru heard himself say, a note of desperation in his voice, “Let me go! Owen, please!”

It was as if the sea quieted for a moment, and he could hear Owen’s shouts as the sword bit into the rope, his voice hissing through clenched teeth, “You won’t take him from me! I won’t LET you!”

The mast pulled further and both Owen and Haru were pulled with it. A mixture of shock and fierce determination still rode in Hayes’ eyes; he would try to the last breath.

“I’ve got you, Captain!” Came a gruff voice from further up the deck. Pierce had dug a fierce little boarding axe into what remained of the mizzenmast of the ship, trusting the old weapon to bite as deeply into the wood as it had with his foes. He grabbed Hayes’ arm and, with a final stroke, he severed the rope before it could grow taut and drown captain and passenger in this sea between worlds. Freed, all three collapsed on deck. Pierce helped Hayes to his feet and Owen, in turn, gently assisted Haru to his.

Pierce and his axe had appeared so suddenly it wasn’t until the mast had been fully chopped down that Haru realized he and Owen had been saved. On his feet, again, it wasn’t long before he broke down in emotionally exhausted, relived sobs. Face pressed to Hayes’ chest and hands knotted in the soaked wool of the captain’s jacket, he didn’t care about preserving some abstract concept of Face and dignity, or what the crew might think, or projecting an air of cool, uncaring masculinity; he had been nearly killed three times over and it was this last experience that proved the breaking point.

Hayes took a moment to remove his coat, wrapping Haru in it like a sodden blanket. The interior was still warm, at the very least. Owen’s hand rested on the crown of Haru’s head, abandoning thought of what his men might think at the show of affection.

“Captain!” A voice from the rigging called from above. Hayes glanced up at the cry as the voice called again, “Land! Land, Ho!”

Everyone who could stand moved towards the deck’s railing and beheld stark brown mountains rising, seemingly, from the sea and ringed by specks of islands. Haru felt Hayes’ shoulders wrack once in a silent sob of his own. “Thank Theus. It’s Thea. It’s beautiful.” Then, his voice rising for the crew, “It’s Thea!”

The cry of land did much to soothe Haru’s threadbare nerves, as did the weight and faint familiar scent of the captain’s jacket on his shuddering shoulders. Still, it was some minutes before he was able to regain some control of himself and stifle the sobs that wracked his sopping wet, slender frame and longer still before he relinquished his hold on Hayes.

The effect was immediate and profound, the crew cheering and breaking out into fits of dancing, weeping, or leaping. Even Pierce took a moment to wipe a single tear from his cheek, otherwise, the intimidating Marine stood tall at parade rest. Mr. Beckett’s presence was announced as he joined Haru and Hayes with a bump; the lieutenant was so relieved that he merely joined in their embrace, weeping tears of his own.

Cuffing cheeks dry, Haru freed one arm to wrap around the young lieutenant’s shoulders. “You did it, Owen,” he said at length, “You brought us home.”

“No, you did. We’d have smashed on the rocks otherwise,” Owen was quick to point out, smiling.

Giving the captain’s hand an affectionate squeeze, he finally disentangled himself from the shared warmth of their embrace; after all, he had never seen Thea and he wished to clap eyes on his new homeland.

The next moments were a blur as Hayes shouted orders, though he still clung to Haru. The wounded ship began to limp across these familiar waters and, soon, she was joined by smaller ships. Sailors shouted greetings and well-wishes, to say nothing of surprise at the Maiden’s sudden appearance. It was through this exchange that the crew discovered they had come out near the scattering of islands belonging to the Empire of the Crescent Moon. Though she was still over 3000 miles away, Avalon seemed, to this beleaguered crew, to be just over the horizon.

Doctor MacMorgan and Lord Berek appeared on deck, drawn by the whooping and calmed weather, and exchanged a terse handshake.

For now, it seemed their harrowing trip had finally come to a close.

Walking proved difficult, once more, and before he made it to the ship’s rail, Haru had a hand pressed to his side in an attempt to relieve the pain there. On his way, too, he stopped by Pierce. Already, he had thanked two men for saving his own life, but the marine deserved a special thanks. Straightening as much as he could, he regarded Pierce, his expression softer than it had been the last time they had spoken.

“I owe you an apology, Pierce-san, for my earlier, harsh words. More than that, I owe you thanks beyond … Beyond words, to be truthful. Thank you, for saving him.” ‘Him’ could only be Owen Hayes and the importance he placed on the captain’s life had to be, by now, plainly obvious if politely ignored. “I was wrong to pass judgment so quickly and humbly ask forgiveness …” Would his beaten and fractured ribs allow it, Haru would bow in a show of deep respect. As it was, he stood, salt water puddling around his bare feet, face lifted to look the marine in the eye.

Pierce regarded Haru with an impassive gaze and he sniffed out of a single nostril. “Think noting of it, sir. It’s as the captain said. Y’saved us.” He appeared to want to remain silent, but he looked down, a rare break of humanity in his normal statue-like demeanor. “He risked his life to save you, sir. A fine man, that captain.” Perhaps that was all it had taken for Pierce to accept him, a single act of selfless bravery for a member of the crew. He eyed Haru in return, before assuming a more open stance, his posture relaxing. “Unless I miss my mark, I believe the captain will be brought before the Royal Navy for a long debriefing. We’re to port in Carleon, then. Lovely town; s’where I was born.”

Indeed, Owen was acknowledging something from another ship, and he offered a wave before returning to the poop. “We’re headed to Carleon, then. But before then, it’s Wandesboro for repairs and a rest. Mr. Beckett!”

The young lieutenant snapped to attention.

“Inform the men that we’re setting sail for Wandesboro.”

“Wandesboro?” Haru looked from captain to lieutenant, trying to discern the importance of this place; Beckett’s smile said there was something special about it, but Haru was lost. The place name of Carleon meant little enough as well, though he supposed that was where the Royal Navy were housed. It occured to him, just then, that if they were to debrief Hayes as to the voyage of the Ivory Maiden, they would want to speak with him as well. After all, who better could corroborate the tale of crossing the Seventh Sea and making contact with Rokugan? He hoped that before any meeting took place he would be allowed to make himself presentable; he would not go before a foreign governing body in second-hand, salt-stiffened sailor’s kit.

Mr. Beckett’s face nearly split in a smile. “Aye, sir, aye!” He hurried off, shouting above the din of the men.

Owen straightened before Pierce, offering a hand to the marine, who took it and shook. “Well done, sir,” Pierce nodded soberly and Owen returned his gesture.

Glad to see Pierce and Hayes making peace, Haru continued to the ship’s rail, steps slow and shuffling. He wondered, too, when he would no longer be in some degree of pain and, briefly, missed his ability to heal hurts. Standing at rail’s edge, he looked out on the calm water and looming grey-brown mountains of the Crescent Empire. The other ships passed by without much notice as he kept his eyes on this fabled land he had chosen over the familiar realm of Rokugan.

He stood there in silence, thoughts and emotion an all-encompassing jumble of doubt and fear and exhilaration and curiosity.

[fntstory-blog]

Jaws of Neptune (part VIII)

 In which there is a calm before the storm | chapter I | pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv | pt v | pt vi | pt vii

Haru’s dreams were strange that night. He dreamt of broken teeth and tempests and the haunting, unseeing eyes of the Vodacce Fate Witch. When he awoke, it was to a pounding on his door and Mr. Beckett’s voice coming from the other side.

“Rise, if you please, Mr. Haru! I run a tight ship!” Hard wooden soles shuffled outside the door, more than like the young lieutenant pacing back and forth. “We’re going up in the rigging, so it’s shoes or nothing!”

Haru rose slowly, though it was still with more speed than he would have demonstrated were he comfortably back home. The alcohol from the night before had his head feeling cotton-stuffed and his throat dry. With some dismay he realized he had fallen asleep fully dressed; a first in his life.

Splashing some water on his face - there was still some in a pitcher from some days before, he couldn’t rightly recall - he pulled his hair up into a topknot and set to answering the door. His ribs still ached, as did his head, but he would work through both.

“Good morning, Mr. Haru,” Beckett said brightly, eyeing his newest charge. “Come along, then.” He began to walk briskly out onto the deck and into the odd silver light. “I do trust you remember some of the knots you were able to untie, because we’ll be tying some today.” A grin broke across his face at the prospect.

Dutifully, Haru followed the lieutenant across the deck, nodding at his question before remembering himself and adding a “Yes, sir.” The words sounded and felt strange; he counted Beckett more a friend than a superior, but it was how things were done here on the Ivory Maiden.

Without much ado, Beckett hopped up into the rigging, pulling himself up as agile as any monkey despite his clunky shoes and woolen uniform. “Come on, then!” He called, spurring Haru on. A few men were sitting atop the smaller mast they ascended; the smallest of the three on the ship. “This is the Mizzen-mast and, like the others, she’s tall to catch the wind!”

At first, Haru’s climbing was slow, painfully so for the more experienced Beckett, but the novice sailor didn’t much relish the thought of escaping a beating death to only do himself in through carelessness. However, as he grew more familiar and comfortable with the precarious perches the ropes presented, his speed and dexterity increased.

Strange as it might have been, Haru found that his time in his daimyo’s court helped in this new task. There he had need to remember not only faces but names and titles, familial connections, enemies and lovers, peculiar interests and eccentric dislikes. This attention and retention of detail served him now in recalling the names of the crew he met as well as the strange names for the ship’s anatomy.

Once they had reached the top of the mast, there was a crossbeam and Haru saw where the ropes on the deck actually lead. It was so much more complex than the Rokugani vessels he had sailed on back home. The two men he sighted were not familiar and Beckett grinned down at him as he made the introductions. “Mr. Haru, this is Swann and MacConnell.”

Swann, a ginger-haired man with small and flinty eyes muttered a greeting. MacConnell, larger than his fellow and sporting a dark beard, wore what appeared to be a skirt and offered a curt nod. “Laddie-buck.”

Swann and MacConnell were greeted with a polite “Good morning” and smile; he was still unsure what the proper protocol was amongst the crew. The captain he knew was greeted with knuckles pressed to the forehead and a deferential ‘sir’, Berek rated low bows and a ‘m’lord.’ But amongst the men, he had witnessed curt nods, hurled insults, and cheerful words; having no real experience amongst the more common elements, it left him slightly off-balance socially.

Over the next few hours, Haru got used to moving around on the net, raising and lowering the sails, and learning where the ropes went to the deck. By the end, his arms and legs ached from holding onto the rope, but much of the mystery of the men’s duties were beginning to unravel.

Pausing in his morning’s work, with Beckett’s leave, Haru turned his attention from sails and ropes and masts and looked out on the water come sky. Though they were far removed from its shores, he could almost believe that any one of Rokugan’s sea demons and spirits lived in these sterling seas.

A series of bells rang and lunch was called for, interrupting his reverie and bringing to light that he must have slept through breakfast. He was informed that he would dining with the lieutenants, a group that weren’t much better than the men. They were all younger, teenagers by and large, their elders having been lost during battles at sea and their time in Rokugan. Lunch was a less formal affair than dinner the previous night and Haru, unfortunately, experienced the food of the common man.

A cut of beef, still somewhat rare and smelling of salt, a serving of nearly wilted vegetables, and a hard roll which, to his horror, contained a weevil. Beckett laughed, pointing with a fork at the invader. “Here, now, you’re evicting him, Mr. Haru!” The lieutenants shared a laugh, only somewhat at his expense.

He took lunch as well instride as he could. Self-conscious not only for his unfamiliarity with the younger men, but also because of what had just transpired between Barrows and himself, Haru did his best to answer the questions put to him. The lieutenants were a friendly, curious bunch and put just as many, if not more, questions to him regarding Rokugan as he had put to Berek and Lannigan the prior evening. The food presented was only partially eaten and, then, only because he knew he needed to eat something to avoid fainting from hunger during the day.

As lunch ended, the bells rung again and everyone fell back to formalities in the face of resumed duties. Each lieutenant filed out of the mess hall, returning abovedecks and to his workcrew. Mr. Beckett approached Haru, a wry smile on his be-freckled face. “I hope lunch wasn’t all that terrifying …”

“I’m not … much accustomed to finding insects in my food, but I think I’ll survive.” The sardonic grin that accompanied his words faded to something more genuine as he added, “Your fellow lieutenants seem a good sort, though …”

“Weevils are a fact of navy life, Mr. Haru, though I do agree that it’s quite distasteful.” Beckett nodded in agreement with his secondary statement. “Aye, they’re fine lads. We’ve grown closer ever since we arrived in your lands. We see each other more … honestly.”

Beckett walked with Haru across the deck and pointed up to the bow of the ship. Captain Hayes and Doctor MacMorgan were there, Hayes with his sketchbook and MacMorgan with a small squeeze-box. “Meeting with the brass, Mr. Haru,” Beckett explained, catching Hayes’ eye and pointed nod. He saluted his captain and took a step back. “We’ve knots to tie when you’re finished!”

Haru stepped forward and, again, wished something could be done for his appearance; barefoot and battered, his clothes now two days old and slept in, hair sloppily tied and just beginning to show new growth, face bruised and sun-pink, he hardly resembled the courtier he still viewed himself to be.

“Captain Hayes, doctor,” he said in greeting, bowing in the habit he maintained. The shadow of a grimace passed over his face as a stab of pain shot through his side and, if he were honest, the awful sound coming from the box in the doctor’s hands.

“Mr. Haru,” Owen smiled, his sketching stopping for cradled in the crook of one arm was a sketchbook and in his opposite hand was a stump of a pencil.

The doctor ceased working his awful instrument as well and waved his patient closer. “Ah, yes, let’s see to those bruises. What a face to make, ser, are you in pain?” He asked, the strange tentacle-like instrument falling off his knee and squawking like several angered gulls as it extended to its full length.

“It’s not so bad, more discomfort than actual pain,” Haru answered, lying in a misplaced effort to protect what remained of his pride as he removed his shirt. “The rest you prescribed has helped.” This, at least, was the truth.

His movements were stiff from rope climbing and damaged ribs, and his cheeks colored slightly at the immodesty of the situation, standing half-naked for all the crew to see. The bruising along his one side had gone ugly in its healing; deep purples fading to sickly yellow-green. The scrapes and cuts along both arms were scabbed over and the worst of them would undoubtably leave scars.

The damage rendered to his face remained a mystery. He hadn’t seen his reflection since before boarding the ship, though tentative touches told him he was healing. Or so he assumed; as of yet, no one had recoiled in horror at the sight of him. The thought of carrying scars forever wounded his lingering vanity, though, but then so did the sight of his red-raw, blistered hands. This voyage, it seemed, was determined to rob him of everything he had once been.

“There’s jaundicing, that’s good,” Doctor MacMorgan said, leaning his bulk forward. He tapped at Haru’s ribs lightly, then his sternum. Arms were raised and lowered, his patient turned ‘round and chin grabbed to better look at the state of his pupils. His examination lingered for a moment over the twin scars in Haru’s breast; arrow wounds, long since healed.

“Theus’ sake, man, he’s not a side of beef,” Hayes objected, frowning as the doctor continued his poking and prodding.

MacMorgan chuckled, “We are all made of meat, good captain; a doctor, it should follow, would make a more than passable butcher.” He reached down to the black satchel by his seat and pulled out a neatly wound length of clean linen bandages. With quick, experienced fingers, he wrapped Haru’s ribs tight and replaced the bandages around his wrist. His expression said that was healing well, too.

Owen tsked, standing just that much closer to Haru, as if to support him with his presence. “It isn’t anything to -“

The doctor held up a hand. “Nothing to worry about.” He cleared his throat, giving his patient a pointed look. “It will do no good to lie to a physician, ser, and worse if he is a Highland Marcher like me. I appreciate your stoic nature, but I know better, laddie.”

“You may dress yourself, Mr. Haru. I’ll make it a point to prepare more bandages and perhaps a salve, for the bruising. Ah.” MacMorgan reached into his pocket, coming out with a watch on a chain. He hung it in front of Haru; the front served as a small mirror. “A salve will help with … your face as well.” He smiled apologetically.

Haru gladly slipped his shirt back on and carefully cupped the watch-come-mirror in one hand. Gone was the carefully cultivated complexion, cool fawn always so perfectly accentuated by rich blues, replaced by something more wan, unhealthy. High cheekbones, so prized, now bore blue blossoms where once they had been perfectly palest pink; once pillow soft lips showed cracks and a red line just caught the bottom edge, running to the chin where another bruise bloomed.

It felt silly, stupid, petty, to be so dismayed by the injuries inflicted. Surely Lannigan didn’t care so much about the state of his nose. But then the sailor hadn’t been born into a family, a clan, that prided itself so deeply on beauty and perfection. He didn’t expect any of the Thean crew to understand, though he suspected Owen would make an effort, so he cleared the disappointment from face, if not mind, and handed MacMorgan back his time piece.

“Thank you, doctor. I appreciate all your ministrations; surely, that I am here is testament to your skill …”

The doctor replaced his pocketwatch into his vest - and the flash of a silver flask could be seen as he moved his coat - and he nodded. “Quite welcome, Mr. Haru.” He cleared his throat and reseated the spectacles on his nose, uncomfortable with the high praise. “Well, I do try my best …”

Perhaps because he saw something of that sadness and disappointment in his lover’s expression, Owen passed along the sketchbook he had been working in. Prominent on the page were a self portrait of the captain and a portrait of the doctor. In one corner, though, a hidden detail could be picked out: Haru climbing the rigging with Beckett a step or two above him.

“When will I have this chance again?” He asked with a sly smile.

Haru met the captain’s smile with his own, murmuring, “I would sit for something closer if you wished …” as he handed the book back to its owner.

“We can make a night of it, Mr. Haru,” Owen promised.

Doctor MacMorgan, happily oblivious to his captain and patient’s flirtations, hefted his strange instrument once more and began to play it; he hit several sour notes. “It drives Lord Berek MAD,” he grinned ferally, relishing the reclusive lord’s dislike.

Haru’s expression shifted from coy to one of polite interest as he looked to the doctor. Biting back a wince and grimace the thing’s atrocious noises aroused within him, he forced his smile wider saying, “Ahh, yes, I can see that such a unqiue instrument would not be … appreciated by just anyone …”

“Aye, well, a surgeon I may be, but I can never seem to tune my oldest friend.” The doctor the instrument and buckled it together with a clever arrangement of straps. “A pity; once it was a raiser of spirits and entertainment. Now it’s been relegated to my petty revenge on that — that —“ He glanced up to the captain and cleared his throat once more. “Lord Berek.”

[fntstory-blog]

Friend and co-author Spry found a hilarious anime character maker and OF COURSE I immediately started making pictures of all my characters because I am nothing if not predictable~

And because it’s relevant, here are Haru and Owen <3

(i made a 7th sea haru too but i guess it would be a spoiler???? maybe i’ll post him later)

[fntstory-blog]

Jaws of Neptune (pt VII)

In which some questions are answered. | chapter I | pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv | pt v | pt vi

Haru made his way to Berek’s cabin, as bidden. He would have liked to stop by his own first and clean up, change into more appropriate garb, before meeting the lord, but apparently that was not to be.

“Enter.” The voice was Berek’s, eternally cool and collected. The nobleman was spoken of as a ghost by most aboard the ship and for good reason. He never seemed to participate in the day to day operation of the ship, though he still knew all that happened on every deck. As Haru opened the door he could see a three course meal in the midst of being laid out, with Tom Lannigan seated at the table. Both men stood as he entered.

Upon seeing Lannigan, Haru’s mood and spirits lifted, demonstrated by the smile that lit his face. He should have known that Owen would not have tarried in putting the idea of a meeting with the sailor in Berek’s mind. The lord himself was met with a formal bow though the display was somewhat at odds with his current appearance.

“Glad t’ see yeh walkin’ about, Mr. Haru,” Lannigan said, tilting his head. “… Are yeh thinkin’ o’ pitchin’ in with th’ work?” He indicated Haru’s new garb with a nod of his dark head.

Lord Berek, for his part, looked interested to hear the answer, though he intoned, “You may sit. I was thanking Mr. Lannigan here for saving the life of a most rare friend of mine …”

Haru’s place at the table was set with a number of the small silver tools Theans favored. At least three of the pronged forks, of varying sizes, a dull and sharp knife, two spoons and all set on a snow white napkin. One of the serving men, a sailor he had seen before, poured glasses of wine for them all. Berek cleared his throat, lifting his glass. “To camaraderie. May it always triumph over base villainy.”

“‘ere, ‘ere,” Lannigan echoed, lifting his own glass.

To Lannigan’s question as to his clothing, Haru said, “Captain Hayes and I were of the same mind; keeping myself sequestered for the entirety of the voyage …” He shook his head. “We agreed it would be for the best if I learned, well, as much as I could as to the running of the ship. Mr. Beckett had started me on unknotting a rope and tomorrow I’m to get into the rigging … And that I am here, up and walking, is thanks to you, Lannigan-san,” he added with a deferential inclination of his head. “Your intercession saved my life and that is a debt I will not forget.”

Tom Lannigan nodded, though he seemed somewhat perturbed by the notion of debts. “Aye, it’s hard work, but th’ body adapts.” He took a halting sip of wine; Berek smiled in a clandestine manner over his own. “Think nothin’ of it. We all should look out fer our own. Besides, an Inishman can’t abide a fight tha’s not fair.”

“Inish …? Oh, Inismore! To the … north of Avalon, yes?” Haru happily repeated what little he knew, glad to have, for one, retained the knowledge and, also, to have an opportunity to speak on it if only in the most limited of terms. “Captain Hayes made for me a very crude map when I asked about Avalon,” he continued. “In any event, I do not mean to put you in an … uncomfortable position, Lannigan-san, but it is no small thing you did. I would gladly have you at my side to face any danger or foe.”

Tom Lannigan nodded. His face, like Haru’s, had begun to heal from the pummeling it had suffered. Beneath the bruises and broken nose, he had an earnest sort of face, handsome almost in its roughness. The broken nose seemed to suit him and, indeed, it had the look of being broken many times before. “Ah, think nothin’ of it. Between you ’n I, though —“

Berek cleared his throat, a polite warning for his uncouth guest. “Dinner before pleasantries, please.”

Lannigan nodded and returned to his meal. Haru had the good grace to look somewhat abashed before turning to the lord and speaking. “Apologies for my … current state, Berek-sama. I was told to come directly to see you, else I would have put more care in my appearance.” He shifted slightly in his seat, obviously self-concious for his battered face, reddened hands, work clothes and bare feet.

“Think nothing of it. Here at sea, we are bound and stuffed like pickled herring. I suffer the bonds of the ship gladly, under my Queen’s command.” Berek waved his hand and bread was brought forth, along with small fish. “Speaking of herring, it’s odd that sailors don’t eat much fish. I happen to like them quite a bit.”

Lannigan shrugged and grabbed a roll with a commoner’s gusto. “Too small, m’lord. One bullock feeds a good spot more …”

“And smells the equal of a ton of the sea’s bounty,” Berek snorted.

Lannigan grinned heartily, taking a bite of the roll. Berek sat patiently as the serving hand spooned a white sauce over the fish; the smell was an intriguing one, surprisingly light for all the apparent heavy cream. “Belchamel sauce,” he explained, peering over to Haru. “A Montaigne sauce, from the lands to the south of us. We are, of course, at war with them though they could unite all of Thea with their cuisine.”

Lannigan seemed dubious, dunking his roll into the sauce and taking a small taste of it. “Aye, well … It’s no gravy,” he bemoaned. Berek scoffed, though not in an unfriendly manner.

Fish and sauce looked and smelled divine; Haru had despaired of ever having fish again, the Avalonian diet seeming to be full of nothing but beef and pork. Berek’s comment about war brought another thought to mind. “There was some … tension between Owen and Marco-san on our undertaking to reclaim the compass, but they seemed to be able to overcome their differences in the name of a common goal. Marco-san himself proved to be a most stalwart and boon companion … He shared a dish with us, one evening, that was quite delicious; noodle and red sauce! My companions and I were quite taken with it.”

Ignorant of his linguistic faux pas, Haru began eating the fish. He remembered, from their last meal, that utensils were used outside in and the napkin was meant to be placed on the lap. Though, as he picked up fork and knife, he still felt as if he were doing something wrong; that his hands were still red-raw from the rope work did not help in his already clumsy grasp of the foreign utensils. Still, the seafood was quite good, if not what he was accustomed to, and he counted himself a fan of this sauce as well.

“Avalon, Mr. Tanaka, is at war with nearly everyone, or has been at some point in time. Our little patch of the world is a tumultuous one. However, bargains can always be struck in unique times.” Berek smiled, cat-like. “Pasta y Mariana, I believe the pairing is called. I find that it only gives me heartburn.”

Though Haru was embarrassed by his faux pas, he took some comfort in the fact that his companions didn’t seem to think any less of him for having made it. That the Theans had no concept of Face and, therefore, put no value on saving it, was a liberating thing. Not to say there was free reign to be thoughtless or rude, but small missteps, mistakes, were more easily overlooked and forgiven. He found himself also liking their more direct way of speaking even if he himself had not quite adapted it, yet.

“Thea … That is the name for all your lands, yes? Avalon and Inismore and Montaigne?”

“Yes. Thea is the name of the lands in our section of the world. There are several others, of course, but the nations stand with old and fine names … Avalon, Montaigne, Vodacce, Vendel or Vesten depending on who one is speaking to, Ussura and Castille.”

“I had no idea there were so many other places … Have you been to them? What are they like? Is Avalon at war with all of them? Will we be sailing close to them, close enough to see —“ He stopped himself, eyes dropping demurely. “Apologies, I do not mean to ply you with so many questions …”

Berek chuckled and held up a hand. “I’m sure that all of those questions will be answered in time. Perhaps in another meeting, Mr. Tanaka. I myself have been to Montaigne, Castille — ahh! I had nearly forgotten the lands of Eisen — and Vendel.”

Lannigan bobbed his head again. “I’ve had a disagreement with everyone from at least one o’ those countries.”

Berek laughed. “Mr. Lannigan, I don’t doubt it. He’s pugnacious as a ferret, you see.”

The Inishman grinned, pleased with the comparison.

“A ferret?” Confusion showed plainly on Haru’s face. “What’s that?”

Lord Berek raising a questioning eyebrow. “You do not have them on Rokugan? They’re lithe little mammals, lengthy, with sharp teeth.”

“Harris, the marine, he’s got one,” Lannigan added. “It hunts some o’ th’ rats; eats some weevils sometimes too, so it does. He’s named th’ fuzzy thing Bastard.”

Haru shook his head, taking a sip of the wine. It was more bitter than he was accustomed to, but not alltogether unpleasant, and the more he had, the more he liked it. “So this animal, it’s like a … a fox? A cat? That seems a cruel name to bestow on such a useful creature …”

Berek chuckled. “A mixture of both, perhaps. They call it such an awful name because it bites.”

Lannigan laughed, grinning. “Aye, nearly took Pierce’s toe off one time; he stepped on it in th’ dark, see …”

Berek covered a smirk with another swallow of wine.

“Frightened boys and small animals, Pierce has quite the combat experience,” Haru noted haughtily as he finished his wine.

Berek frowned, rolling his glass between his fingers. “Do not judge Pierce for his current predicament. You know, on the late Captain Kerrigan’s first command … Ahh, what was she called? Yes, the Stalwart … They were ambushed by Vestenmannavinjar.”

Tom Lannigan cursed, before knuckling his forehead. “Ah, sorry, m’lord. Savages, they are.”

Berek made a dismissive gesture at the salute. “Quite. The fight for the ship was joined by two more of their raiding vessels. The Stalwart’s crew was outnumbered at least two to one; fighting men two heads taller and armed with fierce weapons. There were only two survivors who managed to drift the ship south to Avalon. One was Captain Kerrigan, the other was Mr. Pierce. Kerrigan would have died there if Pierce hadn’t defended him against a horde, armed only with that little axe of his.” He peered at Haru, driving his point home. “Some men fall on hard times. Pierce has merely lost his way, but that does not mean that he is *not* worthy of our respect.”

Lannigan made a queer noise, halfway between a whistle and grunt. “… Hard as a coffin nail, he must be …”

Haru listened quietly, attentively, to Berek’s words, eyes lowered and regarding the glass between his hands. “I was not aware of the history he shared with Kerrigan and I admit my dislike of this man is … personal.”

Haru looked to him and continued, quietly, “I almost lost Owen to the Shadowlands. It was not men we faced there, not such as Pierce and Kerrigan faced, but demons, and I cannot say how I would now … hold myself if that had happened. Apologies, for my hasty, unthinking words.”

“He is not a marine for his abundant social graces, Mr. Tanaka,” Berek pointed out with a curt nod of the head.

The next course came forth, a light soup made with vegetables and chicken. More wine accompanied this course, the lord apparently dipping into his personal reserves. Lannigan immediately fell to; there seemed to be no bottom to the man’s stomach.

“And Thea is also the name of your deity?” Haru looked between Berek and Lannigan. “Apologies if that is incorrect, but it sounded very similar when the doctor said the name …”

Berek made a pithy gesture matched with a tired groan, which earned him a quick glare from Lannigan. “I am not the best to speak to about matters of the, err, immaterial. Doctor MacMorgan would be a better participant, I’m afraid. My apologies, Mr. Lannigan.”

Lannigan bobbed his head. “S’alright, m’lord.”

Thea’s religion, what little he knew of it, intrigued Haru greatly. It appeared to him that they only revered one god and one devil, a concept wholly foreign to him and his faith which recognized multitudes of gods and spirits. “I had a mind to invite the doctor to this meeting as well; after all, I owe him a debt, too, for my health. However, I was … advised against it for the sake of harmony.” Haru glanced to Berek, hoping he didn’t offend in speaking so freely.

Lord Berek’s face twisted a bit, as if at the repulsive memory of a foul odor. “Doctor MacMorgan is … a very religious man. I don’t see eye to eye with him. His inclusion would have made for a very memorable argument, I feel.” For all his momentary annoyance, though, he didn’t seem angered or offended by Haru’s remark.

“Oh. Well, I would very much like to know more about your theology … In Rokugan, my role was not just limited to the court; I trained, and acted, as a priest. I spoke to the gods and spirits. Is there a similar role in Thea?”

“For those questions, I’d advise the doctor as well. Priests tend to cater to issues of faith and there are many different faiths in our Thea. However, we Avalonians have the good folk to consider,” Berek said and Lannigan swept some crumbs on the floor.

“Aye, aye, they’re th’ goodly folk indeed.”

“The goodly … Oh, fairies, yes? That’s why Captain Hayes keeps a penny in his shoe … And why one was put in with Barrows’ body? Are the crumbs for them, too? Are they only in Avalon? Do they live nowhere else in Thea?” Despite his near-constant questions, Haru did find time to also clear his plate. He had thought his hunger satisfied, but the appearance of the next course set his stomach to rumbling all over again. The soup was much to his liking, as well, and another dish that had him thinking of the home he had left behind.

Lannigan sucked in a breath as if Haru had stuck him with a pin. “Mr. Haru, if’n yeh please; th’ goodly folk. It doesn’t do well t’ upset ‘em.”

Lord Berek nodded at the wisdom. “It is true. Their wrath is sharp and burns quick, but they forgive just as quickly.”

“Always be wary, ser, lest yeh find yourself on the wrong end o’ th’ glamour.”

“They do not even technically live on Avalon,” Berek continued. “But on the enchanted isle of Bryn Bresayle which moves, or so I am told. However, it is by their grace that Avalon remains and while Queen Elaine draws breath, so too does Avalon.”

“So … The goodly folk, they are on the ship? What is glamour? Do they attach themselves to favorite places or people?” Looking to Lannigan, Haru added, “In Rokugan, we have kami, spirits, who are somewhat similarly revered and respected; they can be placated with prayers, made to manifest and work magic. I had an air spirit who was much attached to me; when I left Rokugan, it followed me to this ship and granted me a final gift of fluency and literacy …” Then, glancing between the two men, “I mean no disrespect by my questions, it is innocent curiosity only …”

“Aye, it’s said there’s always one of th’ goodly folk about … Though to be pursued by them is said t’ be more interestin’ than sittin’ at th’ right hand o’ Foul Weather Jack …”

Berek made an amused sound. “Foul Weather Jack … A folkhero for sailors.”

“Just because m’lord hasn’t met ‘im …”

A course of fruit was put out, along with more of the bread and some sweet-smelling spreads. Lannigan liberally smeared his roll with the jelly and Haru mimicked him. It was rather unexpectedly messy leading to thumbs and fingers being delicately sucked clean.

“Foul Weather Jack … Is he a strom-bringer? Does he work in concert with - with the goodly folk? Is that where he gets his powers? If they’re said to be about, should I leave offerings for them?” Haru’s wonder and curiosity were child-like and, surely, Berek and Lannigan had not gotten such a barrage of interest from someone not still in primary school.

Berek laughed, shaking his head. “I am not a tutor and neither is our Tom Lannigan, Mr. Tanaka. These things you will learn in time.”

Lannigan shrugged, seeming to have a disagreement in mind, though he didn’t bother to voice it. After the jam was finished, the steward whisked everything away, bringing forth a single bottle of scotch. A measure was poured for each.

The scotch was slowly, thoughtfully sipped, a ritual that put Haru to mind of the drinking of sake even though the two were nothing alike. Growing contemplative, he said, “I am leaving everything I know behind. I *have* left everything behind. I will be a stranger in a strange land and all I can do to arm myself against the … The vastness of this truth is to ask questions and try to learn. I do not fear hating Avalon; I think, rather, I will love it. My fear is that I will be, that I will become, a source of ridicule and embarrassment. I want to be worthy of —“

Though he stopped just short of saying it, no doubt Berek could suss out the remainder of the thought; he wished to prove his worthiness of, and to, Owen Hayes.

“I have a feeling that you’ll adapt well. Already you’re starting to see thing that some would shut themselves off from. One never needs to turn one’s back on their home, but in a strange land, customs will always be absorbed.” Berek smiled a fox’s smile and it seemed to Haru that he knew exactly what had been left unsaid.

Haru took some comfort in his words. Though their situations were far from identical, surely the diplomat knew what it was to leave home behind for unknown parts and the fear and doubts that came with such a journey.

Some minutes of silent drinking drifted past, the trio now beginning to feel the full effect of a meal and quality drink. Once their glasses were low, Berek took a moment to stand. “Gentlemen, I believe our time has ended.”

Lannigan stood as well, offering a salute to the lord, while Haru also came to his feet and offered a bow. Straightening, his head swam, making the room go on a tilt that had nothing to do with the strange sea they sailed through.

“I shall take my leave of you both; good night.” With that, Berek retreated to the secondary door of his cabin, leaving Lannigan and Haru to exit of their own accord.

“Well, bloody lovely supper t’was,” Lannigan remarked, opening the door for Haru. “’n good scotch, besides.”

“It was bloody lovely,” Haru agreed with a nod as he passed by Lannigan. “A … bloody lovely end to a bloody awful few days. I’m glad you were able to accept Berek-sama’s invitation,” he continued, as if the sailor would have been able to refuse the lord even if he had wanted to.

Though not overly so, it became readily apparent that Haru was intoxicated. He bumped into Lannigan more than once as they made their way from the lord’s cabin, across the deck and down to where the men slept in pitched hammocks belowdecks.

“Ah, listen t’yeh - We’ll have yeh speakin’ like a sailor in no time,” Lannigan laughed, steadying Haru with a sturdy hand. “Have no fear when ye’re about decks; I’ll be watchin’ yeh. Y’remind me o’ me lil’ brother. He, ahh, he was a gent’l soul. Poet, yeh know. Theus ’n he wrote such beautiful verse …” He cleared his throat, once then twice. “Must be stuffy down ‘ere.”

Haru grinned up at the Inishman, beatific in his alcohol-induced happiness despite the hair hanging in his face and the unconscious slight swaying of body. He tried to picture Lannigan as a poet, a sensitive soul, swapping rough sailor’s clothes for silken finery; the image wouldn’t form. Pushing troublesome hair out of the way, he regarded the sailor with a kindly, affectionate eye. “I would like to hear about him sometimes; if you know any of his verse, I would like to hear that, too …”

“It’s not somethin’ I like t’ speak about. Maybe next time - When we’re in fer earnest drink. I prefer a strong beer meself.” He offered an apologetic smile; it was clearly a subject of some sensitivity.

They stopped at the entrance to the space belowdecks, hammocks hanging across the bulkhead and support in tightly packed rows. “Tonight’s me last night o’ light duty. I’ll likely see yeh about yer work t’morrow. G’nite.” He offered Haru a calloused hand.

“I know you’ve got my backside,” he said, getting the phrase only a little wrong. “I’m glad to have met you, Lannigan-san, despite the circumstances, and am honored to count you a friend.” He took Lannigan’s hand and shook it, despite not being overly familiar with the display, showing a surprising strength given his lithe frame. “Good night, Lannigan-san.”

Lannigan laughed at his parting sentiments. “B’careful, Mr. Aaroo. Backside’s a good way t’ mention yuir arse.” He laughed again, in earnest jest. “Aye. Sleep yeh well.”

Once above decks, Haru took the time to again look at the strange silver sky and sea, leaning against ship’s railing as his eyes traveled from one end of the self-same horizon to the other. He maintained his thought that there was something soothing in the sight, though he knew it set most of the crew on edge. Hayes’ voice, clarion in the stillness as he called for one of his lieutenants, broke into his reverie. Haru turned his head, taking in the sight of his captain-lover in his element. Pleased with the picture presented, he left his post and made his way to his cabin. There, he stumbled into bed, fully clothed, where exhaustion and spirits soon pulled him into a deep sleep.

[fntstory-blog]

Jaws of Neptune (pt VI)

In which our hero learns the ropes. | chapter I | pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv | pt v

As promised the day before, Haru presented himself for duty with the morning’s first bells. He dressed in his hand-me-down sailor’s clothes, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and feet bare. He had been given stockings and heavy leather shoes as part of his uniform, but the footwear was still too new, too foreign, for his liking and so he went without.

Out on deck, he was met by Owen, who broke away from some business with a group of lieutenants to greet Haru. He saw that one of the officers held an eyeglass and another had something that must have been used to gauge distance; a third held a sheath of maps. Even if the Seventh Sea had never been charted, Owen had apparently decided that it was better to act and fail than to sit idly by and allow the ship to delve into chaos.

He gave Haru an appraising look, inspecting his uniform as he would any other sailor under his command. He looked, too, for how well Haru held himself and the color in his face; he wouldn’t send him, or any man, to work if he were unable to perform his duties. However, he found everything up to snuff, nodding to his newest recruit, and turning to bellow up into the rigging.

“Mr. Beckett!”

Beckett’s youthful voice called in answer from above and he scrambled down from the rigging, agile as a monkey. His heels dropped onto the deck and he offered the captain a salute before his eyes wandered over to Haru. He had seen his friend’s new clothes the day before, of course, but at the time he had assumed they were a temporary measure. Now, however, he had the thought that it was more permanent. “Mr. Haru is …?”

Owen nodded. “Mr. Beckett, I expect you to turn Mr. Haru into a singular sailing wonder. I’ll not accept anything less. Is that clear?”

Beckett’s grin exploded, lighting his face. “Aye, sir! You can count on me, sir!”

Owen smiled in a clandestine way towards Haru. “Good luck,” he said with a sly wink, turning to return to his awaiting gaggle of lieutenants.

Beckett puffed himself up, spine fully straightening which put him just at eye level with his newest charge. “Well, Mr. Haru, let’s learn what makes the ship move. Come on, then!” He strode away and Haru fell into step behind, at a loss for what to actually expect.

“So where will we begin, Mr. Beckett?” Haru asked.

“Well, Mr. Haru, most sailors come aboard with at least a little training, but we’ll start you on knots.” Beckett walked to a rope, tangled up with dozens of knots and snarls. “Here you are.” He handed the heavy sea rope over to Haru with a grin. “I want you to untie it!” He plopped down on a barrel with a self-satisfied grin, legs slightly swinging as his feet didn’t quite reach the deck.

“I did it in a few hours, so I know it’s not impossible.” As Beckett spoke, his eyes constantly swept the deck, watching the men, though he seemed particularly fascinated with the silvery sky. “After that, we’ll go over some of your duties.” He was quiet a moment, before he continued in a muted tone, “I’m glad to see you well, Mr. Haru … I didn’t get a chance to say so before, but … I was worried.”

“Thank you, Mr. Beckett,” Haru said, giving the young man a sincere smile. “It’s … I am not quite where I was before, so I ask for your patience in the coming days, but I promise I will give all I can.”

“You’ll have it, Mr. Haru. You’ll be the first landie that I’ve trained!” Beckett grinned widely, looking more like a boy and less a naval officer. “And that’s all I ask of anyone.”

He turned from Haru for a moment to shout orders, then explained them to his greenhorn. Haru listened intently to these initial explanations, though it was still so much to take in. There was a sort of dance at work and each lieutenant had one limb for each of the men under his command. One misstep and the ship would do something unexpected, even deadly. As he began to see the sense hidden in the chaos, he wondered which role Barrows filled and who would now be expected to take over his duties.

Haru settled in beside Beckett’s perch, sitting in the Rokugani style, knotted rope draped across his lap. He began unworking one of the smaller snarls at one end of the rope. “I suppose cutting the knots would be frowned upon …?” The jesting question came with a sly smile.

“Ahh, undid the Square Knot. Well done, Mr. Haru!” Beckett smiled and laughed. “If you cut the rope, then you’ll never learn the rest of them. And if that happens, then you’re no sailor!” He hopped off the barrel, brushing off the back of his trousers and jacket. “After all, you’ve succeeded once, simply do it again … I’ll leave you to it; if there’s something you need, come and get me.”

Thanking Mr. Beckett as the lieutenant left his side to attend his other duties, Haru turned his attention more fully to the task he had been set to. It was strangely relaxing, almost meditative, the repetitive nature of undoing one knot then moving onto the next, coiling now-straightened rope to one side and seeing that grow as the knots themselves diminished. He found a rhythm in the work and, to better keep his mind focused, he took to softly singing Rokugani songs to himself. By the time the glass had turned twice he had finished undoing nearly the whole gnarled length.

Beckett reappeared around this time, too, striding forth with a newly acquired air of command. Being one of the youngest officers aboard, it was no small thing to be given authority over Haru’s naval training. He looked over to the neatly coiled rope and nodded, once, in approval. Haru thought it very similar to how Owen carried himself when dealing with the men.

“I was going to start you in the rigging, but you’re wanted in Lord Berek’s quarters. I wouldn’t keep him waiting,” he advised. “Tomorrow morning, then, you’ll start on your actual duties. Report either barefoot or with proper shoes, Mr. Haru.” He then strode off, the junior model of an officer.

[fntstory-blog]

Couple aesthetic // Leo (m) x Pisces (m)

Requested by: anon

[fntstory-blog]

@星野 

[fntstory-blog]

On my To Do List for this blog: Edit all posts so they all link forward and back to make reading that much easier! (also to get myself on a set schedule!)

Part five of chapter two just went up! I hope you enjoy it :>

[fntstory-blog]

Jaws of Neptune (pt V)

In which a crime is punished. | chapter I | pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv

Though Owen and Haru had reached an agreement regarding Haru’s position on the Ivory Maiden, Doctor MacMorgan’s orders superseded the captain’s wishes. His patient, the doctor insisted, was in need of bedrest; sending him scurrying up and down the rigging would undo everything he had been able to do to see his patient healed and whole. To this end, he regularly administered Haru doses of his all-purpose elixir, ensuring his patient was resting as often as prescribed.

While Haru rested and healed, the rest of the Ivory Maiden’s crew’s lives went on. The two surviving sailors who had perpetrated the attack were hung, their dual execution overseen by Captain Hayes and carried out by Pierce and his Marines. The crew in its entirity had been in attendance, passages from Avalon’s Articles of War had been read, the doctor recited prayers for the condemned. This swift carriage of justice cast a pall over the ship; the mood aboard was turning, darkening.

Orientating the Maiden in the featureless, silvery sea was nigh impossible. There were no stars to guide them, no setting of the unsettling twin suns, no change in weather or wind. Rumors ran rampant above and below decks concerning the ship’s stores and how long they would hold out. Extra work was assigned and the Maiden’s decks had never been so perfectly polished, but it only delayed the inevitable. They needed to find the Jaws of Neptune Marco had named before they had been separated from the Vodacce ship and soon.

It wouldn’t much matter how long their stores could, or would, last if the crew mutinied and they all killed each other.

It was with these heavy thoughts preying on his mind that Owen stole some minutes to check in on Haru. A week and some had passed since the attack, nearly all of them had seen Owen on deck, conferring with his lieutenants and consulting all maps and instruments the ship held. While his uniform appeared in good order and he had recently shaved, his eyes told an entirely different story; the weight of responsibility was taking its toll.

These visits with Haru were the only real indulgence he allowed himself, justifying them as performing part of his duties as captain. After all, officially, the Rokugani was still a passenger and one who had been grievously wounded by one of his own.

When he entered Haru’s cabin, he found his lover rummaging through what few things he had brought onboard. He knocked as he opened the door, a curtesy more for appearance’s sake than anything else. A tired smile lifted the corners of his mouth despite himself and he leaned against the closed door.

“Feeling better, then?” He asked.

Haru looked up, returning Owen’s smile, and leaving off his search for the time being. He wore his hand-me-down sailor’s clothes, minus the stockings and heavy leather shoes. The bruises on his face were beginning to fade and the swelling around his one eye had significantly subsided; the edge of a wrapped bandage could be seen peeking from beneath the cuff of his shirt.

“I am, yes. MacMorgan-sensei’s elixers and treatments have been quite … Effective.” He stood, his movements awkward and stilted, and paused for a few seconds with a hand pressed to one side. His ribs still troubled him and, the doctor assured him, would continue to do so for weeks to come.

Owen stepped forward to put an arm about Haru’s shoulders, gingerly. He held him for a moment, silently offering comfort and support. The pain passed and Haru looped his arms about Owen’s waist, looking up into the captain’s worn face.

“I am doing better, Owen,” he said, reassuringly. “Though I know I still look awful …” His vanity remained unbruised and unbroken.

Owen’s smile reappeared and he shook his head. “Believe me, there is nothing I would rather see than you as you are now.” He pressed a tender kiss to Haru’s lips, mindful of bruises and their no doubt limited private time. “Do you feel up to taking a walk about the decks? It won’t be the most cheerful of strolls, but …”

“I think a walk would be wonderful …” Haru drifted free of their shared embrace, casting another glance about the cramped cabin. “Do you know what happened to my wakizashi? I haven’t been able to find it since I left the doctor’s cabin …”

“Pierce has it. He took it after the — after the attack.” Owen’s brows lowered in a frown. “I’m sorry, Haru, I should have thought to have it returned before now …”

“So long as it’s been kept safe … And you don’t need to apologize; you’ve had a thousand other things to occupy your mind …” For their walk Haru slipped on his wooden getta, Rokugani sandals balanced on blocks. Thean shoes were still too much, too new, for him to master.

Owen came up beside him, opening the door. Glancing to the sandals, he grinned and shook his head. “I have no idea how you stay aloft in those, Mr. Haru …” Stepping onto the deck proper, he slipped back to formalities, though the addition of ‘mister’ still carried a note of affection.

“Very easily, in fact,” Haru countered. “I don’t see how you can clomp around in those heavy leather things, Captain Hayes.” His accompanying smile was a sly, subtle thing.

“I can do more than clomp, Mr. Haru, I’m also a fair dancer in these heavy leather things.” He lead Haru on a circuit around the deck and though his spirits had lifted, his eyes and ears remained ever sharp for reactions from the men.

Haru’s change of clothes caused a chorus of murmurings, the men wondering what it signified, if anything. There seemed to be some surprise, too, that the man yet lived; though the officers had tried to squash the story, rumors of his fits and exaggerated accounts of his injuries had circulated nearly unchecked.

A look of faint surprise lit Haru’s face. He remained oblivious to the stares and whispers of the men, or so it seemed, and focused only on the man at his side. “You dance? You mean, perform? Like an actor? Ahh, it’s a shame I was never able to take you to a kabuki play. Or even to visit one of the geisha … And despite what you might have been told by your men, the geisha are not whores,” he quickly added. “They sing and play instruments and perform traditional dances and are quite charming company …”

“I think, perhaps, the approach is different?” Owen ventured, confusion clear in the quirk of his brows. “We dance for recreation; it’s actually a large part of Avalon’s culture. Well, I’ll be certain to bring you to a ball. I’m sure you’d find it most interesting, though we poor sailors aren’t often invited …”

The pair crossed the galley and descended down a short set of steps to the armory, where the Marines, and Pierce, were stationed. The space, like all spaces on the ship, was low-ceilinged and cramped and ill-lit. Lanterns hung from beams and the air was stale, stuffy, the result of too many bodies in wool uniforms living too close together. Owen approached a tall, square shouldered young man with a fearsome beard. The young marine offered a crisp salute upon sighting the captain.

“Pierce is within?”

The marine nodded. “Ser,” he responded just as crisply as his salute.

They entered through an iron reinforced door, Owen ushering Haru in with a leading hand at his back, and found Pierce within. A voice from somewhere in the room sounded, “Captain on the post!” and all the Marines, including Pierce, snapped to attention.

“At ease,” Owen said in a cool tone and the men resumed their duties.

Pierce approached, the wakizashi already in his hand. Owen regarded the tall man with the same cool regard he maintained while on deck. “I see you’ve been expecting us, Mr. Pierce.”

The marine nodded. “Aye, ser.” He held out the short sword to Haru. “Begging yer pardon, ser. You were waving it around whip-like. For our safety, I assure you.” The weapon appeared to have been polished, the lacquer scabbard had been wiped clean of blood.

Haru turned a critical eye to Pierce and, more so, to the blade in his hand. He appreciated that it had been cleaned, but he bristled slightly at the reason for its having been confiscated, never mind how right the marine had been in his thinking. He returned the blade to his side, tucking the scabbard between belt and waistband.

“Mr. Pierce, you will have Lieutenant John Barrows ready to be hung at four bells, afternoon watch.” The command came with some surprise; the lieutenant had been held belowdecks since the attack nearly two weeks prior. Truth be told, Owen had been waiting for Haru to more fully recover before delivering justice. Haru cast a questioning glance to him, but kept his piece; Owen was captain and knew best how to run his ship and dispense justice.

Pierce looked uncomfortable. “He’s been asking to see Mr. Aaroo, ser.” Pointedly, he turned his gaze to Haru. “His last request, it would seem, ser.”

To his credit, Haru showed no surprise at this information, his face remaining coolly detached, neutral. Dark eyes met Owen’s once more in a sidelong glance before returning to Pierce. “If his last wish is to see that he failed in his ill-conceived plot, then so be it.”

Owen nodded, stepping to one side to allow Haru space to walk through the rows of Marines lining the armory’s walls, all standing at rigid attention as he passed. Pierce led the way, further back, to where the Maiden’s cells were housed and, specifically, where Barrows still remained. He rapped on the bars with the hatchet he wore at his side.

John Barrows scuttled to the bars, his eyes shining with a mix of desperation and tears. Pierce cleared his throat and stepped back, to allow them some modicum of privacy.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Haru, I didn’t … I only listened to the rumors …” Barrows babbled, his hands clutching the bars in a white knuckled grip. “Please, sir, I don’t want to hang. I beg of you, please!”

Haru stood stone-faced before Barrows’ cell, just beyond the man’s grasp should he think to do anything foolhardy. Seeing him in the light, he couldn’t say that he recalled the man at all, for good or ill. The only pity he felt was an abstract sort; it was a shame that such a young life would be ended, that the ship would lose an officer, a mother her son. But for the young man himself, Haru felt almost nothing except contempt. A crime had been committed and so justice must be served.

“You let petty gossip poison your mind,” he began, voice cool and calm. “You convinced the men under your command to attack me under the cover of darkness, taking advantage of the confusion of the storm. You would have had me beaten to death, my body undiscovered until the storm fully passed. You lacked the courage to do the deed yourself and now you grovel and refuse to accept your fate. Were I dead, you would receive the same answer: No. I will not absolve you of your guilt; I will not pardon you. You will hang for what you attempted to do.”

“Please! Have Pierce shoot me! I want a clean death!” Barrows cried, his body coming forward against the bars as he sought out Haru’s eyes with his own. “I’ve seen it before, and it doesn’t … If my neck doesn’t snap!” He rested his head on the iron cage with a rattling sigh. “My mother’ll learn I’ve been hanged at sea and she’ll kill herself for the shame, I know it.” He eyed Haru again. “Please, *please*. Have me shot. Anything but being hanged, sir.”

Pierce muttered something from his position, not too far away, and most of the life went out of John Barrows. He released the bars and settled down on the bundle of hay they’d arranged for his bed. He stared sullenly at the bulkhead, wrapping his arms around his knees. He did look young, Haru noted, far too young. He could see the telltale marks of a beating, most likely administered by the Marines.

Familial shame and a mother’s grief hit too close to home for Haru’s liking. He had done all he could to lessen the burden his own mother would bear, leaving her a letter full of pretty phrases meant to conceal the true reason behind his leaving Rokugan.

“Where I come from, you would be made to take a sword, not unlike the one I have, and disembowel yourself without uttering a sound. That act would see the shame wiped from your family’s name and honor restored.” Haru met Barrows’ eye, letting a silence settle between them. In that silence, he thought on what he would do, what he could do, what justice demanded and what common decency begged. The signs of a beating sat ill with him, though he couldn’t immediately name why that was so.

When Haru spoke next, it was to address Pierce. “Can a shooting be arranged, Mr. Pierce? Could you do that providing Captain Hayes approved of the new method?” Then, “Was the beating necessary? Surely, young Mr. Barrows did not pose so great a threat to all your Marines that he needed to be so subdued …”

John Barrows stared up at him, eyes wide, head nodding. “Theus bless you, sir. Thank you.”

Pierce grunted, shrugging a shoulder. “I did what I thought was necessary. My men merely followed suit.” He leaned forward to appraise Haru from oddly shod feet to dyed white head. “Begging your pardon, ser, but a shooting death is too good fer the likes of him. You’d have bled out in the muck belowdecks if it weren’t for Lannigan and the good doctor.”

“I am more than aware of what my fate would have been had Lannigan-san not intervened,” Haru said, addressing Pierce, holding his ground despite the near half foot the marine had on him. Appraising the man with a practiced, ice-cold eye, and finding him wanting, he continued, “If it took you and your men this much force to bring a frightened boy to heel, perhaps it was for the best you did not accompany us to the Shadowlands …”

“Mr. Pierce.” Hayes’ voice was like a whip and Pierce stood ramrod straight. “I believe Mr. Haru does not have to be reminded of the Navy’s good graces.”

Pierce nodded, saluting. “Aye, ser! Won’t happen again, ser.”

Hayes took a moment to eye the marine from his boots to his cap. “See that it does not.” Pierce’s face remained impassive, like granite, without a hint of his inner thoughts. Owen cleared his throat, the matter settled. “I feel the matter of a hanging versus a shooting should be addressed by you, Mr. Haru. What say you?”

The tension in the air became thicker, each marine eyeing either Haru, Hayes, or Pierce. Haru returned his attention to the pathetic sight of Barrows. He disliked having to play judge, deciding the man’s fate. He had been prepared to hold onto the contempt he initially felt, but the more time he spent in Barrows’ presence, the more the lieutenant spoke, the more sympathy Haru felt for the condemned. His companion Ishoya’s influence, belatedly felt, no doubt; the monk had been a rarity, showing compassion for all, not just the samurai. Rokugan treated its prisoners no better than this, a fact that had never bothered him in his twenty years of life.

“Justice demands that Mr. Barrows forfeit his life for his attempted crime. Mercy, decency, however, says that his death need not be a tortuous thing. Mr. Barrows will have his wish fulfilled; he will be shot.” Then, giving Pierce a pointed look, “Cleanly, quickly. He has suffered enough for his wrong-doing.”

Pierce, in the face of both Haru and the acting captain’s gazes, decided to hold his response. He sniffed and returned to his stance of attention. Barrows watched from his small cage, knees still tight against his chest. He had no more to say and the situation was gradually going in his favor, macabre as it remained.

“Harris,” Pierce ordered and a marine snapped to attention. “Have yer flintlock loaded, full dress.” The marine snapped a salute with a crisp, “Sir!” and hurried to obey.

“Fourth bell, Mr. Pierce,” Hayes reminded the stone-faced marine.

“Four bells, aye. Will there be anything else, ser?”

Owen shook his head and made to exit the armory, Haru following close behind. Once they were back up ondeck, he spoke in a quiet voice, “In the future, I would restrain from goading Pierce.” His expression grew more serious and he paused in his steps, hand resting at Haru’s elbow. “He’s … He’s a brutal man, Haru, and it’s no secret that the Avalon Navy has an element …”

“Mr. Pierce is a coward and a bully,” Haru said, matching Owen’s hushed tone. “However … Seeing that you hold my heartstrings, I will endeavor to hold my tongue in the future.” He gave the captain a small, slightly strained smile. “When is four bells?”

Owen pointed out an hourglass from across the deck. “Once that runs dry, a bell will be rung. We’ve two more, unless I’ve missed my guess. Perhaps you should return to your cabin and get some rest? If you’re feeling up to it, I can have Beckett introduce you to your beginning duties tomorrow morning …” He peered at Haru, trying to apprise the man’s health.

It might have been a callous thing, to discuss future plans in the face of a man’s execution, but the navy was an especially pragmatic institution. Today Barrows would die yet the ship still needed hands to man her decks and rigging and sails; she needed officers to maintain order and Marines to enforce rules. And she had a Greenhorn in need of teaching and training and every hand was needed, especially in these strange waters, especially with her having lost men in the crossing to and from Rokugan and the executions held the day before.

Haru looked to where the glass was and nodded. “I know the doctor will protest, but I feel ready …”

With that, the pair parted ways, Haru returning to his cabin and Owen to his duties.

Later, Haru heard the beating of drums, the snares employed by the Marines. Rap-tap-raptaptap, at a slow pace. He rose slowly, stiffly, from his bed, having drifted off for some unknown length of time. Four bells had arrived, the watchman crying the same and the bell clanging four times.

Slipping his sandals back on, he left the cabin and joined the growing, gathering groups of sailors. Lieutenants called for attention and order and the men fell into line, on either side of the deck. They all faced John Barrows, who had his head held low. He was dressed in full uniform and paraded to one side of the ship, flanked by rigid-backed Marines in red uniforms and shouldering muskets. A frown he did not work to hide or erase creased his brow as Barrows was brought to the, Haru presumed, spot of his execution.

Captain Hayes stood on the poop, above the wheelhouse, surveying the men below on the quarterdeck. He had donned his full dress uniform as well for the solemn occaision, jacket’s gold buttons catching the strange silver light of the Seventh Sea.

Once Barrows was lined up, Hayes spoke, his voice strong and clear and carrying his message through the still air. “Discipline and good conduct. They are the meat and bread of the Queen’s Navy. Without them, anarchy reigns. This man, John Barrows, attempted to murder one of our own, for all who are aboard this ship are of us. By the laws of Queen Elaine, and by full right of Her authority as acting captain, I hereby condemn him to death by musket. Does the condemned have any last words?”

Barrows lifted his head, speaking in a shaking but strident voice. “I regret my actions and beg that my memory be remembered fondly, sir. My effects shall be delivered to my … My mother.”

There was a note of mercy in Captain Hayes’ voice as he responded, “I shall see it done, Mr. Barrows.”

The contempt and hatred Haru had held onto when the man was merely a concept, a vague attacker in the dark, a face he couldn’t recall, those dark feelings that had already begun to dispel upon their actual meeting, faded to nothing when he heard the disgraced lieutenant’s last words. The whole display, his death, it all seemed so pointless. Logically, coldly, he knew and recognized that what Owen said was true; if crimes went unpunished in a space so small as a ship, the whole delicate balance of life would fall into chaotic anarchy. Emotionally, however, things complicated; Barrows so obviously repented of his sins, his would-be crime had been thwarted and he had suffered terribly for his lapse in judgment. The religion he still clung to offered no easy answers. Though he might have lost his way, Barrows demonstrated a sincerity of heart at the end, in his apology, his wish to spare his mother the disgrace of a hanging death. That had to be recognized and reflected upon.

Doctor MacMorgan approached to stand to the side of the Marines, holding a leather-bound book in one hand. “Theus grant His mercy upon ye. May He bless and keep ye, and know He shall whisper all the secrets of this life and the next in thy ears when ye arrive in His kingdom. Amen.”

The crew responded at once and hats began to be removed. Captain Hayes nodded to Pierce, who stood straight.

“Marine! Shoulder Arms!” The chosen firer of the deadly musket shouldered the weapon. “Load!” The man rammed a shot home, each movement precise and deadly. “Take your aim!” He put the weapon to his shoulder, taking careful aim with the gentle roll of the ship. “Fire!” The single shot sounded like a clap of thunder. Barrows jerked, a small spray of crimson bursting into the air where his heart was located. His body slumped to the ground and was immediately attended by Doctor MacMorgan, who grimly looked up to the captain and nodded.

John Barrows was dead.

Still unaccustomed to gunfire, Haru flinched, jumped, at the sound.

And, like that, it was all over. Barrows had asked for a quick, clean death and he had received just that.

Doctor MacMorgan called for canvas; the very hammock Barrows had used to sleep in would now be his shroud. He stitched the body into it, starting at the feet and working his way up, though he took a moment to slip a copper penny into one of Barrows’ shoes. Once the work was done, some of the Marines retrieved the body and brought it belowdecks. “Remember, lads, plenty of salt for it,” the doctor called after them and the men grunted a reply.

Haru watched, in a detached sort of way, the ensuing activity. The sewing up of the body in canvas, the slipping of a penny into his show, these were foreign funreal customs to him and he could make no sense of them. The penny he recognized as a thing meant to ward off the fey, Owen had told him so, but what use it would serve the dead he could not begin to guess.

Beckett, who had stood silent by Haru’s side, sighed. “I never like that …” The young lieutenant had been present for the execution of the two surviving sailors who had acted as attackers; they had been hung. In Rokugan, he had witnessed the beheading of a pirate. He might not have liked seeing such things, but he was quickly becoming enured to them; the beheading had made him physically ill, Barrows’ shooting only roused a sense of sadness and regret.

“He asked to speak to me,” Haru said, his voice subdued. Though he spoke to Beckett, his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. “I granted his wish for a quick, clean death; he didn’t want to hang.” Reflecting on this for a moment, he then said, “I should have shown him more kindness in those moments.”

Beckett took a moment to steel himself, already adopting the habits of officers twice his age, standing straight and donning his hat. “We are doing him one last favor - He won’t be sent to the deep here. Who knows? The Devil himself might swim these waters … Or sky …” He cast a quick, uncertain look to the quicksilver surrounding them above and below. “You shouldn’t worry, Mr. Haru. At the end, I think he was likely thanking you most of all.”

[fntstory-blog]

Jaws of Neptune (pt IV)

 In which a change of course is decided. | chapter I | pt i | pt ii | pt iii

When Haru woke again, the ship felt different. It was calm, the ceaseless, violent rocking having eased to more gentle, familiar, motions. A gentle pressure could be felt about one hand and when his eyes adjusted to the light filtering into the cabin he found himself looking up into Owen’s face. A careworn, tired smile was on the captain’s face, though a grim light shone in his blue eyes. His uniform had the distinct look of having been lived in for several days; stubble covered his jaw.

The light coming into the cabin was strange; not the warm light of the sun, but a cool silver more intense than that of the moon. A gentle wind stirred, too, bringing with it the scent of spices and an undernote of something strange and metallic.

A grin broke across Haru’s face at the sight of Owen. Blinking sleepily, he flexed his hand beneath Owen’s, as if assuring himself that this were real. “How long have I been asleep?” He asked, voice cracking slightly. He ran the tip of his tongue gingerly over lips gone dry.

Owen brushed aside the hair from Haru’s face, revealing a blackened eye, bruised cheekbones and split lips. “Not quite two days. Doctor’s orders and all.”

Haru shifted and moved, wanting to sit up. The act required the help of a steady hand and, slowly, it was done, sleep-stiff and sore muscles groaning in protest alongside battered ribs. He could feel bandages wrapped about his middle, no doubt to aid in their mending. He looked about the cabin as best he could, one eye was now swollen mostly shut, taking note of the changed light and calmed pitch of the ship. “Are we free of the storm?” He asked, his voice stronger. “Is the ship unharmed?”

Owen nodded silently, keeping to himself the loss of lives, the damage done to the ship in the storm. There would be time enough for that later. What concerned him, in this moment, was the damage done to Haru, what had been lost in his attack.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said softly, one hand coming to rest against Haru’s bruised cheek. “I should have seen the signs, I should have done more … You’re suffering for my failures. Pierce is right, damn him, I’m not fit to be a captain, not yet …”

Placing one hand over Owen’s, Haru pressed it lightly and looked him in the eye. “This is not your fault. The fault lies solely with that man, Barrows. He orchestrated this mad plot, he acted upon it and he convinced others to join him. You cannot look into men’s hearts and know what lies there.”

Something of that Rokugani haughtiness crept into his tone and expression as he considered Pierce and his words. He dropped his hand to his lap, Owen’s slipped away, too. “Who is Pierce to say that to you? You have seen your crew from a foreign shore, across a sea said not to exist. You traveled across the worst my homeland has to offer, battling demons and monsters, so as to secure your people safe passage home. I may owe this man some small thanks for acting as guard, but he oversteps his boundaries to say so much to his superior and captain.” Voice and expression softening, Haru reached out for Owen’s hand, taking it and interlacing their fingers.

“You are the finest man I know, Owen Hayes, and I would not have come with you on this voyage if I did not believe you would see us both safely delivered …”

“Pierce and Captain Kerrigan, you remember, the first captain, were close friends. The Marines have never accepted me as master of the ship, though they’ve obeyed my orders. It’s no secret that Captain Kerrigan disapproved of my leaving to escort you through the Shadowlands and Pierce refused to send any of the Marines to assist.”

Haru did remember the Ivory Maiden’s first captain, the hospitality he showed, his eagerness to leave Rokugan and return to Avalon. He did not know that the man did not want his lieutenant traveling or that they might have had more men to accompany them on their dangerous mission. This soured his opinion further on the Marine; lives had been lost in their search for the magic compass that was currently seeing them to Avalon. If they had been allowed more soldiers, more fighters … To him it sounded as though Pierce were a petty coward.

Owen continued, eyes downcast now, focused on the sight of their joined hands. “It’s just that …” He sighed softly. “There’s so much to know about the running of a ship that goes beyond canvas and rope and timber. I know how to have her dance on the waves, that comes as second nature, but the crew …” He trailed off, brow knitting in troublesome thought; the Ivory Maiden’s façade of harmony was cracking, badly. He didn’t linger overly long on this, though, there had been time enough to ruminate on his various failures as captain while Haru slept and begun to heal.

“Can you rise?” He asked. “I’d like to show you something.”

Haru nodded, though truth be told he wasn’t entirely sure. It was not an easy thing, but with the support of Owen’s hands and arms he was able to get to his feet. He stood, shakily, for a moment, breathing rapidly and shallowly as he waited for the pain in his ribs to subside. All over, he felt sore; every movement taking long seconds as beaten limbs slowly recalled their function. Once the pain faded to something more bearable, he stood straighter, hands leaving Owen’s arm to smooth his hair and shirt. He thought of the frightful picture he presented, Crane-bred vanity rearing its elegent head even now.

Owen opened the latches on the cabin’s lone window, the view that of the deck and slivers of sea and sky. More of the strange silver light came in as well as the scent of sea salt and unfamiliar spices. Clear to the horizon, the Maiden seemed to be sailing on a sea of melted silver. The cries and answers of officers and sailors could be heard, the work to be done on a ship never-ending no matter where she found herself.

“Now watch. Mr. Beckett!” Owen called from the window. The young officer shouted a command and the crack of a musket rifle shattered the still air, splashing into the sky, causing ripples all the way to the horizon. He shook his head in wonder. “I’ll never get used to that. It’s both wonderful and terrible at the same moment.”

Head and shoulders poking out of the window, Haru peered around at their strange, new surroundings, eyes widening - or, rather, his one unblackened eye - at the shooting display. He had seen many strange things in his relatively short time, but this was by far the strangest. And yet, there was a certain beauty to it all; it made him think of his gods and their homes in heavenly, celestial realms.

“It’s beautiful …! Will the compass guide us through this? Is this what you passed through before landing in Rokugan?” Though he spoke to Hayes, his eyes remained on the strange silvery spectacle of sky and sea.

“Marco gave us directions. We tack here until we reach the Jaws of Neptune, wherever that is,” Hayes remarked, watching as the ripples from the bullet slowly faded from the sky, leaving it silver and still and impossible to measure. “Aye. And It’s no less disconcerting seeing it a second time …”

The name ‘Jaws of Neptune’ jogged something in Haru’s memory, something the Fate Witch had said in their meeting. There had been a warning, something to do with broken teeth … He couldn’t recall it percisely presently, though given all that had happened it was a small wonder he could recall it at all. No doubt a full night’s sleep would clear the remaining cobwebs from his Dance-addled mind and leave him thinking, and remembering, more clearly.

Owen left the window open and returned to the chair he had been sitting in, perching on seat’s edge. “Haru,” he began after some silent moments, “I think that I’ve been approaching your stay on the Ivory Maiden in the wrong way. You walked through lands populated with demons to help us get home, and I’ve no right to ask you to give anything more if you don’t wish it to be so.” He glanced up to Haru with a questioning lift to his brows. “I had the notion … Would you like to learn some of this?” He swept a hand around the air, gesturing to the beloved ship. “I’ll warn you, it won’t be easy work, and you’d have to listen to Mr. Beckett’s orders …”

Hayes’ words tore Haru’s attention away from the window, at long last, and he turned to face the captain, curiosity on his battered face. The offer wasn’t an unattractive one; whiling away the hours in a room was only desirable when the room was connected to a home and full of entertaining distractions. The fires of revolution had taken away home and possessions from him and while his cabin was comfortable, he did not look forward to spending an entire voyage within its sparse walls. Then again, he did not want to be underfoot and in the way, impeding the daily work required for smooth sailing …

A hand raised to briefly touch the scars at one shoulder, a lingering memento from his journey through the Shadowlands. A moment’s consideration was all he needed before he nodded in agreement. “I can’t hide away forever or be secreted away below decks at the first sign of danger, Owen,” he began, gently. “I would be honored to learn how your ship is run. Beckett-san, despite his youth, is someone I hold in high esteem; I would gladly take orders and instruction from him.”

There was a twofold reason to accept the proposition; being amongst the men might go a long way to dispel the view they held of the Rokugani as an other. If he were there, on the deck, learning the skills that kept the ship afloat, showed that he cared just as much as they did about the vessel’s well-being, they might accept him as one of their own. And that, more than anything else, would put an end to treacherous plots borne of base superstition.

“Very well, then, Mr. Haru.” Owen smiled in a lopsided way, his spirits lifting considerably with their conversation. It was heartening to see Haru recovering and acting much as his old self; the road to full recovery would be a long one, but these first steps were encouraging. He was glad, too, that his thoughts had been to readily accepted. In his mind, having Haru as part of the crew would give *him* peace of mind as it would put his lover under the direct supervision of his most trusted lieutenant. Beckett would work him like all the others, but he would also keep him safe.

“You’ll be the first Rokugani sailor in Her Majesty’s Navy. I’m certain that Mr. Beckett will be quite enthused to have you in his merciless thrall,” he drawled, standing to step to a large trunk braced against a sidewall. “Let’s acquaint you with what will be your new uniform, then …”

“You make Beckett-san sound like a cruel, ruthless tyrant,” Haru said with a small smile. “I refuse to believe it! He’s never been anything but kind and respectful to me.”

“Mr. Beckett *is* a ruthless tyrant, I’ll have you know. He acts as my red right hand, after all,” Owen countered dryly, pulling out a standard set of sailor’s clothes. This consisted of a loose-necked shirt, striped rough-knit canvas pants, and a wide brown belt with a scarred buckle. These were laid out on the bed along with a small-ish pouch to be used as a purse.

“There’s one other thing I would ask,” Haru continued, refusing to believe a word coming from Owen’s wryly turned lips, “The man, Lannigan-san, he saved my life. I would like to properly thank him for that. Seeing that I have nothing to give him, I would like to invite him for dinner, or tea or …” He sighed, one hand raking through still-mussed snow-white tresses. “I do not know the proper protocol for this, Owen, but I owe him something, some show of courtesy and respect …”

Owen considered this as he set the sailor’s clothes on the bed. “I couldn’t invite Lannigan to our table without murmurings among the men, but I have an idea that will work all the better, I think. I’m sure Lord Berek could, and would, under the guise of his interest in conversing with you.”

“If Berek-sama could arrange the thing, I would be most grateful. If it would not be pushing the point, perhaps the doctor should be invited as well? I owe him a debt of gratitude as well …”

“I’ll make it a point to wake Lord Berek from his … slumber,” Hayes said with a slight roll of the eye. “As for Doctor MacMorgan …” He paused, closing the shutters of the window to once again afford them some semblance of privacy. “He and the Noble Lord don’t quite see eye to eye on any point. The last dinner that they took together, MacMorgan ended up with wine soaking his shirt, and Berek had to dodge a thrown carving fork. I have declined to mix their company ever since.”

Haru frowned slightly, annoyed that his plans for an all-encompassing show of thanks had been thwarted. “I’ll speak to the doctor personally, then. No doubt I’ll be afforded the chance in coming days. I hope Berek-sama and Lannigan-san are able to … comport themselves in a better fashion.” Thrown wine and utensils were incredibly unseemly and he struggled to make sense of how a dinner had gone so wrong; even the uncouth Crab and strange Unicorn clans knew better than to act so savagely.

“Jeremiah Berek has a strange viewpoint on what he terms ‘the common man,’” Owen explained, resettling in his chair. “Honestly, between you and I, it’s a tad insulting. He says that noblemen are all the evil and good that man can do, while the common man is a terrier; some are bold, while others are spineless and worth nothing.” He shook his head. “I tend to disagree and so does the good doctor. In any event, I doubt he and Thomas will find much to quarrel about. Thomas is a good man; he knows his place.”

“His point of view is remarkably more … generous than the one I grew up with. At least he allows that non-nobles are capable of boldness, heroism; in Rokugan, those who are not samurai are classified in two castes: heimin, half-people, and hinin, non-people, which says … Well, it says quite a bit, doesn’t it? It’s very easy to look down and imagine yourself bigger and better than others when you claim the top of the social mountain …”

Owen considered this, head tilted thoughtfully to one side. He seemed to see Haru through new eyes, though the subtle shift in his expression was difficult to place. “It must be difficult, such a change in cultures, ideas, even the very way we take our tea …” His tone was full of wonder; his focus had so narrowly been on securing Haru’s passage and delivering 600 some odd souls back to Avalon that he had managed to miss something so obvious. Not that he was oblivious to the differences in their cultures, or that the transition wouldn’t be easy, but that was always somewhere in his mind as a later problem; something to address and tackle once they were safely back in Avalon.

“It is my hope to strike a balance, replacing old things with new while holding onto what is most important. I cannot, and will not, give up everything all at once, but there are things worth letting go of. Old prejudices, for one … Blood-stained kimono for another,” he added ruefully, finally examining what were to be his new garments.

“Well?” Owen asked, glancing from cot to Haru. “What do you think?”

Haru wondered who they might have belonged to before they passed into his possession; surely spare sets of clothing weren’t routinely kept, lying around. Fingers ran over one shirt sleeve, feeling the courseness of the fabric. “I think … I think I did not realize I would be leaving so much of myself behind so soon.” Voice and expression had grown pensive with these words.

Owen held out a hand towards Haru, which was taken and gently squeezed. “The sea takes from us all, piece by piece,” he said softly. “But I’ll remember the pieces that may drift away, if you’ll do the same for me.”

[fntstory-blog]

Sorry for the radio silence lately :< Work’s been busier than usual, I was sick for a week, and now I’m preparing for the holidays. A goal I have for 2017 is to try to put this blog onto a regular schedule! I think that would greatly help not only me in staying focused, but also my readers in that you guys would know when a new piece is being posted.

Thank you, always, for reading :>

[fntstory-blog]

The Jaws of Neptune (pt III)

In which our hero recovers. | chapter I | pt i | pt ii

Tommy Lannigan sat in the Doctor’s cabin, fidgeting terribly as the man examined the damage done to his face. More typically, the Doctor would have gone to the injured, examining and treating men where they lay, or moving them belowdecks en masse. However, this proved to be an unusual situation arising from even more extraordinary circumstances. Haru lay insensible on the cabin’s lone bed, leather straps fastened across chest and arms and legs to keep him still; he had endured yet another seizure and the Doctor wanted to take no chances of his hurting himself any further. One of the Marines had been posted outside the cabin as a further precaution. Barrows and his conspirators were in the brig, awaiting trial and execution.

Lannigan had insisted on staying put, helping Doctor MacMorgan as he tended as best he could to Haru’s hurts. Hayes had approved of the arrangement, wanting a man he could trust to stay with the Doctor. It pained him, deeply, that it could not be himself, but the needs of the ship outweighed the needs of himself; the ship had suffered other losses, other damages, in the crossing and his duties as captain were far from over.

Lannigan had suffered a broken nose, not for the first time, and twin crescents now waxed beneath dark eyes. His constant moving was making the delayed examination a difficult thing for both doctor and patient. “By me mother’s grave, Doctor!” He swore, moving his face away yet again. “I was told yeh had surgeon’s hands!”

“Be still, Thomas Lannigan,” MacMorgan reprimended in a nigh-grandfatherly tone. “Surgeon’s hands are useless when you cringe like a child.” He was a heavyset man and wore rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose; his appearance matched his voice and, usually, instilled a sense of trust within his patients.

The Inishman complied, though he was moving again soon enough when he espied Haru rousing from his slumbering state. “Doc! He’s come out of it, he has!”

Haru slowly returned to consciousness, vaguely aware of the presence of other people. A perfumed handkerchief had been stuck between his teeth and tongue to keep him from biting the latter; straps kept him still. Coming out of one of these episodes was always an exhausting, disorienting thing. Forgetfulness clouded his mind, erasing the panic and fear of the last … He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. It could have been only a few minutes or hours.

The handkerchief was spat out, rather inelegantly, followed by a series of coughs that had him laying his head back down. If he tried to sit up just now, he was afraid of losing whatever remained in his stomach. The two men’s voices were hard to focus on and make any sense of, his mind still recovering from the trauma of seizure.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Haru,” the Doctor said, moving over to carefully loosen his bonds. “You were quite lucky. If Mr. Lannigan had not thundered down the stairs when he did …”

Lannigan offered a wave. “Think nothin’ of it, sir. T’was only doin’ th’ right thing. Though I’m afraid they got th’ better of me, too.”

The Doctor adjusted his glasses again. “Ah, where are my manners … I’m the ship’s physician, Doctor MacMorgan.”

“Koko wa doko?” Haru asked, looking confusedly at his surroundings. Nothing looked familar, his still-foggy mind unable to, just yet, make the necessary connections and begin to fill in the gaps of memory. Last he could recall, he had been above decks with Owen and this cabin was not his or the captain’s. With no small amount of effort, he sat up, legs swinging stiffly over the edge of the cot. The pains of the attack, his fall, the seizures, they all compounded and made themselves known; his whole body was nothing but aching accentuated with sharp stabs of actual pain.

“Easy now, lad.” MacMorgan helped him sit up, hands gentle as they braced shoulders and back. He tilted his head at the snippet of Rokugani Haru uttered; he didn’t know the meaning, but he recognized a question being asked.

Haru’s wounds had been cared for, blood washed away as well as was able. Bandages had been wrapped about his middle, for bruised ribs, and again around his right forearm. He had been changed out of his bloody kimono into a plain linen nightshirt, too.

Looking between the doctor and Lannigan again, the fog clouding his mind began to disperse, allowing the light of memory to come through. Swallowing back a wave of nausea, he tried again to communicate. Tongue’s raw tip wet dry lips, the handkerchief hadn’t come soon enough.

“Apologies, doctor, these … episodes … leave me somewhat out of sorts. What happened? The last thing I clearly remember is being ordered below decks …” He frowned as he began to piece together what had happened.

Convinced that Haru could sit up on his own, MacMorgan turned to collect a bottle and glass, the bottle containing a clear liquid of some sort. This he gave to Haru. “Here. It’s my personal concoction. Good for the humors and the cuts on your tongue.”

Haru nodded a silent thanks at the doctor’s assistance and though the proffered concoction looked rather unappealing he drank it without complaint. “I’ve had this … affliction my whole life; I just need more rest. Thank you, doctor.”

Lannigan’s battered face hung over the doctor’s shoulder, though with the movement of the ship he bumped the elderly doctor quite a few times. “I wasn’t about t’ let those beasts fall t’ fights o’ fancy. Any time I can knock Bricks on his arse’s reason enough.”

MacMorgan gently pushed the Inishman back as he crowded in. “Sit down, Tommy Lannigan. You’re still beaten half to a pulp.”

Lannigan sat heavily back down. “Tha’ weasel, John Barrows …”

MacMorgan frowned deeply. “Yes. Er - Mr. Haru, there is a delicate situation that you’ll certainly be involved in, though it can and will wait until the ship is out of danger. You were attacked while belowdecks, quite brutally, by young John Barrows, a lieutenant serving on this ship and three others. You’ve had a series of seizures as well, though the danger seems to have passed. I’ve taken the liberty of extending the recovery bed to you, Mr. Haru. Mr. Pierce, a Marine, is watching the door, though Barrows and his cohorts have already been detained. I’m sure the captain will stop by once his duties become less strenuous.”

The name John Barrows meant little enough; perhaps once Haru was more fully recovered he would remember more about the young man than the fact that he tried to kill him.

A delicate situation … Haru nodded, though inwardly he thought that his being on the ship in the first place was the most delicate of situations. “Tell the captain …” he began, then let the words fade, with a slight shake of the head. “I’ll speak to the captain when he’s free. Thank you again, doctor.” The seated bow he attempted was more an inclination of the head; the pain in his much battered ribs prevented any more mobility than that. “Lannigan-san, I would like to speak with you when time and circumstance allow …”

MacMorgan peered expertly one more time at his patient, taking in complexion and clarity of eye. Satisfied that the greatest of dangers had passed, he nodded to himself and collected the black leather satchel which held most of the instruments necessary to his profession. “Well, I shall leave you to rest, Mr. Haru, and be about my duties. Come on, Lannigan.”

The Inishman got to his feet with a perfunctory, “Aye, doc.” He nodded to Haru one last time before they left the cabin for their other duties.

Alone, Haru lowered himself once more onto the cot. Their conversation, short as it had been, left him exhausted, though, perhaps, MacMorgan’s elixir played some role in his drowsiness. Sleep eventually took hold, making him insensible, once more, to the world.

[fntstory-blog]

A little baby update, guys. Last week work was super busy and I’ve been sick all this week :< I’m working on getting back on track, though! 

And I’ve noticed that I’ve picked up a couple new readers, so welcome! :D

[fntstory-blog]

The Jaws of Neptune (pt II)

In which the damage is done. | chapter I | pt i

Time seemed to stretch, come to a standstill, then snap back into place. Owen’s mind struggled to make sense of what he saw; not the shimmering silver of sky and sea, the twin bodies in the sky that seemed to give no warmth while casting a dim regular light. These he had seen before, when they first crossed the Seventh Sea. What he couldn’t comprehend was the sight of Lannigan, one of the sailors, coming up from belowdecks carrying Haru in his arms. Haru unconscious, bloody, beaten black and blue. A contingent of the ship’s Marines, lead by a man named Pierce, marching Lieutenant Barrows and two of his men up the stairs; Barrows looked as though he had been in a brawl, one of the men had a still bleeding gash across the chest. Pierce held Haru’s wakizashi in its sheath.

Emotion overtook reason and Owen rushed across the deck, leaving propriety and regulations far behind. He was soaked near to the bone from the storm that followed their crossing and when he came to a stop just shy of Lannigan, a puddle of sea water formed by his booted feet. One hand rose to brush aside a lock of Haru’s hair, but he stopped, remembering himself and what the gesture might reveal, instead closing his hand into a fist. Up close, he could better see the extent of the damage inflicted; blood caked in Haru’s snow white hair and dripped from one hand. One eye was swollen shut, ringed in black and purple, his lips split. More blood flowed from his nose, painting mouth and teeth and chin. Lannigan sported a similar injury, though the captain scarcely took note.

“What happened?” Owen heard himself asking, his voice gruff for the lump in his throat. He looked from Lannigan to the Marines and Pierce, fists flexing by his sides. He wanted to take Haru from the Inishman, hold him, weep at the violence done to him by one of his own.

Lannigan bobbed his head, being unable to press knuckles to his forehead in a proper salute. “Sir, it were, well, it were them what did it, sir,” he gestured with his chin to Barrows and his conspirators. “I saw them leaving, sir, and well, I followed ‘em, sir, knowing they can’t have been up to any good, sir —“

Owen didn’t hear the rest of the explanation. Blinded by rage, he made a move towards Barrows, grabbing the young man by the front of his jacket and striking him. If the lieutenant thought the red-coated Marines would protect him he was proven wrong. Though little love existed between the Marines and Captain Hayes, they didn’t hold with would-be murderers. Barrows was paralyzed, torn between wanting to defend himself and knowing that laying hands upon his captain meant a certain death sentence.

A voice of reason sounded just then, behind Owen. “Captain!” Beckett had appeared, the boy noting the disappearance of Lannigan from his own workcrew and catching the escalating confrontation. Every man on board was privy to it, though the crew knew well enough to keep working and keep a surriptitious eye and ear out for what happened next.

Beckett appeared even younger than his thirteen years, sodden uniform hanging loosely from his shoulders and yellow hair clinging to skull and neck. He cast a pleading look to Owen, less a lieutenant and more a scared boy. “Captain, Pierce and his men have him. Let them take him to the brig. Mr. Haru, he needs the doctor, sir.” He cast a worried look to the Rokugani.

Owen released his hold on Barrows, though he kept his eyes on the man. “Take him and the others to the brig,” he ordered, the Marines answering in a chorus of ‘Aye, sir.’ “You best pray he lives, Barrows, else a hanging will be a mercy for you.”

Before Barrows could answer the threat, Lannigan swore loudly drawing all attention back to himself. Haru had begun to twitch and jerk once more, making the Inishman’s hold on him a treacherous thing. Hands and arms thumped against the sailor’s chest and his own while his legs kicked back and forth; the Marines standing closest moved back to avoid being hit.

Some of the younger Marines made hand gestures to ward against evil, having never seen a seizure; Beckett uttered an oath to Theus. Owen was shouting orders, Lannigan hurrying towards the doctor’s quarters as he called for the man himself. Word of what had transpired, or nearly transpired, had spread like wildfire amongst the men; whispers of murder ran from stern to starboard, from mizzen mast to fore mast. The remaining lieutenants drove their crews harder, threatening the cat for any man caught lallygagging, but it would take the captain and Marines in a united front to maintain order on the Maiden in these strange waters.

[fntstory-blog]

I miscounted chapter one’s parts, so the last part I posted wrapped it up! We’re onto chapter two, officially :D Thing start picking up with this part ...!

[fntstory-blog]

The Jaws of Neptune (pt I)

In which perils are faced above and below. | chapter I

All had been going so well. Both the Ivory Maiden and Il Tresoro had raised anchor on a bright morning as the Compass would be engaged and send both ships back to the fabled Seventh Sea. The two ships had been in communication, signal flags raising and lowering to convey in which direction the magic artifact was pointing.

A rush of fair wind buoyed both ships, unnaturally it seemed, a potential portent of the journey to come. Captain Hayes shouted orders, his words echoing down the deck as they were repeated by lieutenants, sending the crew to struggle in their tasks. Il Tresoro maintained her lead, sailing into the wind, and the Maiden followed as best she could manage.

The wind continued to pick up, whipping up waves and dark clouds. The brightness of the morning dimmed, sun hidden behind brewing storm clouds which seemed to hang too low and heavy in the sky. Every man on both ships turned an eye to this shift in weather, officers gauging how wind and rain would affect sails and speed; the crews turned over how much more difficult their work would be made.

Owen made it over to Haru’s cabin later in the morning, his experienced eye telling him there was just enough time to make safety preparations before the storm broke. Disposing of proper etiquette, he opened the door and strode into the room, the air about him one of perfect authority despite his wind-swept hair and the high color in his cheeks. Haru sat on his bunk, clutching a sturdy wooden post in an effort to keep from being knocked about by the ship’s increasingly violent motion.

“This is just as it was when we first crossed over,” Owen said. “With the sea rebelling against us. Please, Haru, will you go below?” His tone brooked no argument, as it was equal parts plea and command.

Just on the other side of the door, Beckett’s voice could be heard, crying out, “Every man is tied together, lads!” The command was echoed, faintly, down the line.

Haru nodded dumbly in agreement, though he didn’t much relish the thought; belowdecks was dark, dank, cramped. This is where the ship’s stores were kept, where the livestock meant to feed the crew was penned. Comfort, however, was not a top priority with the coming crossing and Haru kept this in mind as he swallowed his pride and acquiesced.

Gaining his feet, he made it to the door despite the ship’s movement, bracing himself against one wall then another. Stopping for a moment, he took up his wakizashi, tucking it into his obi; he took it less for protection and more from sentiment. If his cabin were destroyed, he didn’t want to lose this last physical tie to his homeland. Owen kept him a moment longer, one hand resting at Haru’s waist, and kissed him, tenderly at first then more soundly.

“I’ll come for you when it’s safe,” he said, when they parted. Haru nodded again.

Once belowdecks, the worst the sea could manage was hurled against the Maiden. She rocked from side to side, often dangerously, and he could hear the shouting of officers and the oaths of terrified sailors just above the noise of the driving rain. The animals penned down here began to wail as well, the terror causing them to stamp and pressed against their tiny prisons.

Letting go of his own discomfort, Haru instead focused on remaining calm and, falling back on his life’s training, began to pray in his native tongue to the gods and spirits he believed in, again asking them to intercede and see both ships safely delivered. What influence Rokugani deities could or would have so far from home, he did not know, but faith was all he had to hold onto.

A crack of thunder and a flash of lightening so intense Haru could see the light through the ship’s paneling split the air, hurling him from his feet to smash roughly into the deck. He slammed against wooden pens and bulkheads, feeling like a marble, rolling one way and then the other, unable to stop shoulders and back and legs from slamming into too sturdy wooden beams and planks. Uttering a string of oaths in two languages, he finally braced himself and regained his feet. No doubt in the morning he would present a pretty picture, all blossoming bruises and shallow scrapes.

The ship continued to roil and pitch for what seemed like hour upon hour though who could tell time in this stinking darkness? The terror of each animal was nearly tactile and the swaying of the dim sea lanterns caught a bovine eye, wide with mindless fear. The shuffle of feet above the entrance to the pens could be heard, and the dim bobbing of a lantern could barely be seen through the planks of the deck board. It sounded as if a group were approaching.

At first, he thought it might be Owen coming to tell him all was clear, but as the light grew closer he could better make out snippets of conversation: “… perfect time …” “Finally, be rid of his curse …” “It’s got to be now, lads! Captain might be watchin’ …” “Bloody Jonas … douse that bleedin’ lantern!” The footfalls grew louder now, more sure of themselves. The light was swallowed by the darkness below, the creak of leather soles and stairs muffled by the braying of animals and the constant, heaving drive of the rain.

Four men; Haru could see them start down the stairwell. None of them looked remarkable, save for the last. He was dressed in a lieutenant’s uniform - heavy navy coat and cream breeches, both soaked through - and while he looked older than Beckett, he was a few years younger than Haru himself. Malice gleamed in the other men’s eyes, shining like jagged flint in the low ambient light. Haru could see them grasping weapons of some sort; not blades, but likely more crude implements of harm.

Haru shrank back from where he had been kneeling, retreating to a darker corner, one hand going to the hilt of his sword. Perhaps if they were unable to find him, they would go back abovedecks. Surely they couldn’t slip away from their duties for too long without being noticed.

“Find the devil fast, boys. If Hayes finds out …” The lieutenant hissed, distancing himself from the older, larger men at his command. His squad of goons fanned out, eyes squinting in the dark, looking for the foreigner. Haru didn’t have much time to think, let alone act. The advantage was squarely in his enemies’ favor. “Hurry it up, Squay!” The ringleader growled through clenched teeth.

Haru’s grip tightened as did his resolve; these men were obviously eager for a fight and unwilling to leave before their task had been done. He would not wait in a cramped corner to be beaten and killed like the livestock amongst whom he had been hidden. Staying in the shadows, he waited for one of the men to come closer then, like a crane plucking a fish from a river, he attacked. In an instant, his blade was free of its lacquered sheath and buried in the sailor’s throat. Twisting it, Haru freed the blade, the man dropping heavily to the deck, his blood pooling and running in rivulets. The sailor, Squay probably, died with a look of shock etched onto his rough features. The nearby sheep, white fleece stained crimson from the spray of blood, bleated in alarm and stamped its hooves.

No longer hiding, he lashed out at a second would-be attacker, slashing him wickedly across the chest and causing him to reel back. The sailor’s belaying pin clattered to the floor as its owner howled and clutched at the ragged red wound.

“Shouldn’t you be abovedecks, lieutenant?” Haru said, looking to the young man, his voice cool and calm. In his hand he still held his sword, the blade spattered with crimson. If the officer had thought him defenseless, an exotic dandy, surely he had just received the shock of his young life. “I doubt this falls under any of your prescribed duties.”

“Name of Theus …” The lieutenant swore, eyes growing large as two of his crew were bested, before drawing his own short cutlass from his belt. “Bricks!” The largest of the three sailors emerged from Haru’s left, and the man he wounded drew up taller, newly encouraged to complete their violent task. “At him!”

All three rushed at once, pressing their advantage. Haru soon found himself in a desperate melee, backed up step by step. He did all he could to fend off the furious trifold attack. Blade flashing, he parried some would-be blows, but it became very clear very quickly that he was simply outmatched; if they were in open quarters, if he had his magic …

The officer crowed as his cutlass scored a push-thrust over Haru’s right wrist and Bricks scored a terrible blow to his chest which sent him stumbling backwards. The third man struck him on the side of the head, the heavy wooden instrument causing him to see stars. More than that, the too-familiar scent of burning rice began to build in his nose, his arm steadily becoming rigid, his steps becoming clumsy as the Dance of the Cranes began to take its hold.

Still the three pressed forward, fists and blade and cudgel rising and falling viciously, without mercy, the men bent on completing their grim task. The pain hardly registered as Haru’s senses were overwhelmed by the onset of the seizure. As if in a dream, he heard a voice call out, “Leave ‘im be, yeh villains!” and he couldn’t determine if it was real or imagined.

Losing consciousness, it wasn’t any one blow that dropped him to the deck but the betrayal of his own muscles. Arms and legs tensed, jerking and relaxing, bringing him down like a marionette whose strings have been cut. A sharp grunt was all the noise he made before he fell, head hitting the wooden planks with a sharp crack.

Fully unconscious now, his limbs spasmed and twitched unnaturally, causing him to stretch and roll on the deck. The hand still gripping the wakizashi moved the weapon back and forth, inflicting cuts on his own person, adding to the hurts he already suffered. Dark eyes rolled back until only the whites showed; jaw tightened, teeth biting cruelly into his own tongue as lips lost their healthy pink hue and turned pale and blue.