Zypheria's Call (A Tanyth Fairport Adventure) Read online

  They shook their heads.

  Harris scoffed. “Pro’ly don’t use it himself so didn’t think. Once your hands get used to the ropes and canvas and such, it’s nothin’ to be concerned about, but a new deck ape? Yeah. That’s what I’d give ’em. Pile o’ cotton undershirts and a tin o’ liniment.”

  Rebecca nodded her head. “If you’d find some that I could wear, Mr. Harris? And you stock this liniment?”

  He grinned. “O’course, miss. Be just a minute.”

  He rummaged and fumbled about, pulling out shirts from one crate and pulling a squat, square can of liniment out of a cubby. He stacked the lot on top of Rebecca’s pile then turned to Tanyth. “And for you, mum?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll go with what I got. She’s workin’ passage. I’m just along for the ride.”

  He chuckled and nodded. “Aw-right, then. Is there anythin’ else?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harris,” Tanyth said. “And how much for all this?”

  He nodded and held up one fat digit. “A moment, mum. Lemme just look.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a bit of chalk. He puttered about with the crates, smudging out numbers and making new marks, squinting at notations on the sides of the boxes. He did a fair amount of muttering and nodding to himself. “All right, mum. The coat’s s’posed to be six silver, but I’ll never sell that size out so, I’ll give ya both coats for ten. Pant’s are five each.” He shrugged in apology. “Less wool, but more work. The jerseys are four silvers, but I’ll throw in the last one for free so twelve there.”

  “Very fair price, Mr. Harris.” Tanyth winced to herself. She hadn’t owned clothes that cost more than a silver in her life. She had to admit to herself that she also made most of her clothes and she lacked the skill and knowledge to work that kind of heavy wool. “And the hats?”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “I’ll throw that in to sweeten the deal, mum. I’d hate to think of ya out there freezin’ yer ears off.”

  “And my shirts and the liniment?” Rebecca said.

  “Add a silver for the shirts and another for the liniment.”

  “Done, Mr. Harris, and thank you kindly.”

  They shook hands and Tanyth counted out the silvers from her dwindling supply, glad that she’d had the presence of mind to fill her pocketbook when she’d gotten the golds for passage.

  Tanyth and Rebecca bundled the heavy clothing up as best they could and followed Harris back through the maze to the front of the chandlery.

  “You’ve rather a lot of goods here, Mr. Harris.”

  “Oh, aye, mum. Pretty much anythin’ a ship might need to get out and back again safe.” He looked around proudly. “Canvas to paint, lines to linens. Just about anything.”

  She paused at the door. “Food? Tea?”

  “O’course, mum. Can’t sail without tea. And barrels of flour, hard tack, salt fish.” He waved a hand in the air to help him think. “Beans, oatmeal, cornmeal. Beans. I already said beans.”

  “I could use some tea. Mr. Groves said I should stock up on anything special I might like...”

  Mr. Harris grinned. “Oh, aye, but you don’t need to worry about tea. Ole Saul Groves, he likes his tea too much to risk runnin’ out.” Harris nodded. “He’s got at least a hun’erd weight of tea aboard already, mum.”

  The number took her by surprise. “A hundred pounds of tea?”

  “Aye, mum. Sailors drink a lot of tea.”

  “How long is this voyage?”

  He blinked at her. “You don’t know, mum?”

  She shrugged. “The subject’s never come up.”

  “Usually takes a week and a half to two weeks to make the passage. This time of year, watching for ice and all, probably two, two and a half.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harris. You’ve been very helpful.”

  He knuckled his brow. “Thank you for your custom, mum.” He shook his head. “Don’t get many womenfolk in here.”

  She stopped with her hand on the latch. “You get some then?”

  He’d already started back into the depths of the warehouse but stopped with a shrug. “Well, no, mum. You’re the first.” He glanced at Rebecca. “First since her ma used to sneak in to buy fishin’ gear from my da.” He rolled his mouth up as if to prevent himself from saying more.

  Tanyth felt Rebecca stiffen and looked to her, but she just shook her head. Even in the dimness of the chandlery, Tanyth saw her eyes gleam wetly.

  With a nod to Harris, Tanyth said, “Well, thank you for your assistance, Mr. Harris.”

  “My pleasure, mum. My pleasure. Safe voyage.” He raised a hand in salute and disappeared around a pile of barrels.

  Tanyth followed Rebecca out of the shop, hearing the bell jingle again. She still wore the knit cap and reached up to tug one side down over her ear. The afternoon breeze had an edge to it and she was glad to have the protection. “Shoulda got one of these ages ago,” she muttered.

  Rebecca smiled at her, and tugged her own hat down a little. “They are practical, aren’t they, mum?”

  Tanyth nodded and cast Rebecca a sideways look. “You wanna talk about it?”

  “My mother?”

  Tanyth nodded. “Yeah.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No, mum. I’d rather not. Can I help you lug some of that?” She nodded at the bundle of woolens that Tanyth had wrapped in her arms.

  Tanyth snickered. “Well, you got more to carry than I do, my dear. If I can keep from droppin’ my stick, we should be all right to get back to the ship.” They started walking back down the pier. “But I don’t know where we’re gonna stow all this stuff.”

  “Under the bunks, prob’ly, mum.”

  Tanyth shot her a look. “You been on a ship before?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Father wouldn’t allow it.” She grinned at Tanyth, “But I peeked in the cupboards while you were busy with Benjamin. They’re empty.”

  Tanyth’s eyebrows shot up. “Benjamin, is it?”

  “Mr. Groves,” Rebecca said. “I meant Mr. Groves.”

  Tanyth laughed. “I know what you meant, girl. I know what you meant.”

  The setting sun cast their shadows across the pier as they trudged back to the ship.

  Chapter Twenty:

  Settling In

  When they got there, Tanyth managed to get across the plank without falling in, even with the heavy bundle of woolens and her staff. She hung the coat on one of the pegs and looped the belt loop of the trousers on another. She looked at the mass of the two items of clothing and shook her head. “You’ll never get them in your pack, old woman.”

  Rebecca snickered. “You’re not plannin’ on takin’ them with you off the ship?”

  Tanyth shrugged the problem aside for later and turned to laying out her bedroll on the bunk. It was a snug fit and she crawled up onto it, stretching out on top to try it out. She rolled her old heavy coat into a pillow and discovered that the narrow bunk suited her back quite well. The low overhead and solid head and foot made her feel very secure.

  “Just like your own little cave, isn’t it, mum?” Rebecca said from across the way.

  For a moment Tanyth remembered another cave under a fallen tree but banished that thought with a grunt.

  “This is much better,” she muttered and closed her eyes, just for a moment, relaxing in the gentle sway of the ship and the quiet creaks of flexing wood and rope.

  The nest had been damaged a bit but nothing a little repair couldn’t fix. The dimness protected them and the warmth of their bodies kept them comfortable. They’d run out when things got quiet and find food. Food would be good. Water would be good.

  First, find something soft, something to unravel to fix the nest.

  Tanyth’s eyes fluttered open. She glanced over and saw Rebecca still stretched out, her hands folded across her stomach. She heard steps on the deck outside followed by a light tread in the passage outside her door.

  A double tap followed by “Mother Fairport?”

 
“Yes?”

  “It’s Benjamin, mum. The Captain requests the pleasure of your company in dining ashore with us this evening.”

  “Just a moment, Benjamin.”

  She clambered out of the bunk, and scrubbed her face with her palms, still off balance from the brief dream. With a twist on the handle she opened the door and faced the first mate. “We’re not exactly supplied with fancy clothes, Mr. Groves.”

  The young man nodded a greeting and flashed a smile at Rebecca who leaned out of her bunk. “What you’re wearing is fine, mum. There’s a tavern just off the pier. Mother’s coming to sup with us. It’s mostly a sailor’s dive but the stew is good and it’s handy to the ship. Not exactly a fancy eatery, but we like it.”

  She considered her options, glanced at Rebecca who gave a small but eager nod, and realized that she didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in the tiny cabin herself. “All right,” she said. “When?”

  “Four bells, mum.”

  Tanyth cocked her head. “And when would that be?”

  “Oh, sorry, mum.” He nodded at the tiny window. “Should be just about dark but you’ll hear the ship’s bell ring four times. It’ll sound like ding-ding, ding-ding.”

  “You do a lot of this ding-dinging?”

  “Every half hour, mum. It’s coming up on two bells. You’ll hear it, then three bells, and at four bells, I’ll come and collect you.”

  “All right, then.”

  He caught sight of the blue coat on the peg. “I see you found Mr. Harris.”

  “Oh, yes. Very nice man. I should be warm enough now, I think.”

  “You’ll be warm as the rest of us, I expect, but you’ll be glad for the extra clothing.”

  “You’re not makin’ an old woman feel very comfortable about this trip, Mr. Groves.”

  He gave her a short laugh but his face took a serious cast. “It’s the first trip of the season, mum. The next one will be warmer and easier, but this first one?” He shook his head. “Normally, we don’t take passengers on this trip at all.”

  “Too dangerous?” she asked.

  “Not that so much. Every trip is dangerous to a degree.” He shrugged. “The sea’s a powerful thing and man’s but a poor, fragile shell, as you probably know better’n me, mum.”

  “Then why?”

  He laughed again. “Because it’s just so miserable that if it weren’t for the profit we stand to earn, none of us would go either.”

  She found his laughter hard to resist and soon laughed with him. “Well, we’ll all ride it out together then, I guess,” she said.

  In the distance she heard, “ding-ding.”

  “There! That’s two bells,” Groves said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  She nodded. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  She started to close the door but stopped. “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Groves?”

  “Yes, mum?”

  “Is there a place aboard where I can wash up a bit?”

  “Oh, of course. Let me give you the tour, mum.”

  The tour, such as it was, took only a few minutes. The narrow space under the deck held the captain’s cabin across the width of the stern and a small cabin that the first and second mates shared.

  Rebecca blinked at that arrangement. “There’s only one bunk?”

  “We never sleep at the same time. When we’re underway, one of us is always up.”

  “Sounds tirin’.”

  Groves laughed. “It can be, but that’s life at sea. Between tiring and terrifying, most of us pick tiring.”

  “I can understand that, Mr. Groves,” Tanyth said. Having been through her own share of terrifying, her agreement carried plenty of freight.

  He showed her the “water closet” as well. He shrugged, clearly embarassed. “We don’t get many women passengers, mum. Facilities are a bit rough.”

  She grinned at him. “Try sharin’ a privy with twenty other people.”

  He barked a laugh. “It’ll get a bit ripe, but the bucket gets changed out regularly underway. And it’s always colder in here because of the vents.”

  She nodded. “The alternative would be much more unpleasant, I think.”

  He laughed again. “I believe you’re right, mum.”

  They returned to the stateroom and he showed her where to find a small tin basin and a pitcher. “If you take this to the cookhouse on deck, mum. You can draw hot water from the tank on the stove.”

  “That’s pretty handy.”

  He shrugged. “Dirt and disease kill more sailors than salt water, mum. We try to avoid it where possible. Bring your pitcher and I’ll introduce you to Cook. You two should get on famously.”

  She took up the metal handle and followed him out onto the deck. A small deckhouse between the two masts held a tidy kitchen. A rotund, clean-shaven man looked up from a pot of something when the door opened. “Mr. Groves,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn.

  “Cook? This is Mother Fairport. She and her companion have taken passage to North Haven and will be staying aboard until we leave. I’ve come to show her where to get hot water.”

  “Welcome aboard, mum.”

  “Thank you, Cook?” She looked back and forth between the two men. “Is that the correct form of address?”

  “Aye, mum. Most just calls me Cook. It’s been so long now I almost forgot my other name.”

  “Almost?”

  “Aye, mum. James, mum.”

  “No one calls you James, then?”

  “Only my mother, mum.” The man laughed. “O’course, she’s also Cook, and I learned from her before I joined up and went to sea.” The man laughed again. “We blame my father, mum.”

  “Your father?” Tanyth looked to Mr. Groves who hid a smile behind a hand and tried to look innocent.

  “Aye, mum. He’s the reason they call me Cook.”

  “Why’s that, then?”

  “Well, because he married my mother, mum. She was a Wilson before she was a Cook, and if he’d not married her they’d call me a—”

  “Yes, Cook,” Mr. Groves interrupted. “We’ve a lady aboard.”

  “Oh, sorry, mum,” Cook looked abashed. “I forget my manners sometimes.”

  “It’s quite all right. I’ve heard much worse.”

  In the distance they heard the ship’s bell ring twice and then once. “Three bells?” Tanyth asked.

  “Just so, mum,” Mr. Groves agreed. “I’ll leave you to the tender mercies of the ship’s comedian and see to my own duties now, if that’s satisfactory?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Groves. I think you were right. Cook and I will get on famously.”

  He smiled and left the deckhouse, latching the door behind him.

  “Well, Cook, if you’d show me where to get the water, I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Oh, right here, mum. This spigot?” He handed her a towel. “Use this, mum. That gets a tad warm when the stove’s on.”

  She filled the pitcher about half full with water so hot it steamed even near the heat of the stove. She was careful to hold the pitcher’s handle after nearly burning her hand on the metal base.

  “There’s sweet water in that cask there, mum.” The cook pointed to a tapped barrel near the door. “You can use that for drinkin’ and washin’ up and such.”

  “Sweet water?” she asked.

  “Yes, mum. Not to be confused with salt. Don’t drink the salt water, mum.”

  She looked about the cookhouse but saw only the one barrel. “And where would I find salt water, Cook?”

  “Why, all around the outside of the ship, mum. Just drop a bucket anywhere. You’ll find all you need.”

  She turned to look at him and saw his eyes twinkling. She laughed aloud and was still chuckling when she got back to Rebecca.

  “What’s tickled ya this time, mum?” Rebecca asked.

  “You’ll want to watch out for the cook, my dear. He’s a certain way with words that’ll tickle ya when you’re not expectin’ it.”
/>   Rebecca frowned at the cryptic remark but took her turn at the warm water without asking for an explanation.

  Chapter Twenty-One:

  A Shift In The Wind

  Mr. Groves rapped on their door at the fourth stroke of the bell and offered her his arm as they walked the pier toward the city. Rebecca walked beside Tanyth and occasionally leaned in to look at Groves.

  “It’s easy to forget the city’s here sometimes, mum,” he said.

  Tanyth looked at the hulking mass of warehouses along the quay and the buildings climbing the low hill beyond. Around them, a forest of masts and spars stood out in sharp relief against the darkening sky. “I can see why. It’s quite peaceful out here at the end of the pier. None of the hurly-burly of the city and such.”

  “The ship itself is a spot of comfort on its own,” Mr. Groves said. “This pier seems almost too weak to bind her.”

  Tanyth smiled up at her young escort. “Mr. Groves, I believe you’re a romantic.”

  He smiled back. “All sailors are romantics at heart, mum. Else we’d stay at home and tend farms.”

  In no time they found a well-lighted tavern named The Sailor’s Cradle that sported as its sign a full hammock strung on a standard and swinging in the breeze. Tanyth looked up at it as they approached. “A hammock?”

  “Indeed, mum. The crew in the fo’c’sle—that’s up in the bow beyond the cookhouse—they sleep in hammocks, not bunks.”

  “Why is that, Mr. Groves.”

  He shrugged. “Part custom, part convenience. Part comfort, truth be told.”

  She eyed the open weave net that formed the body of the hammock on display as they walked under it and into the tavern proper. “Comfort, Mr. Groves?”

  “Aye, mum. Hung on both ends like that, when the ship rocks, the cradle doesn’t. You’re less likely to be tossed out of a hammock in heavy seas than you are a bunk.”

  “Not to be an alarmed old lady, Mr. Groves, but is that likely?”

  He grinned. “No, mum. Bunks on the Call run cross-wise in the ship. If we rock side to side, you’ll barely feel it and if we start climbing seas big enough to rock us that much bow and stern, we’ll have bigger problems than falling out of our bunks.”