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The wind popped the sails like a whip. The Ascalon rolled and he braced himself. The storm bucked the vessel and raindrops pelted like thrown pebbles against his cheeks.
‘Get the helm.’ Ben appeared from starboard side. Flashes of light illuminated the rain-soaked strands of hair spiking from under a cap he wore.
Warrington gave a quick nod and moved past the quarterdeck. He had no more time to think when the ship jerked, tossing him forward.
The bow of the ship plunged downwards, well into the waves, then bobbed up again, like a drowning person gasping for breath, only to be slapped back against water. He forced his eyes open in the onslaught of wind and rain attacking them. Water saturated his hair, but none ran in rivulets down his face, instead the wind dispersed the drops like shattered glass.
When he stood at the wheel, Warrington braced his feet and locked his body so he could find enough force to control the rudder’s movements while the momentum of the ship pulled him forward, then pushed him back.
The main sail was furled. Warrington thought of nothing but keeping the bow of the ship sailing into the waves. He stood, each muscle in his body used to keep tight control and every sense focused on his job.
He couldn’t tell how long he’d been fighting the sea, but he had lost the strength to protest the movements and only survived them, when he heard shouts, and saw men scrambling. They were taking risks moving swiftly on deck in a storm and only one reason would cause such a pace. A chill scraped into his stomach and he forced himself to remain on task. Whatever had happened—the sea moved with such quickness and finality that even if he could have dashed to help—the outcome had already been determined.
Pushing aside the knowledge of possible tragedy, he couldn’t risk letting his mind wander or make conjectures. If he didn’t know, then everything remained the same. He had no choice but to stare forward, ignoring the water blasts in his face and the thunder around him. The ship needed him now more than anyone else.
‘Yer had yer two hours.’ The shout at his side surprised Warrington. He’d been so focused in his concentration he’d not realised Gidley stood near. ‘Yer need to see Capt’n.’
‘Why?’ Warrington did not release the wheel. Now, instead of bracing himself against the storm, he steadied himself for the first mate’s next words.
‘He tossed agin’ a spar. No blood coming out his ears or mouth, so it looks to be a bump.’
Warrington stepped back as Gidley clamped a meaty hand on to the wheel spoke. ‘That boy bounces better ’n any frog I ever seen.’
Warrington left, keeping close to the cabins, grasping rigging to keep balanced and praying Ben was not deeply injured. Warrington had always spent more time with his middle brother, Dane, than Ben, until this venture. Dane shared a more serious view of life. But Ben—
Both the older ones had watched over him and tormented him. His sister, Adele, would never forgive him if he let anything happen to Ben, just as she’d never forgive Ben if Warrington went overboard. Well, she would forgive Ben. He was the youngest.
When he reached Ben’s cabin, he opened the door. A scent of camphor, or some similarly pungent medicinal, hit his nose. The light cast everything into garish shadows. Stubby sat in a chair, feet hardly touching the floor, and looking as if a jib had caught him between the eyes. His thin face had grown in just hours and his nose would likely bear a reminder of the night for the rest of the lad’s life. A streak of dried blood caked between his nose and lip. Stubby’s wet shirt plastered against him.
‘We’ll both be a bit colourful in the morning.’ Ben’s words sounded tugged from his lungs.
Warrington looked to his brother, resting on the berth. His arm lay over his stomach and the fingers of his right hand gripped, but held nothing. He wore no shirt, only dry trousers. His sodden clothing hung from a peg.
‘Gid says you thought to dance in a storm.’ Warrington moved inside and pulled the door shut against the rain. The water pooling at his feet added wetness to the planks.
‘The wind led the waltz and gave me a turn I’ll never forget,’ Ben said. His cheek looked to have been dragged along one of the stones they used to clean the deck. Pain pinched his face.
‘He saved me. That he did.’ Stubby’s words ran together and he looked at Ben, adoration bursting from the young eyes. ‘The capt’n just caught me and snatched me back from that wave like it was nothing. Capt’n didn’t say a word. Just scared that water into letting me go.’ His voice dropped, memories floating behind his eyes. ‘Was a big fight.’
