Knave
04-19-10, 01:38 AM
Lightless, the night was alive on the high seas, shifting, swelling, sinking. In every direction lay darkness, and above, an overcast sky. Rowing at no small pace a life boat made its way to shore, paddles moving tirelessly. For hours there had not been a sound to be heard but the falsetto of a man. A voice trained, a song sung often, and it drowned out the crashing waves as it rose. As one song died another began, the only punctuation was raucous laughter.
“Volare, oh, oh. E contare, oh, oh, oh, oh. Nel blu, dipinto di blu. E ci dice di stare lassu.”
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Lawrence Spade rowed on, like the lifeboat he road on, he was on top of the world. After six days he was alone, and all his good work was done. Yesterday, he had been with a crew of nearly thirty, all those days before they had pursued their catch. A veritable fleet of whales, by virtue of size alone there had been little else it could have been. Lawrence at noon had twice manned the harpoons, and twice he buried barbed lances in flesh and blubber to no effect. The ropes had been cut from the gun by the rest of the crew before they tore the guns from deck.
“No sweat, Ace, we’ll give ‘em a run, and go again. They can’t run forever an’ you’ll have every chance to put the blade to their soft bits.” Said Samarkus, the nearest of Lawrence’s crewmates, clapping “Ace” on the back as if they were really that close. A step above cabin boy he could hardly be nineteen, but the black curls of his beard, and the stench of his breath, cut away much of that boyish charm. Those things had done nothing for his careless attitude, however. In another life… they still would not have been friends, but Lawrence could see something worth liking in him, enough for him to laugh.
At the time he had asked for work Lawrence had shifted his true colors. Literally changing all that he appeared to be for the ease of conformity. It pained him to let his hair grow red and wild, it was disgusting to let hair spread across his forearms. He was even a few inches shorter. In short he was uncomfortable in his own skin, but times were hard, the people of these parts less gullible, and his mistress had to eat. When he had entered the tavern, and interviewed the captain he did so as a strong and grinning man.
The crew of the Sweet Sovereign Mercy, named by Captain Marshal Cora as the sole place he could escape his wife, were of the rugged and salty flavor. Loud, blustering, and jocular, they worked sail, rudder, and tiller under the weak old eyes of Captain Marshal. While men ran to and fro above deck, “Ace” chopped in the kitchen down below. He stood alone, the smile he had been wearing now dead. The harpooning had been a bonding experience, he supposed, analyzing the behavior of friendly men like the actions of apes while several pots boiled behind him. The butcher knife machined quickly through dried meat, beside the cutting board a fine resin of vegetables piled several feet high. This was where he was supposed to be, alone, cooking, stewing. Alone with the food and water.
As the last of the meal came together he drew out a jar from the back of the cupboard, a half-pint of clear liquid sloshing around inside. This was added conservatively to each pot, then the water, and finally the barrels of spirit and liquor. The damage it would do would be permanent, but no one would suffer. When Samarkus returned, he came with news Lawrence already knew, the whales were slowing, no doubt they would make their catch tomorrow. There was the promise afterwards of “And then I’ll introduce you to the family, my wife’s got an older sister who ain’t too hard on the eyes.” Ace humored him, listened, and played along. There was no interest in the "hook up," but if he ever met her…
Dinner was passed with silence, the gnashing of teeth, and at several points the wailing of the drunken damned to broken sea shanties. There was not much alcohol to go around, and indeed not much had been spread out among them. It was strong stuff they thought, and little more as poison ate at their insides and alcohol dulled their senses. Lawrence ate with them, unworried, doing all he could to ignore their warbling. None of them noticed the light. The sun had gone, the candles were dim, but the line shined through gaps in the planks. The ship shook violently as it was lifted.
There were manly cries as the room shifted to the left and the seamen, and their sea legs, were tossed to the side. Lawrence with the rest of them clamored for the door. With no earthly hand upon it the door burst from its hinges, and the room was flooded with warmth and wind. The breath of some great beast blasting in upon them from the fleshy be-toothed, be-jawed limb that wrestled the ship from the water.
Lawrence made his way to the life boat while the stunned crew soiled themselves. Brown pants being plentiful among them, the only sign was a terrible smell and slowly spreading dark stains. “Now is the time courage, boys. She likes it when you fight.” Lawrence called back. Egr’msatchek did like it when they fought. She was young, still growing and playful. Some children liked to pull the legs off insects and play with their food. She did both.
__________________________________________________ _______________
E ci dice di stare lassu. E volavo, volavo, felice piu in alto del sol con coro piu su!
In common tongue it was a love song, a serenade to the darkness and that beautiful thing that slept beneath the horizon. He continued, never again thinking of those poor men he had sent to their graves. A few might have survived, but that was miles from land. Alone and relaxing, he shifted back to what he had been and would always be deep down. His skin darkened, his bones grew, his hair darkened shining yellow beads stared at the island of Scarabrae.
Leaning back after beaching his modus transporti, a thought struck him. Lawrence stood, drew soap from his bag, and threw himself into the water with a strangled scream, clothes and all. After almost a week onboard a ship without enough plumbing for a bath… he was so damn filthy! He was naked and scrubbing in a second.
“Volare, oh, oh. E contare, oh, oh, oh, oh. Nel blu, dipinto di blu. E ci dice di stare lassu.”
__________________________________________________ _______________
Lawrence Spade rowed on, like the lifeboat he road on, he was on top of the world. After six days he was alone, and all his good work was done. Yesterday, he had been with a crew of nearly thirty, all those days before they had pursued their catch. A veritable fleet of whales, by virtue of size alone there had been little else it could have been. Lawrence at noon had twice manned the harpoons, and twice he buried barbed lances in flesh and blubber to no effect. The ropes had been cut from the gun by the rest of the crew before they tore the guns from deck.
“No sweat, Ace, we’ll give ‘em a run, and go again. They can’t run forever an’ you’ll have every chance to put the blade to their soft bits.” Said Samarkus, the nearest of Lawrence’s crewmates, clapping “Ace” on the back as if they were really that close. A step above cabin boy he could hardly be nineteen, but the black curls of his beard, and the stench of his breath, cut away much of that boyish charm. Those things had done nothing for his careless attitude, however. In another life… they still would not have been friends, but Lawrence could see something worth liking in him, enough for him to laugh.
At the time he had asked for work Lawrence had shifted his true colors. Literally changing all that he appeared to be for the ease of conformity. It pained him to let his hair grow red and wild, it was disgusting to let hair spread across his forearms. He was even a few inches shorter. In short he was uncomfortable in his own skin, but times were hard, the people of these parts less gullible, and his mistress had to eat. When he had entered the tavern, and interviewed the captain he did so as a strong and grinning man.
The crew of the Sweet Sovereign Mercy, named by Captain Marshal Cora as the sole place he could escape his wife, were of the rugged and salty flavor. Loud, blustering, and jocular, they worked sail, rudder, and tiller under the weak old eyes of Captain Marshal. While men ran to and fro above deck, “Ace” chopped in the kitchen down below. He stood alone, the smile he had been wearing now dead. The harpooning had been a bonding experience, he supposed, analyzing the behavior of friendly men like the actions of apes while several pots boiled behind him. The butcher knife machined quickly through dried meat, beside the cutting board a fine resin of vegetables piled several feet high. This was where he was supposed to be, alone, cooking, stewing. Alone with the food and water.
As the last of the meal came together he drew out a jar from the back of the cupboard, a half-pint of clear liquid sloshing around inside. This was added conservatively to each pot, then the water, and finally the barrels of spirit and liquor. The damage it would do would be permanent, but no one would suffer. When Samarkus returned, he came with news Lawrence already knew, the whales were slowing, no doubt they would make their catch tomorrow. There was the promise afterwards of “And then I’ll introduce you to the family, my wife’s got an older sister who ain’t too hard on the eyes.” Ace humored him, listened, and played along. There was no interest in the "hook up," but if he ever met her…
Dinner was passed with silence, the gnashing of teeth, and at several points the wailing of the drunken damned to broken sea shanties. There was not much alcohol to go around, and indeed not much had been spread out among them. It was strong stuff they thought, and little more as poison ate at their insides and alcohol dulled their senses. Lawrence ate with them, unworried, doing all he could to ignore their warbling. None of them noticed the light. The sun had gone, the candles were dim, but the line shined through gaps in the planks. The ship shook violently as it was lifted.
There were manly cries as the room shifted to the left and the seamen, and their sea legs, were tossed to the side. Lawrence with the rest of them clamored for the door. With no earthly hand upon it the door burst from its hinges, and the room was flooded with warmth and wind. The breath of some great beast blasting in upon them from the fleshy be-toothed, be-jawed limb that wrestled the ship from the water.
Lawrence made his way to the life boat while the stunned crew soiled themselves. Brown pants being plentiful among them, the only sign was a terrible smell and slowly spreading dark stains. “Now is the time courage, boys. She likes it when you fight.” Lawrence called back. Egr’msatchek did like it when they fought. She was young, still growing and playful. Some children liked to pull the legs off insects and play with their food. She did both.
__________________________________________________ _______________
E ci dice di stare lassu. E volavo, volavo, felice piu in alto del sol con coro piu su!
In common tongue it was a love song, a serenade to the darkness and that beautiful thing that slept beneath the horizon. He continued, never again thinking of those poor men he had sent to their graves. A few might have survived, but that was miles from land. Alone and relaxing, he shifted back to what he had been and would always be deep down. His skin darkened, his bones grew, his hair darkened shining yellow beads stared at the island of Scarabrae.
Leaning back after beaching his modus transporti, a thought struck him. Lawrence stood, drew soap from his bag, and threw himself into the water with a strangled scream, clothes and all. After almost a week onboard a ship without enough plumbing for a bath… he was so damn filthy! He was naked and scrubbing in a second.