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Again, Melville understood through their telepathic bond that Fang was speaking of the cutters, and the real dogs treading the decks of this Ship. And, strangely enough, the young midshipmen and ship’s boys whose bare feet trod the decks. Yes, thought Melville, with his eyes misting up just a little. They were good pups.
Then he realized with a shock that Fang included him as a “pup.” Great, he thought with a smile, it’s the classic tale of a ship and her boy!
Then Fang got down to coordinating daily business with her captain.
<
The young captain smiled and looked up at Tibbits. “We’re home, Chips. We’re home.” Brave Kestrel, their brave dogs, and the courage of their brave lads had bought them a home.
Chapter the 8th
Establishing Routine:
To Guard from Hurt
. . . then dreams o’ertake
His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend
To one grand theme, and through all barriers break
To guard from hurt his faithful sleeping friend.
“The Battlefield”
Sydney Oswald
Melville completed his discussion with Fang, telling her where they were headed and why. She didn’t seem in the least concerned that they would be informing the Stolsh about the approaching Guldur fleet. It was obvious that his Ship could be counted upon to be loyal and steadfast to him. And to her “pups.”
Melville flipped down through the hatch, and checked on Mr. Crater as he conned the lower quarterdeck. To go through the area where gravity “flips” wasn’t particularly arduous or difficult. Easier even than slipping into water, especially for someone who’d done it from his youngest days. But still he did it cautiously, protecting his injured shoulder.
Young Crater was doing fine. He’d been the 2IC, or second in command, of the quarterdeck on many a watch. He had often been left to con the deck while the duty officer went about his many responsibilities in other parts of the Ship. An experienced quartermaster with over a decade of sea duty under his belt was there to assist. Above them an experienced petty officer directed the seamen in the rigging. They seemed to take delight in breaking in their new “lootenant.”
Then Melville flipped back through to the upper quarterdeck, kneeling to say a passing hello to Fang as he passed the Keel.
The rest of the shift went by in a dull blur for Melville. He had barely begun to recover from his wounds and was quickly exhausted. Hans insisted on rigging a deck chair for him to sit on, something that was unheard of in ordinary circumstances.
At six bells he went below, where McAndrews had fixed him a hot lunch. The portly steward appeared to be an unimaginative cook, but Melville wasn’t a picky eater.
Hans, in his duties as sailing master, was reworking the rigging and sails to conform to Westerness standards. He bounced back and forth between the upper and lower decks, keeping a good eye out for young Lieutenant Crater on the lower quarterdeck. Hans’ monkey perched on the sailing master’s shoulder and seemed to delight in everything they did. The little tobacco-chewing creature was now the darling of the topmen.
Finally, his long watch was over and Melville went into his cabin. Again McAndrews prepared a meal, which he shoveled down. It was hot and it felt good, whatever it was.
They had an adequate supply of water, with resupply expected fairly soon, so he was able to grab a quick sponge bath. He stood in a wide, shallow basin designed to catch the precious water, sponging himself off while McAndrews held a pan of hot water for him. The steward had heated the water, and it felt good. The unctuous sailor was definitely beginning to grow on him. Ordinarily he didn’t get hot water to bathe in, another advantage to being the captain. There was an up side to the responsibility. There wasn’t enough water to wash his entire body, but he could soap and rinse his “pits.” The arm pits and the whole region between the thighs and buttocks that academy cadets jokingly referred to as the “leg pit.”
His monkey hopped off during this process, and watched from McAndrews’ shoulder. The steward delighted in this honor, and Melville found himself feeling slightly jealous. Then he felt foolish about feeling jealous of a monkey.
Lady Elphinstone tapped at his door and stepped in at that moment, seeming to have sensed that she could find her patient naked.
How does she do that? thought Melville. Sylvan magic? Doctor’s instinct?
He was slightly embarrassed to be standing naked in front of a beautiful lady, but she was also ancient, and wise, and Sylvan, and she was a doctor. Somehow this all combined to make it perfectly all right, even to a sailor who had been sailing the seas of two-space for entirely too long.
She unwound the dressing and proceeded to prod and cleanse his wound, “tutting” like some omnipresent, universal healer archetype. “Thou art healing well, Captain, but thou may not go into the rigging, and thou must continue to pace yourself. I saw thee resting on the quarterdeck. That is good.”
She stood back and looked at his naked body with a clinical eye. He tried not to suck his gut in. He found himself settling on a half relaxed, half poised position, shoulders back, hands at his side, as she examined him. It wasn’t much but it was all his dignity could muster, as she went on. “Healing is strange in two-space. Some fester and die who should not, and others live when they probably should not. I would guess thee to be the healing type. I’ll keep an eye on thee. In a few weeks thou shouldst have thy old strength back. In a month or so thou shouldst have the full use of that arm again. If thou dost pay attention to what I say. Dost thou understand, Captain?” she asked, no, demanded, as she replaced the dressing.
“Yes, indeed I do, my lady. I’ll do my best to follow your guidance.” There, that was a good way to put it. Because they both knew that he would damned well do what the situation called for, even if it killed him.
“Indeed thou shalt, thou silly man,” she said, not unkindly and with a slight smile. “Unless thee wants to die?”
“I do happen to be the captain, you know,” said Melville, with as much dignity as a naked man could muster.
With a slight, mocking nod she corrected herself, “Thou silly captain, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Very good, now go to sleep, Captain. All is well here. All is well.”
All is well. Those words rang in his ears as McAndrews helped him slide into a long sleep shirt. He pulled a sleep mask over his head and stretched out on his bunk. He felt his monkey hop in next to him, and as it snuggled warmly in beside his head he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, after sleeping for over ten hours, he found life felt almost worth living. He leaned back while McAndrews shaved his sparse beard. Two-space would keep a straight-razor supernaturally sharp, but proper handling of such a razor was an entirely different matter. That’s why many sailors chose to wear beards. McAndrews was doing an excellent job, but it occurred to Melville to ask the steward to let the blade grow just a little bit dull.
The steward helped him dress and did his magic with tea, sugar, and lemon. His supply of tea and lemon juice was limited, but it was good while it lasted.
Then he went out on the deck of his Ship (his Ship!) with a steaming mug in his right hand. His monkey leaned out, stretching out its long, accordion neck to get sips of the tea.
It was just after eleven bells in the night watch when he walked out onto the deck. All was still and quiet. This was the most serene, peaceful time of the day on board Ship. It was almost as though the men of Westerness had recreated the sleepy hour just before dawn, here in the timeless depths of Flatland. Even the illumination from the Moss seemed subdued during this period, as though the Ship itself took on that rhythm. The day watch slept on the deck, wrapped in blankets on thin pads. A few members of the night watch worked quietly in the rigging; some were working below with the carpenter’s mates.
Fielder stood on the quarterdeck. Melville nodded to him, finishing his tea in peaceful solitude, and went below to check on Lieutenant Archer.
Around the lower quarterdeck a few of the cook’s mates quietly set up their burners and pots, preparing breakfast. Meals had been served on the upper side yesterday, so today the Ship’s crew would gather on the lower side. Even with the activity of the cooks, things were quiet, still, and sleepy. The lower day watch were sleeping on the deck. Part way up the ladder, from the shadow of the hatch, Melville stopped and watched Archer standing beside the helmsman on the quarterdeck.