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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 61

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Aboard the Longin, men and women broke out every boat that could be put under oars and began the long task of dragging their ship out of the calm fog. It took over two hours to get the Longin to a breeze. They paused only long enough to reload the boats before they set every scrap of sail that could be set and began to hunt south for the Dorton, that was sailing near to them. Together the two ships sailed north, searching into the Dragon Sea for the Grandalor.

They ran two days north before turning in a wide search sweep of the same sort that they would have used to locate a lost fishing boat. They saw nothing but an occasional soaring Wide Wing.

When Mord slept at all, he dreamed — — Hag taken by the poisonous tentacles of nightmares that would not stop. The blood of the fight had stained his hands and would not come off. Barad, ripped open by a strong Skin’s fin spine was screaming in agony until the huge fish bit him in half. The Grandalor attackers rowing away in the fog when a Wing Ray, so large that it darkened the sky as it leaped, pancaked down on them reducing the boats to bits of floating wreckage — but they’d taken Kurin with them . . .

Bleary eyed from his Hag poisoned dreams, Captain Mord said heavily to his mother, the Longin’s Purser, “I hate to admit it, Alor, but we need to go find help for this search. We can’t do it with only two ships. Already we have lost days.”

“If we can, Mord,” Alor replied thoughtfully, “we need to get the Dark Dragon and the Soaring Bird. Both of them are experienced in tracking ships.”

In a far different tone she went on, “I am worried, son. I need to talk to you as a mother. There have been some rumors about that boarding. Did you really silence the fog drum when you knew that they were from the Grandalor?”

Angry, full of self justification, he answered, “What difference does it make, Mother? Yes, I did. They were from the Grandalor! We don’t allow them onto our ship! We never have.”

Alor looked sadly at her son, of whom she’d been so proud for so long. “What happened to the first one to set foot on our deck?”

“I repulsed her, Mother!” he said defensively. “What difference does it make? Stop looking at me that way! . . . All right! I stabbed her with my knife!” He looked puzzled, thinking back to the fight, “I must have. The knife was mine, in my hand but I don’t really remember doing it. She was boarding us, for Dragon’s sake! I was in my rights!”

“The man who tried to pull her back over the rail?”

Suddenly Captain Mord realized that Alor knew far more of the fight than he had realized. “He got in front of me! His throat was cut! He couldn’t attack us further.”

Her face fell. Sadly she said, “Now I must talk to you as a representative of the officers and Masters of the Longin.”

She held out a limp fish-leather bag, weighted with scraps of the same. “What was the worst injury that we took? I’ll tell you the answer, though you already know it. Old Sorra got three bruises. None of the Grandalor folk struck at any of us, unless we struck at them first. They only defended themselves. All that they had were these pitiful coshes.”

“Mother! They were a boarding party! They attacked us! They kidnapped Kurin!”

“Are you quite sure of that?” she asked sharply.

“She’s gone!” Mord shouted frantically. “What more do you need?”

“The note that she left would be a start,” she said quietly.

“There was no note!” he said desperately.

“You have persisted in lying to me about this event. I have no choice.” Alor put her face in her hands and wept, saying through her tears, “By order of a joint council of the Masters and officers, you are relieved of your Captaincy until we can hold a hearing on your fitness to command. You will have the right to witnesses on your behalf and to rebut all charges. You will be notified in writing of all charges in advance, to prepare your defense.”

Three officers entered the room. They took away the dismayed and unresisting Mord. He was allowed to stay in the Captain’s cabin on his word to do nothing to interfere with the running of the ship during the investigation.

The Longin continued to run south through the treacherous weather of the storm’s aftermath, seeking aid as swiftly as straining canvas could take her.

Mord, the once Captain of the Longin, looked in disbelief at the parchment that had been handed to him only a few minutes before. It bore the familiar signatures of every officer and Master aboard the Longin. They were formally requiring an investigation into his competence to govern the ship that he had commanded for nearly thirty Gatherings.

Seeing the allegations in writing finally brought home to him just how far onto dry land he had run. For him, the worst of the whole affair was that he could not deny any of the charges. He could explain what he had done and even why. He could not excuse it.

He was accused of violating the boarder’s rights under the Fifth Great Law (the right of safe haven to mariners in distress). There were two counts. He had silenced the fog beat and he had refused to allow them to come aboard to safety.

There was an accusation of violation of the Second Great Law. They had the right to a fleet trial, to call witness on their behalf, and to rebut the cases against them. In repulsing them he had prevented them from obtaining fleet justice.

He was accused of murder in the case of the one man whose throat he had cut. There was a charge of attempted murder in the case of the woman that he had stabbed, who was still alive when last seen.

He was not accused directly of the death of the Grandalor sailor (tentatively identified as the Bosun named Modanet). His injuries had occurred in the heat of combat and none remembered who had stabbed him. The death, however, was put to the Captain’s flawed leadership.

He was accused of leading his crew in the above illegal actions.

He was further charged with destroying Kurin’s note and refusing to examine the tallow-slates brought by the boarders and then lying to officers who questioned him about them.

In addition to all of the above was breach of custom in the burial of the dead.

The parchment also informed him that Kurin’s note had been recovered by careful scraping away of the upper layers of tallow by Master Juris. The recovery process had been witnessed by Alor for the ship’s officers and Mistress Daeron for the Craft Council. The note verified that Kurin had apparently left the ship voluntarily, her right as a legal adult.

One of the tallow-slates from the Grandalor had been recovered by a sailor and given to an officer. The note had been in Tanlin’s left-handed writing. This had been compared to documents relating the cargo survey and security agreement with the Grandalor. The documents contained material written by both Barad and Tanlin. It was Alor’s formal opinion that the handwriting was the same as Tanlin’s. The contents of the note revealed that the twelve boarders were to be hostages for Kurin’s safe return, should she agree to come away. If she did not, then the twelve would submit to trial under fleet justice. The note’s signature identified Tanlin as the Grandalor’s Captain.

Appended was a list of witnesses and what each had contributed to the case.

Mord thought long on the problem of what was needed. It was clear that he needed to be relieved. As bad as things had got, now that he could see the charges, with time to reflect on them, their justice was obvious. He could not fight this.

The stress of nearly losing Kurin, and the rest of the Grandalor business had unhinged him. Now that it was not hidden by his responsibility for the whole ship, he realized that he felt more for Kurin than just pride in an outstanding member of an outstanding crew. He felt as if she were the daughter that the Birth Lottery had denied him. When he thought of all that he had not done, his heart clenched in nearly physical pain.

He opened the port near his bed for fresh air and to see something besides walls of Strong Skin. The sky was dark with leaden clouds and rain sweeping by on gusts of wind. It suited his mood.

When Kurin’s mother went mad, after her father’s death, He should have fostered her. He had let Cat, his foster sister, do it. He should have hugged her, praised her and disciplined her. In fear of seeming to favor one above any other, he had never done any of the job of a parent. He had left it to others to do.

He missed her accomplishments and strange mix of adult wisdom and childhood. She had stood up to him and tried to prevent the disaster, and he had sent her away. He could see now how the battle combined with a few persuasive words could have made her go. The whole mess was his fault . . . He would have to plead guilty with mitigating circumstances.

TO BE CONTINUED

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