Chapter 64: Father (1/2)

We missed the best tide to depart but the Isa was ready to go by the mid tide, so our planned departure day wasn’t thrown off yet again. Captain Darius had planned to address the crew that morning but had decided to wait until after we were at sea to make sure we met our time objective.

While the crew rushed about getting the very last of the last things ready, I had the distinct displeasure of doing nothing.

Abso-bloody-lutely nothing!

Never had I set sail and not been involved in some manner. Not even when I was a tyke on my first voyage had I been useless. But here, under the infinite wisdom of his majesty’s navy, I found myself staring aft, listening idly to the helmsman and Captain as they did real sailor work.

I could try helping, but the Isa was fully staffed – even if it was with the dregs. Experience had taught me that trying to give directions didn’t sit well with the men, even ignoring Lockwood’s games. Or perhaps because of them. Not everyone was inside the second mates’ circle of influence, but those outside it had no intention of crossing him.

My eyes were drawn to a barge we passed. They had boxed crates, ropes and stones for cargo, and were using various lengths of rope to connect the stones to the crates before gently lowering them over the side to sink to the bottom. Curious, I pulled out a spyglass to get a better look but couldn’t ascertain any more details than what was perfectly clear at first glance.

“Marvelous, aren’t they?” Captain Darius called to me. I lowered my spyglass and quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. He left the helmsman for a moment to join me, gesturing at the barge and its cargo. “The brainchild of our runesmiths and enchanters, though the college will get the credit in the end. I feel proud to have even indirectly influenced their design.”

“What are they?”

“A safety measure.” Darius explained. “Domenic Seaborn travels beneath the waves and can attack ships from below. It is a strategic asset that has no equal – if we had one ship in the fleet capable of such things we would rule the world! We tried various countermeasures against him but it was thought that none were truly effective and all were non-standard, cumbersome methods.”

“I thought the navy had Seaborn on the run?” It felt weird to refer to myself in the third person.

“Sure – we chased him across the Broken Isles, from one burned ship or town to the next.” Darius face darkened. “The one opportunity we really had to pin him down he managed to sabotage my ship and slip away. It was the only time the task force came close.”

Oh, father. If you only knew how your pursuit harried me.

“We found out later through the Voice of the Crew that our strikes had …”

“Voice of the Crew?” I asked. I knew that term – it was one of the status effects of my ship – but why was Darius referencing it?

“Yeah, those letters and journals that Seaborn let the crew ship off. Some were very well written, and the best of those made reference to the ‘Voice of the Crew’ that the blasted ship has. A scholar picked out the name and slapped it on the cover of the book they made by compiling the best letters. ‘Voice of the Crew’ has become the term for those letters and journals. Have you read any of them?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve only heard of it.”

He leaned into me conspiratorially. “If it was more widely known that the primary letter that inspired the name and started the whole thing was written by an elf, I guarantee it wouldn’t have the kind of support it does.”

An elf … oh, Rhistel. Of course you would be the one capable of putting everything into words.

“It has support?” I asked, anxious to hear the perspective of a man who’d been fighting the opposite side.

“More than it deserves, and that’s all I care to say at the moment.” He pointed at the barge as it slipped further away. “We were talking about how we’re evening the battlefield. The Death’s Consort isn’t an immortal ship, it just can’t be sunk conventionally. It has to be destroyed. It’s difficult to do that when it can move three dimensionally. The goal of those boxes is to either force Seaborn to fight on the surface or blow holes in his ship if he insists on staying below. We call them naval mines.”

“Naval mines,” I said quietly. I’d long wondered how military ingenuity would counter my advantage. These hardly made a level playing field, but they were a solid defensive measure. I couldn’t sail the Death’s Consort straight up to the docks and ship cradles and lay waste to them. The mines were far enough out that only Sadeo could have hit his targets if we stayed outside of them. If we surfaced to enter the ring, we entered a pen. Any retaliating forces would be able to strike at us as we surfaced when we hopped back out again.

An imperfect defense, but a solid plan. An annoying plan. I’d have preferred my enemies let me have my overwhelming advantage – as overwhelming as a carrack could be, anyway.

“They must be expensive to manufacture,” I said. “How many can be put out?”

“Your tutelage doesn’t seem to have touched on artificers. They were a difficult design to research; blending sensitivity and power with stability and longevity. However, once the blueprints were created refinements were quickly made – are still being made! Many of the king’s artisans dedicated to making ship weaponry and runes were repurposed – but this is just to create more applicable weapons for this day and age. These can be made by the dozens and are being implemented at sensitive naval sites. With a few thousand the Broken Isles will have protected shipping lanes once more!”

Thousands … now that was a scary thought. Still, if those thousand were made using similar cost-effective measures like they were using here, I could already think of a way to turn them to my advantage.

“I can see you appreciate the strategic importance. Join me in my cabin this evening, I’ll tell you more about how they were produced.”

“Yes sir,” I said, recognizing in the offer both the incredible opportunity to learn more about naval tactics from an expert and the dangerous game of my father subconsciously sounding out my reliability and motives.

Darius returned to the helmsman’s side. While we navigated out and around the shoal waters, he was the consummate Captain, even to my dedicated observation. He was commanding: firm but with an easy manner. His tailored naval uniform looked sharp on him with its austerity. He forewent the tricorne hat, and yet through some magic his hair wasn’t swept into a wind tossed mess. He was noble, implacable.

It wasn’t until I turned my gaze to others that I saw cracks.

If Darius was as inspiring as he appeared to be, why did Billings still have downcast eyes? His uniform had several large medals, yet the ensemble looked like he’d rolled out of bed in it. Surely the first mate would have a bit more pep in his step, with his Captain on board? Or at least the terror of authority ought to have convinced him to make an effort?

If Darius was such a firm yet gentle hand, why did Lockwood appear to be biding his time? The second mate had a uniform that contrasted with the firsts’ like day did to night, yet the glances he gave the Captain and significant nods he gave to his toughs made me think of a prowler waiting for his chance.

It made me think of Burdette. Up until that moment, Lockwood had been an annoying bully. My grievances against him had been on behalf of Gerald. Once I tied his face to my memories of my traitorous first mate, however, Lockwood earned himself a fraction of the hatred I held towards Burdette.

The men did their work, and a few put their hearts into it with the Captain on deck. More just went through the motions. With them, I was less inclined to fault any flaw in leadership and instead blame the kind of men who’d been reassigned to the Isa. Still, with every mistake I noticed, I found myself watching to see which of the officers noticed as well, and whether they did anything.

Billings was predictable; he did nothing. Lockwood would give correction: the form of it varied based on whether that person had his favor. Those that didn’t received verbal abuse that I wouldn’t have discouraged by itself – I had a foul mouth of my own sometimes and have seen my share of mishaps at sea – but the way he was blatantly playing favorites bred anger. A crew could bond if they all received the rough side of someone’s tongue. These men wouldn’t.

It was only when observing all this that Captain Darius’ flaws began to show. The men he appointed under him were steadily undermining him and he surprised me by doing the same as his first mate: nothing. He stood on the quarterdeck looking noble and statuesque alright, but if he didn’t get out of his own head and do something with the skills he had his crew wouldn’t wind up any better than mine had!

Okay, that was an exaggeration. My crew had gotten it bad, and I wasn’t in a position to judge. At least, not as a Captain. As a lost son, I claimed full rights to judge my father.

Once again, I found myself hoping that he would fix everything. I wanted to see that he knew what he was doing, that he could inspire his men and lead them to gloriousness. Why did I want that? Was it as simple as wanting one of the Captains who’d pursued me to be the very best, so I could feel better about my lost men and narrow escapes? Was I hoping that somehow, he would inspire me?

Was I wanting him to be the perfect Captain, so I could demand to know why he’d been such an abysmal father?

Once safely at sea a good distance from any potential obstacles or hazards, Darius cast a communication spell to someone on the mainland, where he let them know his course and position. Then he had the crew muster on deck in ranks and addressed them.

“Men, I am proud to serve on board the Isa alongside such fine and proven men as you. You have all displayed your loyalty and devotion to the crown and your fellows, and earned the right to be here.”

I dubiously looked around, and I wasn’t the only one. It sounded like the Captain had repurposed the speech he must have given to the Athair’s crew, because these weren’t those men. Perhaps this was a method of speaking to their potential?

“I will keep this brief; the Isa is not a normal ship, and we will not have a normal mission. I’m sure you all saw the orc that was brought on board. That orc is a prisoner of war. Our own enchanters lack the numbers and skill to meet the needs of wartime production. The orc is one of many that have been captured for the purpose of making weapons to turn against their own kind! We set sail with only a few enchanted munitions for our own defense, but with a hold full of potential. By the time we rendezvous with our first fleet, we will be stocked full of munitions to resupply our allies!”

That got a cheer, ragged because of the few immediate and bloodthirsty shouts followed by those who realized they ought to cheer a second too late.

“The Isa is too valuable to be risked on the skirmish lines of our naval battles, but she will go down in history as the ship that pushed the tide of war forward! Rally to the cause, men! We sail!”

That speech ending was clear enough that the men knew they were to cheer, and they did. Darius turned to Billings and told him to dismiss the men and resume operations. Billings saluted, and as the Captain went to his cabin the first mate turned to Lockwood and ordered him to take charge. Lockwood saluted and yelled out orders.

I didn’t pay much attention to their silliness. While Captain Darius’ speech sounded like it should be inspiring, I’d seen how it had seemed to break him down rather than bolster him. He’d hit all the right notes, said all the right words – no doubt leaning on his leadership skill levels – yet he didn’t believe them. The noble Captain left his podium a noble disgraced.

And because I was watching, just before his cabin door swung closed I saw the bottle of liquor he pulled out to deal with his problems.

That evening, Darius hosted the officers’ mess – which was to say the special dining the officers of the ship did away from the enlisted men. I knew it was a thing mostly because I knew Gerald put extra work into the food that went to these men. I hadn’t participated much aboard the Carpathia, both because of the hours I kept swapping duties with Frederick and the fact that Captain Graves hadn’t hosted a regular nightly mess.

I’d heard the arguments for it, but personally thought it looked like an unnecessary show of elitism. Again, I reminded myself I hadn’t a leg to stand on when it came to critiquing such things and tried to learn from the naval tradition that surely meant something to still be in practice.

The mess was a gentleman’s affair: that is to say, it was session of subtle politicking and backstabbing masked by smiles and fine manners while hosted by Darius. The Captain did not seem to either discourage or participate in the game itself, but instead watched it all like an impartial judge of each match.

Lockwood was, of course, the winning participant. Billings scarcely defended himself, though he did come out of his shell to say more words than I’d yet heard from him. Bosun was the one who gave Lockwood the most sport, though he tried too hard for being out of his depth.

The single occasion Lockwood tried to bait me was blessedly short.

“So, our esteemed second mage, I hear you have a fondness for steel weapons?”

Having seen how Lockwood maneuvered, I suspected he was going to pull me apart as a weak mage for focusing on martial prowess then ask after my fighting levels and tsk at whatever they were as well.

“I like one handed weapons,” I said as I ignored proper manners and used my fork and knife sensibly to tear my meal apart like the utter barbarian I was. “It leaves my other hand free for rude gestures.” I even gave him a demonstration.

There were guffaws around the table, and if the Captain didn’t call out my rude table manners the others weren’t going to do any worse than look down their noses at me.

When the meal ended each officer asked Darius for permission to be excused for one task or another until it was only me left behind. My father looked at me sideways.

“You’re not going to excuse yourself?”

“I don’t have any pretense of better things to be doing, and you did invite me to spend time with you this evening.”

He snorted. “The last junior officers in the navy with such manners had the starch wrung out of them. Come on. Let’s let the scullery lads clear the table.”

We moved from the dining room to the Captain’s quarters, which were adjacent. There he unbuttoned his coat, set it on the back of chair, and pulled out a half-empty bottle of liquor and two glasses.

“Those bloody insufferable men can get on the nerves, sometimes.”

Maybe he was trying to push my sympathy, as I had obviously thought the others were bloody insufferable. Rather than agree with him, I asked “Why didn’t you stop it?”

“You see Dom, it’s like a game with them.” He explained while relaxing with his drink. “Give them an outlet to play, and they can compete in a setting I choose. Let them run wild, and they’ll be making issues in their attempts to curry my favor.”

“Aren’t they running wild?” I asked. “Do you see the kinds of things they’re doing?”