The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (boyxboy)

CHAPTER 7

The Merry | Present Day

Az likes to spend his free time hiding away in his store room flipping idly through a book by candlelight. He can usually hear the crew overhead, their muffled footsteps and even more muffled voices trickling through the wood, but none of them ever bother him in there. If he's lucky, the stores are freshly stocked with foods he can easily snack on without anyone noticing. Dried fruits are good. No one ever bothers to count the raisins individually, after all.

Az's preferences, however, are rarely met here aboard The Merry.

He clutches one of the ropes that attaches to the mainsail tighter than he's ever held anything in his life, as the fifth storm in a fortnight ravages the ship. A suffocating concoction of water from the sea and sky both splashes down onto the deck. Half of the crew have already slipped, a couple of them almost right off the side. Az only wraps the rope tighter around his numb fingers. It's some kind of miracle they haven't lost anyone yet.

Dark clouds roll and tumble against each other with deafening force. It's almost impossible to see or hear much of anything, but he still picks up the commands battering through the wind — the commands that are designed to save lives.

"Azar– mainsail– now!"

He's always resented being told what to do by them but he makes exceptions for life-threatening circumstances.

Others come to his aid, grabbing the rest of the ropes that attach to the sail. Together, they slip and slide their way across the soaked deck to tie the ropes securely to the mast, reefing up the fabric to stop the wind from catching it. When he lets go of his rope, his hands are red-raw. Lightning clashes overhead, illuminating the damage long enough for him to see a layer of skin peeling off his palms.

He stumbles several feet to the left as a sudden, stronger gust of wind batters the side of the ship. Az crashes into Noah and sends the pair of them tumbling to the ground. Nobody pays them any mind as they struggle back to their feet, but they don't have to. All the crew can do at this point is wait out the storm and hope the helmsman — with his lips pulled back over his teeth in a grimace and his muscles straining — is strong enough to hold it. And that nothing on board snaps if he is.

Noah jerks his head in the direction of the mainmast where some of the men are huddled, gripping the wood with deadly strength. Az follows the cook over. Every second spent not holding onto something far from the sides increases their chances of being thrown overboard.

They cling to various parts of the ship in wait. Slade joins his man at the wheel, and both captain and helmsman are white-knuckled, neck tendons popping. Az's own muscles are tight and his hands achy from overuse, but he doesn't let up his hold on the base of the mainmast.

There is someone above them, arms and legs wrapped around the pillar of wood like a monkey. Az can't see who it is, thinks it might be Louis, and certainly can't see what he's doing. But he knows there's been a dangerous tear in one of the sails since the last storm just yesterday, and Louis is the only one agile enough to clamber up there and hold it in its furled position until the wind dies and it can be repaired. Except Az himself. But the way he turns ill when faced with high places means usually they don't ask him to do anything above deck level.

It must be hours. Loud and heavy wind hammers the ship from every direction, and rain lashes down on everyone's sore skin. The air isn't cold by any means, but being soaked through, Az isn't the only one shivering. He closes his eyes to stop the dizziness and waits for it all to subside.

Eventually, it does. Slowly but noticeably, the water becomes a little less choppy, the wind a little less forceful, and the rain a little less brutal. By just a small margin every second until Slade's voice carries over the tumult.