Wicked Waters | Oceana Book I

Chapter 2.1

Gulf of Armathia
The Season of Heat
Fanán the 21; 2421

Navy and merchantmen alike considered Spindrift – flagship of the Lyrian navy – matchless in Oceana's southernmost waters. Her three masts stretched so tall they seemed to brush the clouds, lines and stays and shrouds springing up around them at all angles like the woven brush of a gull's nest. From stem to stern and stay to shroud her decks hummed with activity. Common sailors and officers alike busied themselves with maintenance and repairs, some of which had taken them high enough in the rig that they appeared of a size with the petrels circling overhead.

The waters of the gulf lapped gently at Spindrift's hull, glassy ripples the only movement across stretches of endless blue. It was a small mercy. For one thing, calm in the wake of a battle was a product of the victory they had won. For another, it made rowing the distance across the flotilla far easier than it otherwise would have been.

"Hey, Red!"

Jack paused with a leg up over Spindrift's lee cap rail, surprised to be greeted with such enthusiasm – even if by a Lyrian midshipman.

"Is that what navy men are calling me these days?" he asked. It was a nickname he often heard in the south where his coloration turned heads, but not one that showed much respect for his position.

"Mercenary sailors don't wear their rank," the boy defended, gesturing to the brocade stripe on his own sleeve. "I know you're from Windjammer, though. I saw you during the battle."

Jack swung onto the deck, standing up to his full height. "I'm her First Officer."

"Sir!" The midshipman snapped to attention, heels clicking together, hand coming up in a smart salute.

"At ease, son." Jack fought to hide the smile that threatened at such an enthusiastic display. "Is the Admiral below with the others? I have a few messages for my Captain."

The midshipman straightened further. "Of course, sir. Follow me."

Jack wouldn't have set foot on Spindrift if it weren't for Cap's orders to bring news as soon as they had word of the damage to Windjammer's rig. He had dodged the Admiral's invitation to join the impromptu prize court convened in Spindrift's officer's quarters and was glad of it; he hated listening to privateers squabble over payment due after battle. With Cap so occupied, the task of looking after Windjammer in the aftermath of battle had fallen upon Jack's shoulders. It was an excellent excuse to duck out of the proceedings.

The middie chattered the whole way down, the story of the battle as he saw it coming out in a mad rush. "Pirates, sir—I could scarce believe it—"

"Though not the ones we sought, I think."

The boy paid Jack's words little mind. "Windjammer was just upwind of us when the pirates came around to board. I saw you, sir. I remember it clear as anything – you lined up and made the shot that took down the pirate set to throw the grapple, and—"

Jack folded his arms across his chest, eyes sliding away from the boy's eager countenance to land on the beleaguered pirate vessel, listing to starboard, hove-to where Spindrift and Windjammer had it pinned. He could pick out the spot where the pirate stood just before he fell. He felt no sort of satisfaction or pride from it, and had no desire for a commendation: especially not the commendation of a young officer who'd made an idol out of him as a result.

He hadn't been born to the navy. Taking lives was no small matter for him.

"Was this your first conflict?"