Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Setting Sail

February 5th 1720, Present Day
The Queen of Sparta
Off the coast of La Florida

"Hoist mainsail. Full canvas!" Anton's voice soars above the shuffling of feet on deck and the blowing gust filling the sails. He had taken over the helm from James, despite the crew's insistence he must rest.

Now, Ben dutifully reports the wind to the captain, and Anton gives out another order to trim the sails at leeward side - where there is no wind.

"Ack! Full canvasss! Avast me heartiees!" Torkin greets preening his feathers up on the yard with Thibaud at the mainmast.

Thibaud grins as he trims the sails, shaking his head. "You care to sing a shanty for us, little bird?"

"Piastrrrre!" Torkin bobs his ruby head up. "Piastreee for a sooong!"

"Ha," Thibaud tucks the marlinspike in his pocket. "Will you look at that?" He frees the ropes and tugs one up. "Hngh- You really are a pirate!"

"Ack! Torkin is a pirate! Ack!"

Thibaud smiles, despite the sweat trickling down his brow. As luck would have it, Eleanore emerges from the Captain's cabin, dressed in men's clothes again. It is truly odd to think in another life they could have been friends. But maybe that explains his once fleeting admiration for her and how he cannot deny he still finds her... well, pretty.

Thibaud shrugs, halting the dangerous thought and doing as he is told or else risk Ben's wrath.

Ben goes starboard side, hands on his hips. "You there!" He booms, enough to jolt Maurice and Gunther from the hemp ropes they are sorting across the deck. "Faster! We still need to tar those ropes!"

"Aye!"

From the combined efforts of her faithful crew, Sparta lurches forward and drags their feet to her stern. Eleanore grasps the the posts of the quarterdeck for balance, dressed in an officer's coat for her duty.

Slung on her body by a leather strap, is an unadorned box. In her other hand, a roll of maps. Her long hair flies with the breeze. The sea. She beams as she inhales the salty air. Nothing can ever compare to the beauty of the sea.

Out here on the waters, anything is possible.

She muses, striding out into the sunlight and the busy deck. Without people staying in one place for long, with death awaiting them at every corner, none of society's trifles and rigid rules mattered among seamen and women. They have their own world, governed by themselves. It is probably the closest to true freedom anyone could ever have.

She wastes no time and climbs up the bulwarks to the quarterdeck, passing by Eugenie swabbing near the stairs. Dante wears a bandanna around his forehead today. The budding sailing master stands behind Anton, a ledger in his hand, intently listening as the Captain gives a lecture on sailing while steering the wheel.

Oddly, her stomach flips at what entails her. Anton is a master sailor, and has sailed ever since he was a child for all she knows. Her first day working on the Belladonna flashes back in her mind. While he is a dear friend, and even better as a lover-

He is a strict captain.

He had berated her for swabbing back then, a lashing that a Captain should have left for the quartermaster or boatswain to do. But no, Eleanore takes a step, despite the heavy box threatening to pull her down the deck, he just had to keep an eye on me. He is a man not so easily impressed. And while she never seeks any praise from him - she is used to receiving little to none of it - she dreads to see him disappointed with her all the same.