Scrapped - The Resilience

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  “Never doubt the gulls.” Deryn thought to himself, as he caught sight of the approaching galleon. He sounded the jetty-side bell to alert the other dockworkers of its presence after springing to his feet. The bell rang crisply through the sea air, and vibrated reliably into his co-workers' ears.

  As the ship gradually came into view, everybody recognised it. Flying the Dynasty’s black and white colours proudly, The Resilience was the most recognisable vessel in the fleet. Built in times of great austerity for the Dynasty – it wasn’t overly grandiose. It wasn't adorned with gold or silver and only boasted a modest two cannons on either side. Instead, it was covered nearly entirely with dull, grey sheet metal. Interlocking and overlapping pentagons of dark steel gave it a scaled look and a nearly impenetrable hull. This was the original modern-Dynasty ship, and the fleet have since been modelled upon its rugged success.

  The Resilience slowed down progressively as it came into dock at one of the two largest, central jetties. With self-indulgent shouts of “Prepare yeselves!” and “Resilience, ho!” coming from the ship – the dockworkers, ushered by Deryn, formed a corridor of bodies along the sides of the pier.

  Such was the tradition of the days of war: to form a corridor to celebrate the safe return of the brave sailors, before moving onto the ship to carry off the less fortunate victims of the violence. Of course, in times of peace, the corridor is a sign of respect, in memory of the past and most practically, for convenience. The dockworkers waited in position and talked amongst themselves, as the great, ironbound ship creaked to a standstill in the calm waters.

  “Deryn, why are you always at the back of the lines?” asked Pedr, a burly, dark-skinned man, in his characteristically slow voice.

  “So you get first pick of the boxes, of course Pedr!” Deryn replied, tongue in cheek.

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “Or that by the time we get there, he’ll have lugged the heaviest ones out from the front already, huh?” whispered Davith to Deryn.

  “Ey! He might catch on!” Deryn shot back.

  The other seven workers were a rag-tag bunch. Handpicked by Deryn and Gruff, they were honest and strong men but would be the first to admit that they weren't employed for their mental faculties. The team comprised of Iain, Ren, Lenny, Caex, Cefin, Diuff and Aled, and as they waited, they talked amongst themselves, about topics of little consequence. Such as Lenny enquiring as to what Caex had cooked for his dinner last night and Ren and Cefin arguing, as usual, over who could lift the heaviest crate when they got onto the ship.

  The gangplank fell with a harsh clatter, causing the dozing gulls to take flight once more. The dockworkers' heads dropped. In silence, they looked at the salt-washed boards on which they stood, waiting patiently for the Captain, the officers and any guests of importance to disembark. 

  Time passes slowly, when one is staring at the floor, and as their eyes were working less, their ears and noses began to survey the environment. Of course, fish and salt laid claim to their sense of smell, and along with the cries of the seagulls, they could hear the freshwater crashing through the great pipes from the middle tier, out into the bay. Deryn glanced to witness the continual battle between the fresh and salt water, as the two forces met.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the Captain emerged from his bridge, followed shortly by his first-mate and a very pale-faced, nervous looking man.

  They all knew who the Captain and First Mate of the Resilience were, of course. The Captain was a man named Arron Haernbow. He stood at around six feet tall, and had the physique of a man who was once incredibly muscular. Now his arms and chest were still reminiscent, but his midriff had certainly forgotten those days. He bore out no sea-faring cliché; both eyes, hands and legs were intact, he wore no grotesque scar dissecting his eye, and there wasn’t a parrot in sight.