Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Reckoning

"FALL IN LINE FOR THE CAPTAIN!" The masts tremble at James' hoarse screaming. Sparta is in a standstill, anchored in the middle of the sea for an important assembly and break time. "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" He claps his hands at the rushing sailors leaving their posts.

Eleanore winces, standing a step behind him. She knocks the side of her head, pretty sure earwax would tumble out soon if he doesn't tone it down.

"Ack!" Torkin flies to a rope ladder strung by the gunwale. "Ack! Get up, biiilge ratsss!"

"Torkin!" She wags a finger at the bird. "Stop calling everybody bilge rats and scurvy dogs, that's highly discouraging!" She frowns. "And no one wants to get scurvy!"

"Ack! Ack! The waaaays of the seaaa!"

Eleanore narrows her eyes. "Might be, but that's not how I raised you!"

"Ohhhh, eeeck!" Torkin hides his face.

A warm breeze blows. The large ruffles lining her shirt slaps her sweating neck whenever the wind hits the deck. She sighs, smoothing her wild, thick mane away from her face. As she looks up, she sees that Sparta's crew has stretched out in line along the starboard gunwale.

Quietly she counts and smiles when she notices that the Belladonna's crew alternate with hers. Before her, Doug proudly stands at the top of the line. Last to join them is Thibaud who has gone down from main mast. He drapes a towel over his nape, head down, and plods at the other end beside Eugenie. The young girl glances at him before focusing forward.

Eleanore raises a brow.

"Ah, the bird's right, Nel- Captain," Douglas catches himself, sniffling, with his hands behind him. "Nothin' personal for us seamen."

"I prefer not to disparage anyone, sailor." She beams. "This bird just likes showing off his piratical vocabulary."

"Looow! Loooow!"

"Well, you do!"

Douglas smiles and looks down the line. "It's so nice to call you that!" he cheers the tired, beaten crew up. "Captain! Although..." His voice trails off.

They cannot truly rejoice when a crewmember is ill. Eleanore stares for a moment at the stern, wondering if Anton is finally awake. She had checked on him before returning on deck. He is sleeping quietly, snoring even. "He's safe for now."

The crew breathes out in relief.

James returns beside her. For a pirate, he proves to be a competent surgeon too - something he told her, he had gleaned from Uriah's many scuffles with unsavory Italian merchants who liked to use their elegant pistols.

"Yes, well... he needs a few days to be in top shape, I reckon." James informs them. "But with care, he'll pull through."

Nigel nods.

Beside Aggy and Eugenie, Ricky bows his head. "Saint Nicholas of Myra, hear our prayers."

"Saint Nicholas?" Eleanore echoes, walking nearer to him.

Ricky jolts and blushes. "The saint of pirates, donna."

"Pirates have a patron saint?!"

The crew murmurs. Few are as devout to Catholicism, and most of them know Calypso or Poseidon rather than the saints. Thibaud clears his throat, and Ricky looks at him.

"Repentant pirates," Thibaud affirms. "But I doubt... err, maybe let's stick to God in general."

Doug shakes his head. "You Frenchmen and your saints!"