[piosenniel]

Arry’s post

Carandû clamped his wide-brimmed hat down firmly on his head, tying it securely, as he left the protection of the hatch way. The hat was of tightly woven fiber, covered with thin, cured sealskin. It kept the rain from his eyes as it pounded down on the ship, but did little to save his face from being drenched by the waves as they crossed the bar into the bay. It was his oilskin pants and overcoat that protected him from the main onslaught of the frigid waters. Inside the haven of the ice bay, the waters were at least a little calmer. Though, you can’t tell by him!, he thought, eyeing the figure of Rôg clinging for dear life to the ship’s railing as his stomach protested the mixing of the his last meal with the heaving of the ship. Carandû’s earlier offer to tie the man to the railing so that he wouldn’t pitch overboard had been waved away by Rôg. It had been with some reluctance that he’d left the green-tinged fellow on deck, but then he’d noted the deathlike grip Rôg had on the railing. And apparently it had kept him safe from the overwashing waves.

Annû, he could see, was up on the main cross spar, shinnying back toward the rope ladder with its ratlines that ran down the length of the mast. The sails, on his side, were secured. He saw his brother make some sign to the other who had gone up with him – it looked, though as if the other one had also managed to secure his sections and needed no assist. Carandû waved for his brother to come to him once his feet had hit the deck. ‘I’ve brought your boots and a pair of dry socks,’ he said, pulling Annû beneath the shelter of a small overhang near the wheelhouse. ‘Get them on before your toes fall off!’ Annû grinned at his older brother and ducked a friendly cuff as he replied with a ‘Yes, ammë!’

‘I saw something when I was up top,’ Annû said, jamming his feet into his boots. ‘Over there, as the gull flies, from where Rôg is hanging on. To the right, where that glacier comes down to the lip of the bay.’ He pulled his brother to the railing, slipping along on the slippery and still wave-tossed deck. Narrowing their eyes, they peered off toward a shallow cove at the edge of the bay.

‘She’s a trim vessel,’ grunted Carandû, his brow furrowing at the far-off sight of the Corsair ship. ‘I’ll give her that. They’re well anchored, I see.’ He pursed his lips and hmmphed at the sight, wondering how familiar the captain of the vessel was in these far northern waters.

‘I know,’ commented his brother, picking up on his thought. ‘They don’t keep moving her along the coastline or pull her out to deeper waters, she’ll be bound fast in the ice by week’s end.’

‘Easier for us, though, if she does get stuck!’ Carandû turned questioningly toward his brother. ‘You know – in all the berths we’ve had with Luindal, I can’t recall us ever coming this far north on the Sea-Spirit at this time of year. Old Captain Ferrin’s ship – yes; Remember? He liked to come up in the early spring before the thaws, get the first of the thick winter pelts in trade.’ He looked expectantly at his brother.

‘Oh, no! You’re not giving me the job of questioning the Captain! You do it; you’re the one who thought of it.’ Annû pulled his jacket tighter about him and nodded toward the stairway leading below-deck.

Carandû sighed, and nodded he’d think of some way to approach the subject. ‘But first let’s sample a small taste of the Spirit’s spirits; fortify my courage, so to speak. I hear tell that Cap’n Luindal’s laid in some of the sweet, fiery brandy-wine from The Star and Swan.’

Before turning to go, the two offered their assistance to Rôg who seemed to mumble something in the way of an affirmative. Arms hooked through his as support, the trio made their way to the stair and down.