Many romanticize a life on the sea, but few consider the realities of being stuck on a ship for months at a time. Nowhere to go. Very little to do outside of chores. All social interactions limited to the people on the ship. There’s no privacy for anyone save the captain and sometimes the first officer.
Many take to gambling, playing instruments, reading, and making idle chitchat.
What I hadn’t anticipated was a demolitions demonstration.
True to her word, Visylla has been making handheld bombs in her free time. I’ve often spied her in the evenings collecting empty bottles of rum, coconut husks, and anything else she can find. She’ll fill them with black powder, hollow out corks to give them a neck if necessary, and use twine or other bits of discarded materials to make a fuse.
Today she pulls out her collection and gives the crew a lesson in handling the bombs.
“The trick is to time the fuse carefully,” she explains. She pulls out three small bombs, each the size of an orange, from the pile. She lights the first with flint and steel before using the lit fuse to ignite the last two.
And then she starts juggling them.
Juggling them.
“If you throw too soon, the husk or bottle will break before the powder can ignite, which of course creates a smaller explosion or no explosion at all. Throw too late and you risk injuring yourself. Observe.”
She alters her hold on the bombs, grasping one in her right hand while juggling the other two in her left. She throws the stationary bomb right onto the deck of the ship. The outer husk breaks, and powder skitters across the floor. The fuse was separated from the powder, so the fire went out before igniting.
The second bomb, she tosses out to sea, throwing it high up in the air. Just before it makes contact with the water, the bomb explodes in a flash of color.
And the third she simply holds in her hands.
I push off from the railing I’m leaning against, but before I can do more than that, Visylla pulls the fuse from the bomb, so it peters out harmlessly.
“Wait too long, and you best stop the explosion from happening at all,” she says. “Just like that. Now, who would like to give it a try? We’ll practice by throwing out at the ocean. Time your throw so the bomb ignites just before it hits the water.”
Roslyn hops off the crate she’d been sitting on, and I grab her by the shoulder. “Not you.”
IN THE DEAD OF night, a slight scraping at my door wakes me. I throw it open, already anticipating who’s on the other side.
“Practicing my lockpicking,” Roslyn explains as she rises from her crouched position.
“Practice on doors I’m not sleeping behind. And who’s teaching you lockpicking?”
“Enwen.”
I rub at my eyes. “Is there another reason you’re here?”
“Oh, yes! I have a secret for you.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Not so fast. I have to work up to it.”
“I’m going back to bed.”
“No, wait!” She reaches for my arm and tugs me around with her little strength. “Fine. I overheard many things while snooping around, but I wasn’t sure at first what would count as juicy. Cyara has a daughter who she sends money to. Iskirra fancies some soldier in the land king’s ranks. She writes him letters in the evenings. Taydyn stole his lute from some merchant trader who had unreasonable prices. I learned these and more, but nothing felt right. Until tonight!”
I close my eyes. I told her to get to the point, and she still went on a roundabout way to get there. “And?” I demand.
“Dimella is with child.”
That wakes me up all the way. “No, she’s not.”
Roslyn grins. “Yes, she is. I saw the medicine she takes in her room.”
“That’s for seasickness.”
“It’s for morning sickness. She also doesn’t drink with the rest of the crew, and she rubs her belly when she thinks no one is looking.”
Obviously, I noticed those things. I just didn’t come to the same conclusion that Roslyn did. I have not been around any pregnant women. I don’t know what to look for. I thought maybe she liked to stay sharp like me and didn’t bother with drink. And that she really liked food.
But now that Roslyn’s pointed it out, it seems embarrassingly obvious.
“So what’s lesson number two?” she asks.
“Don’t wake your instructor in the middle of the night.”
She doesn’t look amused.
“What are you going to do with this secret you’ve learned?” I ask instead of answering.
“What would an assassin do with it?” she fires back.
“Dimella is not your target, nor is the information useful to you in any way. So what do you think?”
She pauses to think about it. “Dimella is my friend. If she wanted anyone to know about her condition, she’d tell them. It’s not my place to do anything with the information.”
She looks up cautiously, as though scared she’s given the wrong answer.
I nod once. “Lesson number two is always go for the throat. It serves two purposes: killing and silencing your opponents in one go. Problem is you can’t reach the throat easily unless your target is sleeping. Tomorrow, I’ll show you the best places to put your dagger to immobilize your targets.”
“Immobilize?” she asks.
“Stop them in their tracks.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you just say that? Papa’s already been teaching me how to use a knife.”
Aye, but Wallov is likely teaching her tactics to give her time to run away for help, not how to deliver the more difficult wounds that people won’t recover from.
“It’s good to learn new tactics from new people.”
She shrugs. “You’re probably better at it anyway. Can we start now?”
“Good night,” I say as I hold the door open for her.
“Night, Captain.”
THE DAYS CONTINUE TO pass slowly, yet there’s no sign of the Wanderer yet. We haven’t seen any land save the few rocks jutting out of the ocean. There haven’t been any signs of ship debris or anything else to suggest someone passed this way, but we continue to follow Alosa’s map.
The temperature grows ever colder, making exploring the water by swimming impossible. We don our winter wear soon enough, Dimella loaning Roslyn an extra set.
“Don’t you tell anyone you got these from me,” she says to the little girl.
“They almost fit,” Roslyn says. “Even the boots.”
Dimella glares at her and walks away.
“What did I say?” Roslyn asks.
The winds grow harsher, moving the brigantine along faster. Floating bits of ice appear on the sea, growing larger and larger with each passing day. It’s like we’ve sailed into a whole new world. I’ve never seen anything like it. The waters are so dark, we can’t see anything below the surface.
One morning, a knock comes to my quarters. Expecting one of the kitchen girls with my breakfast, I call out, “Come in.”
But it’s Dimella.
“I’ve just done morning roll call, Captain. There’s a sailor missing.”
I stand after tying off my warmer pair of boots. “Who?”
“Cyara.”