Jens

Jens

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“ We’ll stop her here! Quick about it! “

To the beat, where had for the past hour been the roar of a shroud engine and splash of paddle wheels, now were but the caw of gulls and the soft splish of rippling water. In the air of an all too clear, perfect day, terns mingled with their louder avian cousins, swooping down in turns to the shadow of the ship wherein its shelter attracted all manner of small fish. It had escaped no one that despite it being relatively shallow here, the call to lay anchor had been forewent.

“ Bodes ill, all of it. Like we haven’t plenty already. “ Jens muttered sidelong to whom had stood with him, peering at the terribly fresh wreck below. Was this what they had spoken of in hushed tones, just them captains by themselves as earlier today they’d happened upon a fellow scavenger? It wasn’t a challenging depth nor current, he didn’t think, but this wasn’t to be their first dive today. Nor one they’d be committing to with more than nine of their number at best. What with that— accident earlier today.

The image of impatience, he turned to the call for attention from the helm, the Captain standing firm as he eyed the lot of them.

“ Listen up and listen up good— “ He started, all impending doom and stormclouds. “ That down there is an Altalusian merchant vessel, who exactly sank it, we don’t know— “

Lies.

“ But someone is bound to be looking for it about now. None of us likes a rush job, but that’s what we’ve below us presently. As such— “ At the sound of wholly unrestrained groans of displeasure, he merely rose up his hand, turning to pace.
“ We prioritize. There is something of specific interest to a client aboard, which I’ll see brought on this deck before anything else. Is that clear? “

In wake of dissonant mutters of both outrage and begrudging acceptance, a general resounding aye rippled through the crew. It wasn’t like argument was welcomed here, unless one fancied themselves branded a mutineer in the making. Captain Albright was famously liberal with the term, just as he was with his practice of returning with less men than he’d had upon departure. Left to parts unknown, maybe, or something worse still.

It had been all ten thousand hells on this ship for Jens, whom on a good day struggled to keep a straight face through all the idiocy and tomfoolery on board, let alone when it so came from rank far above him. He’d sworn for the entirety of last week he was never signing up on a ship on some old mate’s advice ever again. The man was bound to know this by now, with how he’d stared at him with ever escalating weariness as time bore on. No more detours— if this wasn’t the day when they finally returned to Kharsaga as scheduled, he was jumping off and swimming there.

I’ll take my chances with a giant man-eating squid. Anything but—

“ Miss Kurkela— “ The Captain eyed the fancily dressed gentlewoman next to him, a stack of papers held against her lap. Her spectacles flashed brilliantly as she straightened to attention. “ Oversees that all are instructed in what to look for. And look alive about it, men! “

Unable to help it, Jens broke to a sneer not a second after the Captain’s attention upon them faltered.

“ Better pray the lookout keeps sharp today— “ He hummed, an almost pleased ring in his tone. “ I’ve yet to have been on the receiving end of a whole broadside of Altalusian shroudfire. Must be a sight to see, though I imagine the novelty of it gets lost in all the smithereens. “
 
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"Too busy to really see anything, really," Param said without a thought in his mind.

His eyes wide and far away as blooms of shroud-fire painted the black night about his mind. Coated the abyss in scorch and fury, whilst his arms ached, and a low hulled dinghy trudged through the surf.

"But don't you lads worry," he said with a cheerful smile. "I'll keep these eyes wide and open for ya up in the nest," he gave them a wink, and Jens a jab of the elbow.
 
At least someone was feeling spirited about it. He glanced askance at the young deva, eye narrowed and face hard like he meant to figure out a particularly irritating puzzle. The other deva on board the skiff snorted at the sight of it and stood up, adjusting the goggles about her eyes.

“ Stop being a cunt and get in the water, Jens. “
“ Why don’t you get in the water? “ He retorted, rapidly leaning his weight towards her and tilting the boat. Though staggered by it, she skipped off the edge of the dinghy in a flourish, slinging a little smile and wink to the oarsman on her way. Jens’ mock seriousness had broken by then, his usual wide smile plastered about his face as he made to rise.

“ You want anything? “ He asked Param, giving the buckles about his belt a once-more-over. “ Could look for it while we’re down there. Fuck the Captain. “
 
All smiles and cheek, Param winked as Delilah plunged into the depths. Shook his head some as Jens made ready.

"Hmm," he thought aloud, as his hands worked over the lines of rope. Part of the watchman's duties on the dinghy. "Kro is big on colored glass these days," he said absently.

Kro, his brother, was just twelve. Already looked at by some Navigators. Lil bastard was sharp as a pinail, Param would always give him that.

The Deva's golden eyes turned to Jens. "If you find some, nab it for me?" he grinned wide, and gave the old diver a salute. "And, yer dive line's are ready, boss,"
 
“ Colored glass is good. “ He affirmed, head bobbing as he took score of the shape of the wreck below. “ My daughter liked to tinker with it too when she was younger. Made a whole— “ Shrugging, he spun an index in the air, pointed skywards. “ One of those spinny decorative things out of it — Chandelier? “

That probably wasn’t it. But perhaps the word invoked enough of an image, some impression. She had since given up the crafts, more drawn to writing stories and the like, but he’d refused to take down all those old bits and pieces. No matter how embarrassed she was for the sight of her own old art, calling it in turn crude or childish. Unpolished.

But some days, what else was there? Nothing to one, everything to another. He made note to ask her whether she was inclined to part with her old stash of baubles, for someone else’s benefit. Even if, perhaps, he was more likely having to ask himself that, once it finally came to it in some real way.

Mirroring Param’s grin, he acknowledged work well-done with a nod, boat rocking as he eased into the sea.

“ Eyes wide and open, sailor. And three yanks for trouble, hmh? Any trouble. “ That went both ways. He grabbed the line, watching the rest that already snaked down into the depths. A cloud had drifted overhead, casting a great shadow like any unwelcome visitor. Sporadically reduced visibility.

“ Let’s get your brother some damn fine glass. “

With that and a salute for farewell, he finally went.
 
A salute snapped. Crisp and all into it.

After all. When life came so fast, and was gone so quick, what mattered more than a bit of theater? Some ceremony. However small.

Then the splash. The bubbles and faste fade of a shape all too familiar to him and his Devahni eyes. More familiar to the water, he thought. So blended in to the blue. The steady unspooling of old rope, a reminder that the life he lead.

Of the sea, and so apart.

Param let out a smooth breath. "Let's get that glass, old man," he uttered beneath his breath. Nod. Stepped easy about the hull planks of their dinghy. Eyes flit about like swallows on warm currents.

Was always the more nerves when the divers went under. Nothing but lines to tend, and horizon to look after. No one to talk to. Save the craft.

"But you don't mind the quiet too much now do ya, Beth?" he asked the silent little thing as it rocked steady beneath the cloud-shade.

Param cast his eyes up, and spotted the terns making their dives. A little laugh. His eyes went to the ropes. Delilah's was steady. Holding depth most like. He looked at the way it kept, just so slack. He peared over that side of the Beth's rail as the watter went on with its lulls.
 
The Altalusian flag yet flew, gently swayed by water, colours remaining hoisted at the end of its cracked main mast. No actual cause for the sinking stuck out to him immediately like they usually did, the likes of scorch marks and damage from a crash. But strangely—

Around the vessel debris littered the dunes of the seafloor, a wide scatter to all directions. The thick rope of the anchor struck a line through the disarray, it’s end disappearing to distance behind a large mound of sand. Had they been waiting for someone here? Mistake, mayhaps?

Little matter that, now— He picked up the pace when he caught sight of Delilah, her arm raised, motioning him over. She appeared to be having trouble with a locked door, indicating it with a yank and an expression of exasperation. Safer to assume getting an actual key for it was a bust to begin with—

He tied the slack end of his rough rope on the metal handle and put his foot against the doorframe. By the look of the hinges the door opened inwards, but that mattered none. Delilah settled beside him, hands before his on the rope, and once they pulled together wood splintered and the entire lock came clean off. The eyes behind her goggles crinkled as she grinned, kicking what remained of the door in. Watching her go, he inspected the lock for the briefest second, before slipping it into the little satchel at his belt.

Was a good lock. Usually the handle came off before anything else, but this was damn solid. A real keeper.

He made into Delilah’s wake, entering the captain’s cabin. To his dismay the first thing he found was her line, floating alone in space, until a trail of bubbles coming from hatch at the corner of the room betrayed her whereabouts. A tight squeeze, his sense told him, but perhaps not objectively so. He understood why she had left her rope behind, but that didn’t mean he’d approve of it.

Words upon words expressing the fact reeled on in the privacy of his mind as he absently cast a look about the clutter on the floor and shelves — writing instruments, a sextant, halfway burned candles, painted porcelain, glint of silver. He approached the broad desk dominating the office, half of its drawers missing, probably dislodged by some sort of impact. What was that again that the Captain wanted? Some little wooden case with an emblem on it.

What were those contents worth to afford a whole operation as this — and was this other Captain enough of an idiot to put something like that in a lockless drawer on a desk? Though considering how sturdy that door had been—

He proceeded to yank the drawers and cabinets open, one by one. Stacks of waterlogged papers, discarded. A key, pocketed. A paperweight, a magnifying glass. A bottle of something, the orange glass with an ombré effect and etched finish. The brilliance of the colour made him flash teeth by himself, head tilting as he inspected it against the meager, murky light of underwater.

This was no cobalt glass, but perhaps it would do. Even has some contents left. Maybe they'd get to polish off the rest to celebrate a great find, and frankly his last damn day on Albright's forsaken ship, provided the cork hadn't leaked.

Talk Delilah and that kid to join me somewhere else, while am at it. Bastard Captain doesn't deserve either of them.
 
Crouched about the likes, Param squat. Arms folded on the railing, and chin rested as he eyes the blue beneath. His tail swished left. Swished right. Lazy with anticipation.


"It's always all wibbly wobbly up here, isn't it, Beth?" Param asked the diving dhingy. "Waves lurch up and down, sun shines bright in the distance, while a cloud rolls dark and slow overhead," He smiled small, as his eyes checked the dive -lines. The shroud-ticker. The water. "Lilah has some minutes left on that rock lung," he idled.


The feint bloop of rope dipping dead into the water. Param 's eyes went wide as the hairs about his arms and neck shivered and shook.


Clawed hands snatched up the line. Pulled once. Twice. Looped rope quick about forearm and crook. Nothing on the other end.


He clicked hia teeth. Grabbed up Jen's line. Wound it fast to gentle taut. Tug-tug. A pause full of question. Tug.


With brow screwed with worry, Param watched the shift of shadowed waters, no terns cry on the wind.
 
A diverless rope twitched, once and twice, then reeled away through the wide open doorframe afore he had the chance to catch properly what was happening. Watching it go, he grimaced and cursed inwardly, hassling to store the bottle in his satchel. If we get all called back because one couldn’t resist her inclination for convenience—

In no time at all, himself was questioned in turn by yards upon yards of rope, those gentle little ripples. With what limited vocabulary they’d settled on, he grabbed the rope right back to acknowledge what he had to figure was worry at the other end. Little pulls to respond the gesture in kind for an okay on his way towards the hatch wherein his designated diving buddy had, he assumed, disappeared. The fuck was taking her this long anywa—

Through that small rectangle, a bright light flared. The boards beneath him bowed upwards, a burst of force escaping the little space below in a wild rush of bubbles and splintered wood. A tremor traveled through every fibre of the ship, the softest little keel adjusting its posture to worse. A little deeper, a little more crooked, sinking. Face twisted with outrage, he closed the rest of the way to the hatch without thinking, through water made partly opaque with dust and debris. Peering into the disturbed dark below, he quickly spied what he discerned a limb.

He hadn’t but to reach for it, hoping it was yet attached to someone.

***​

In the soundless distance so many paces away, something listened. The dune stirred, a shift upon the anchor rope that slowly grew taut, curiously. Tug. Tug. A clicking and a rumble so low it could be felt in the marrow.
 
Loose palms were full around the taught rope. Calloused pads felt the chorded fibers of the lifeline, still taught with weight on the other end.

Bobbed and pulled by the water's currents. He could tell that much. Eyes and legs so used to the waves. Stomach so sure of the sea.

The dark of his eyes widened. The salt full on the breath he pulled into his lungs.

Had he lost them?

Pulls true. Small. Measured. In control.

Param let out a long breath. Felt his arms slack, and his hands ease about the line. "Fucking salt," he cursed. Kicked one foot loose, then the other. "Divers need to stay their-"

A shift in the deck boards. Like the dingy was pulled down, just so. Param felt the tiny floating world of Beth shift down beneath him. His eyes wide as he looked out to the water.

"Bubbles?" He questioned, as the surface about the wreck roiled. "Fucking piss!" He snatched up the line again. Pulled. Pulled. PULLED.

And something pulled back.

Beth lurched through the rough wake. Param lost his footing and slammed against the railing. Air knocked from his lungs. He grit. Shook it off. Looked to the water.

Arm about his ribs, he grunt as something broken stabbed at his breath. He bit down harder on his mollars and took the life like. Worked the rope hard as he braced his foot against the rail and pulled. Pulled. Pulled at the line with hungry pained loops.

"Time to go, Jens," he whispered. For fear of what came up the end of the line.
 
He caught Delilah by the wrist and by just tugging, he could tell there was the precious rest of her at the end of it. There was no reaction, not even a twitch as he carefully retrieved her, but neither could he discern any visible injury. Probably got knocked out by the blast.

It quickly turned out there were more than one consequence to that. His eye fell on the door, taking heading, just as the line knotted in his belt came alive with more force than he’d ever felt it. Yea, yea. In reflex he held onto it for counterforce, refusing to be dragged out like a dog on a leash. That kid needs to chill out—

The whole room tilted in a guttural groan of the ships’ timbers, shelves emptying and tableware flying from one end to the other. He collided with the bolted on desk, side-first, barely holding on to his fellow diver’s unconscious body. Beneath clatter of clutter, bubbles and his cursing, another sound vibrated through water, like the hum of a horn being blown underwater. Through the broad arch of the cabin’s window he spied the billowing of sand and a shadow, a broad cloud from which emerged a hulking shape with many a red eye.

He no longer disputed the frantic urging at the end of his rope, rushing out greatly thanks to its help just as what remained of the windows blew in. Fuckfuckfuckfuck— With Delilah about his arm, he hadn’t but to kick more speed into the ascent towards the sun, surrendering to the line and its pull. That young Deva was definitely sparing no muscle, he’d give him that.

He broke surface mere couple yards from the boat, hurrying to close the rest of the distance.

“ Get ‘Lilah on board and row! “ He rose her on his shoulder, steadying himself by the gunwale of the boat.

“ They’ve left behind a wreckhound. “
 
Pull, pull, pull.

Param slammed a boot against the taffrail, drew in a breath that saw his whole frame swell wide with air to feed his aching arms. Quick, manic, possessed pulls saw Jens and Lilah pulled towards the diving dinghy.

A tied down line. A Lurch-leap-slam over the rail that saw the dinghy rock with the weight of body working body over the hull wall. Clawed fingers grasped at soaked cloth, dug into soft flesh as eyes went wide. One last pull. A splash saw salt sprayed and spilled across the deck.

"A, a wreckhound?!" Param said between breaths.

Beasts, magicked into haunting a wreckage. Shroudwoven into service, or existence. No wreckhound was ever quite like another.

Another reach, grasp and heave. Pain lanced up the young sailor's side. Fibers twinged. But Jens was up.

The dingy lurched forward. Hull pulled down some feet into the sea by the anchor line to make planks groan and creak with the pressure.

Released. It popped back up with a jolt and a thwump! Rocked in the waves and was pulled away. Harsh behind a large swell that swept out towards the open sea. A spiny crown stabbed through the roiling foam and surf. Spotted like a fan of wild fire. A shimmering beast beneath.

"Hoah, ho! Whoa!!!" Param shout with huge eyes, arms clung to the taffrail. Bones a-jostle with the jump and fall. "It's dragging us out to sea!!!" his eyes dart to Jens, then to Lilah.
 
They nigh capsized the tiny boat in their rush to hoist each body out of the sea. He might’ve cracked a joke about it hadn’t he been so damn terrified, the edge of the dinghy a shallow shelter. It jolted beneath the three of them, throwing him off balance and into his back betwixt the seats, folded double next to Delilah. She was out cold yet, he found, to his disappointment.

Shame, she won’t get to see us panicking — He knew she’d love the sight of it.

His hand shot for the edge of the boat and he pulled himself up in a groan, meeting eyes with Param. There was horror there, doing nothing to douse his own as he realized the boat was moving. Fast.

“ Well, cut the line! Fuck the anchor. “ He ordered, scrambling more upright and patting the floor of the boat for a knife he knew was there. Sheath and all, he tossed it to Param and stood, waving at the ship that’d staid well clear of the shallows. At the stern were a bright flash as a spyglass reflected the sun, faint yells and men at motion perceptible, but not decipherable.

He squinted, watching as the great paddlewheels begun turning in quick succession. The ship itself, however, did not.

“ I swear to all that is unholy, Albright, you craven fucker— “ He shouted into the wind, settling to pick up one oar. “ You dare leave us here I’m crawling out of my grave to strangle you in your sleep! “
 
Fingers came snatch around the worn orange leather that sheathed the fat blade. "Right!" he said, full with hot breath. Off hand went to knife's grip, took hold and-

A tug on the anchor line. Down and hard. The dingy dipped, crashed through a wave from the beast's wake, and popped through the spray of salt and sea with slam on the other side.

The knife slipped out of Param's hand. Near fell. Snatched up quick again. Bobbled between left and right, till right came tight. The curved kukri blade gleamed dark and ready. Param gave the rope a hack, and a hack.

"What about-" hack. Jostle. Bump. Held on to the top of his head, with knife sunk into the wood of the taffrail. A jerk, a groan. "Lilah?!" he shout over it all. The knife came free. He hacked again. More rope frayed. The rope groaned as threads popped free from the monstrous weight on the other end. Param heldfast the knife. Aimed one more chop.

CHUNK!

The rope snapped free. The dingy slammed against another wake, tossed Param onto the floor, and lost all speed with a spray of surf.

The great fin sailed ahead, and sank beneath the waves. Pointed tips turning round just before they disappeared.
 
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“ What about her!? We’ll all be dead. “ He roared over the sound of splashing water as the boat finally was cut loose, the end of the rope disappearing into foaming waves like a whip. A broad shadow of a cloud darkened the surface, blotting out the blinding shimmer of the sun and revealing too much. Something was looking, a soft bubbling ripple above a dark shape that turned in a broad semi-circle.

“ Fuck, that’s a big one. “ He remarked like one might of an abnormally large vegetable, breathing some composure into his demeanour. This wasn’t the first beast of the sort he’d ever encountered, but then again— The last one had almost killed him. And he hadn’t even been stuck in a small boat back then.

This sucks. Setting the oar back aside, he rose and picked up the lad from the floor in a yank by the shoulder, upgrading his position from mere tripping hazard to oarsman. Stepping over to the bow, he took on the boat hook stashed lengthwise along the side and glanced at the distance wherein a thin half moon of sand poked out at the middle of the shallow. They wouldn’t probably make it, even if—

A wave jostled the tiny vessel, risen by the beast that surfaced but a sliver of its body, allowing no man even a moment’s peace to properly despair. He cursed, tracing its movement with newfound anger.

“ Toying with us, the waterlogged little sh— “

Drowning out the rest of his cursing, a great boom ripped through the atmosphere. Some yards from the boat, water was sent airborne as something landed there, so far up he was sure a wanton waterspout had just gone and popped up to ruin his day some more.

“ They’re— “ His brows hitched up with outrage as he spotted Captain Albright’s vessel yet littering the horizon, like an old woman settled to lounge and spectate. She’d merely adjusted position, taking distance to align the stern chasers. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or livid.

“ Shooting! “

From the poop deck came a bright flicker as the sun was reflected by mirror, in sequence, to message their dinghy. He squinted at it, grimacing as another wave, larger now, rocked the boat and staggered him.
 
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