[maikafanawen]

Meri snapped the stay hard against the canvas and moved quickly out of the way as it came zinging back through the air. Marx grabbed it and tossed it up over his spar to Rilgari who tied it in its place.

"Finish it up there," Meri called, "and then make ways down. I want the catapults finished and racked," she began her descent and as a second thought called up: "And find the two boys Devon and Callath and put 'em to use. The decks can always use a swab over or canvas can be bleached. Have 'em see if the sails need any mending, I'm sure Portie would appreciate it."

* * *

"Sewing?" Devon asked incredulously. Marx smiled and tossed the package of canvas to him.

"Needles and string are in a small pouch folded inside. Don't loose 'em or you'll be poking every hole and be pulling through the string with your teeth." The sailor left the galley, the door banging behind him and swinging. It was one of the only three doors in the ship. The other led to the captain's cabin and the other the armory, built into a wall. The Cook had had it put it specially. He has something with doors...

"You've sewed before, eh Callath?" The stablehand looked amusedly at Devon.

"Horses, Devon. Horses don't wear pants or dresses."

The two boys sat themselves in the bow of the ship and set to work with needles and twine. They worked at first in silence. Then Callath looked over slyly at Devon and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Not...a word," Callath said, raising a finger. Devon agreed.

"So... where's Calnan?" Devon ventured, leaning back into the coil of ropes he sat in as he sewed. "Doing the washing?"

Callath shook his head seriously. "We're far better off than he is." Devon looked at his friend quizzically and the stablehand nodded past him, just aft of the wheel where Stippashin, the helmsman, stood still as stone. Devon raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and smiled as he saw Master Pearlle showing Calnan how to use a sexton. The fat man drew a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his sea coat and dabbed his sweating brow. Devon nodded approvingly.

"We're even then."

* * *

Kent Avershire studied the maps and charts, memorizing the locations of all the shoals, the tiny islands, and marks where maelstroms were said to be. The weather charts were laid before him and he calculated the patterns and looked over the work done by Pearlle. It looked reasonable but the captain never put his trust wholly in figures; the wind told him what he really needed to know.

Avershire looked out the portal window of his cabin at the endless blue. There was a good wind and the white caps foamed and sea sprayed up the sides of the ship and it seeped in, a few drops catching on his face and in the stubble of hair on his chin and the lines of mustache above his lip. He refused to admit that he had indeed copied Devon's little facial hairstyle but, Meri had informed him, it looked more in place on the captain. To the crew it was, undoubtedly, quite foolish on the boy. He sighed and returned to the maps.

"Coffee?" Cook inquired as he came in. Avershire glanced up, 'Oh, yes' and nodded absently. Then Meri came in and sat down at one of the chairs across the desk from him.

"So," she said plainly, spreading her hands on the desk and clicking the heels of her boot on the floor.

"Oh yes, yes I know," Avershire said, his eyes hidden by his lenses. "The Cook is seeing to it. If it comes to worst we can fish." He looked up. "We've nets." Meri nodded, helping herself to a sip of Avershire's coffee.

"You don't drink coffee," she said when he opened his mouth to protest. He stopped in the process of getting a word out and what he said sounded something like 'Hey-oh-quite-so'.

"Well," Meri said again sitting back, stretching out and crossing her legs. Avershire agreed.

"How does she look?" the captain asked, referring to the North Wind. "Is she going to be all right?" The first mate nodded slowly, lacing her fingers together and leaning her elbows on the armrests.

"She shoots like an arrow through the water; in a battle we can run circles around the ships as we fire off our catapults; she'll ride out any storm we hit." There was a short pause and then Meri said with a dreadful sort of finality, "I rehearsed it. I need something to say whenever a man asks that question after a sail falls or the stays fray. Did you know that we've cleaned out a whole box of repair limber all ready?" Avershire cleared his throat and shuffled through the papers in the crate by his desk looking for an overlay of the ship. When he pulled it out Meri laughed anxiously. "It's not that small," she said, more to convince herself.

"Well, if it comes to worst--" Avershire began.

"I'll get the nets." She saluted and left Avershire to his maps and his log.

* * *

Meri shut the door behind her and made her way back up to the deck, passing Cook on her way out. "At least one of us can understand him," she heard him mumble. Smiling (on the inside), Meri mounted the steps into the open, snapping at a sailor she saw leaning against the rail. She inhaled deeply and sighed as the wind seemed to pull the ship in a happy, 'welcome home' way into the blue.

But in the darker crevices of the future where the fate of their journey rested, there were ten ships of full crews and immense power, waiting in confident patience for the North Wind and its half-crew of Gondorian loyalists.