Limitless Seas, Chapter 12.

Chapter 12.

The cabin was clear of everything but a few tiny fish that were darting about, feasting on the bits of flesh still floating around from his previous fight. Thinking back on that fight, he realized that the Makon he had faced seemed scrawny compared to the others he saw when choosing his race. Perhaps it had to do with the dearth of sea life inside the bay. It was a mystery he had no intention of trying to solve, his focus was on the sealed box in front of him. He tied the box securely and walked it out of the cabin and away from the ship where it wouldn’t snag on anything during its trip back to dry land. Whatever was in there was heavy, which was good sign that it might be filled with coins or other valuables. Nobody hides a chest of dirty laundry or trash under the floorboards, they hide treasure.

After spending some time looking for signs of anything else that he might have missed, Larson left the captain’s cabin and approached the open hatch cover on the main deck. It would be dark inside and though his new form saw better in the dark than a normal human, that didn’t mean he wanted to go rummaging around in the near darkness, especially after his encounter with the crab. Across the deck were two other hatch covers and he took the time to open them, letting in more light to the hold below. It was tough work, the warped wood resisting his efforts, but with some muscle, and a few splinters, he had them off. Gripping his spear, Larson swam down into the hold.

He entered a graveyard. The skeletal remains of the crew and several Makon littered the hold. Captain Hampton and his crew must have made their last stand down here. Larson could only guess at the horror they experienced, fighting against the Makon while the hold slowly filled with water, and their ship sank underneath them. There were dozens of corpses, but the bones were scattered about, the work of scavengers or the surviving Makon. Perhaps his earlier opponent was the last of this group, afraid to head out on its own and eating nearly everything in the bay over time.

Larson wanted to be respectful of the dead but was forced to brush away some of the remains to get at the large crates littering the floor of the hold. One of the crates had smashed open either during the fight or when the ship had settled into its final resting place. Coral encrusted, rusting steel was found, the crate had contained weapons, just as the captain had claimed. Larson would make a point to see that Captain Hampton’s last request was granted. The loss of his ship might just provide the means for Larson’s vessel to survive.

He swam back to shore to retrieve the line. During his absence, Bug Bartholomew had several more made, allowing him to tie off all the chests at once instead of having to swim back to shore each time. One after another, the remaining sealed crates were dragged back to shore, Larson following the last in as the sun began to set. While he was working underwater, Tarley and his work party had returned. Larson would have liked to have seen the old sailor’s reaction to Bug Bartholomew, but he was happy enough to see the work party had brought back a huge palm tree log to use as a makeshift mainmast.

Larson waved down his officers, motioning for them to meet him in his cabin. The sealed box that supposedly contained the ship’s coffers was being kept under close watch by Nogreb, who stood by with his trusty meat tenderizer in case the box needed a little encouragement to open. It took few more blows than the other box had needed, but Nogreb soon had the hinges knocked off. After prying the box open, Larson saw there were a half dozen leather sacks sitting in the bottom of the chest.

“Please tell me those are all full of ducats,” Tarley whispered. Larson grabbed a bag at random, the sack giving off the happy sound of clinking coin. Using the box lid to keep the coins from rolling away, Larson dumped out the bag. A shower of copper coins, scales, poured out.

“Just scales,” Nogreb lamented.

“I don’t care, it’s a lot more than we had a few minutes ago,” Larson said, not wanting to admit he was also disappointed. He opened the second sack, pouring it out as well. This time it was a mix of mostly copper with a sprinkling of silver fins amongst the sea of copper scales. The final bags were also dumped out, they contained more silver fins than the other bags, along with the glint of a few gold coins, but were still mainly copper scales.

“Give me a minute to count these up, Tarley, do you want to help?” Nogreb asked. In fact, all of them jumped in to help, unable to resist the allure of the coins. Nogreb had them start piling them into stacks of ten, the task taking some time to complete, especially after Larson accidentally bumped into the lid, causing their stacks to collapse.

“Looks like we have 5,683 scales, 397 fins, and 81 landsmen gold,” Nogreb said.

“It’s not a fortune, but it should be enough to get the Gull Dropping back in working order and give a head start to those who wish to leave,” Larson said. He had hoped that the gold coins were ducats, but since the passengers that had paid them were more than likely from the mainland, landsmen gold was to be expected.

“You’re going to give coin to the ones that leave?” Nogreb asked sharply.

“Aye, they’ve gone through the same trials as the rest of us. I require loyalty in my crew, but these people didn’t have a choice. A handful of scales and a fin or two might mean the difference between them surviving or not,” Larson replied. He hated to give away money, but felt it was the right thing to do. After this, though, if a crew member wanted to jump ship, they would do so empty handed, there would be no free handouts.

“Very good, sir, I suggest we keep the news of what we found between the ships officers While I’m sure they might have suspicions over what the box contained, there’s no reason to announce to the crew that there are sacks full of coin inside the captain’s cabin,” Tarley offered. It was a wise suggestion and one they decided to follow. The box was too badly damaged to secure, so Larson took the bags out and stashed them anywhere inside his cabin that would hide them from casual view. As an additional precaution, he placed one bag of coins, mostly copper scales with a few silver and landsmen gold thrown in for good measure, inside his desk. Should someone be looking to steal, they might believe they’ve found what they were looking for and not continue their search.

Night had fallen by the time they left his cabin, and a roaring bonfire was burning on the beach. Gilroy, the ships appointed cook, was ladling out stew from a huge kettle he had hung over a smaller fire. The smell was wonderful, drawing Larson and his officers to it like moths to flame. Larson wanted to crack open the weapons crates, but that could wait until he filled his belly. His new body required more calories than his old human form, not to mention that the accelerated healing and mana use also seemed to burn energy that he needed to replenish.

Gilroy had taken the crab meat and made a seafood stew from the monster sized crab that Larson had killed. Chunks of a potato-like edible root with coconut milk and with some seasonings the cook had scrounged up in the limited ship’s galley had made for the first decent meal that Larson had eaten since he arrived. He licked the last of the stew from his bowl with a sigh, content for the moment.

“Well done Gilroy, that was a fine meal,” Larson said, complementing the crewman.

“Thank you, sir, I dabbled in the kitchen a bit when I worked at an inn years ago and I suppose some of what I learned stuck with me,” the man replied. A loud crunching sound drew everyone’s attention. The ogre had scrounged up the crab shells and was chewing away at them.

“Hey, Bug Bartholomew, be careful you don’t choke on that,” Gilroy said.

“I likes the crunchy bits,” Bartholomew said with his mouth full of shell, spraying shards on those seated close to him.

“Yes, and I do say that you did a fine job infusing them with flavor,” Bug added, also with a full mouth. It confirmed that Bug wasn’t all that refined when it came to table manners, despite his proper speech.

“Oh, I boiled them in with the rest of the stew to flavor the broth, I suppose the shells would have picked up a bit of taste as well,” Gilroy added.

“Culinary delights aside, we should discuss fixing up your vessel, captain. I believe we are ready to leave this island, despite having to brave the ocean once again,” Bug said as he swallowed the last of his crab shell.

“We’ve patched the holes as well as we can, sir, I’ll need some of the crew to start bailing out the hold now that the leaks are plugged,” Nogreb said.

“I’ll get the mast set tomorrow and start on rigging it,” Tarley offered.

“If you leave me with a detail, I can gather up more food and water,” Shada said.

“I can tell you where the richest pickings are, and there is a freshwater spring near my old campsite,” Bug told Shada. “Now, I can see you’ve patched the holes, but that work isn’t going to hold up very well in rough seas. You should do some cross bracing from the inside. It also wouldn’t hurt to scrape the barnacles from the hull and see if the rudder needs any attention,” Bug added.

“I’d love to, but we’d need a drydock to do that,” Larson said.

“Not really,” Bug said, rubbing his chin and looking over at the Gull Dropping. I think we can set out some log rollers and pull her out of the water completely. Once the vessel is out of the sea, we can work on her easier,” Bug told them. If the ogre wanted to do the heavy lifting, Larson wasn’t opposed to spending a few more days here if it made their ship a bit more seaworthy and filled up their larders.

“Thank you for your help, we’ll get started in the morning, let me know what the crew can do to assist you. For now, let’s get these crates open and see what we’ve found,” Larson said.

One of the crew brought over a prybar that the mast hunting team had taken with them. It turned out the prybar wasn’t needed since the crates were sealed but not locked. The latches holding them closed still worked and, with a little muscle, they opened the first crate. The watertight containers were large, and kind of reminded Larson of a coffin. Thankfully, the seals had all remained intact, and carefully placed inside was a small weapons rack packed with blades that gleamed in the firelight. A half dozen cutlasses were held in the rack, and each looked to be of fine quality. Pulling one from the chest, Larson could see it had a bit of rust, but was remarkably well preserved considering they had been sitting at the bottom of the ocean. The small amount of surface rust would clean off without any problem. Each blade, to his delight, was razor sharp.

“I’ll get these cleaned up and into the ships armory at first light, sir. We’ll of course have to set aside somewhere to use as an armory, the pirates never set one up and always kept their personal weapons on them. I’m sure we can also find some use for the watertight crates,” Tarley advised. The second crate held more cutlasses, and the third crate had a dozen long daggers, almost shortswords. The fourth crate was longer and narrower than the others. It held a rack full of spears, the leaf shaped tips were well preserved, and the shafts of the spears had been treated with an oil that prevented them from warping during their time in storage.

“What is that?” Larson asked as they opened the last crate. Inside was a jumbled mess of precut wood, cables, and narrow bands of steel.

“Why, this is intriguing,” Bug said pulling out several of the pieces. With Bartholomew jabbering excitedly, they began to piece together the weapon that had been inside, it was a type of portable ballista.

“Looks like a scaled down version of the legion scorpion,” Shada said, looking at the now assembled siege engine.

“The captain’s notes mentioned a portable ballista, this must have been one of them,” Larson said.

“I wantses it, can I keep it?” Bartholomew asked, looking almost like a child requesting a treat.

“What would you do with that?” Larson asked. He had seen the damage a larger version of this had done to his ship, so he was loathe to allow the ogre to go around firing off bolts everywhere.

“I’ll make it better, make it my own crossbow, I will,” Bartholomew said.

“My dear brother will take good care of it, in fact, he’ll likely improve on the design. In our hands, the weapon would truly be portable, and Bartholomew is a surprisingly good shot. Let us have this weapon and we’ll help you defend the ship if need be.

“Very well, it’s yours Bartholomew, enjoy it and don’t go shooting holes in my ship or in my crew,” Larson said. He would love to have the ballista mounted on the bow of the Gull Dropping, but he had to admit, a giant ogre with a ballista would make just about anyone think twice before attacking.

“Looks, brudder, theys gots extra bits for me to use,” Bartholomew said. He had been digging through the pile of bolts that filled the bottom of the crate and was now holding up a pair of metal tubes with wooden pieces on one end.

“Let me take a look at one of those Bartholomew,” Larson said. The ogre reluctantly handed one over. Larson realized this was one of the weapons that the mysterious passengers that sailed with Captain Hampton had used. There was something about the weapons, something that should be familiar to him, but that he couldn’t remember.

“I believe these were mentioned in the captain’s journal that I recovered from the wreck. They were supposed to be some kind of weapon, but I have no idea how they function,” Larson told the ogre.

“I’ll figures it out Larson, just needs me some time,” Bartholomew said, completely engrossed with his new toys. Bug had a strange look on his face as he studied his brother’s new weapon and the strange weapons the passengers had added to the crate.

“Well, you have it at it, we’ll set a watch and let the crew get some rest. I think we’re all going to need our full strength tomorrow if we want to get the ship in order,” Larson said. A loud clacking noise drew his attention. Larson looked up to see Bartholomew pointing the ballista out toward the shore, he had fired the thing without warning.

“Uh, I’s,” Bartholomew stammered.

“Hey, I asked you to be careful with that thing,” Larson growled.

“I’s was careful, I hitses the fishey man, see!” Bartholomew said excitedly while he easily pulled back the cable of his ballista to ready it for another bolt. Annoyed, Larson looked toward the shore and was shocked to see a dozen Makon emerge from the water. One, likely the first one to emerge, was lying dead on the sand with the bolt that Bartholomew fired piercing it through the chest.

“Fill you hands with steel mates, we got a fight on our hands,” Larson shouted