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Authors: Matt Tomerlin
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incarceration at the mainmast.
She stretched, her entire body shuddering, and she realized the great fatigue that gripped her muscles. She didn't want to think anymore. She'd had five days to do nothing but think and she was sick of it. Her mind was as drained as her body.
The captain's bed on the far side of the room was extremely inviting. She found herself drifting toward it in a daze.
I'll just have a closer look at it
, she told herself.
It's quite nice. Soft blankets. Maybe just a touch. Very soft indeed. Silk, in fact. And the pillows . . . so very soft. Mmm. I could die in them.
She was plunging into the soft blankets and pillows before she knew what was happening. She stretched out gloriously in the warm sheets and rolled over. Her eyelids were too heavy to hold open any longer.
As Katherine rapidly drifted out of consciousness, she dimly recollected that, for some reason or another, she had meant to steer clear of the bed. For the life of her she couldn't remember why she would wish to deny herself something so comfortable.
GRIFFITH
Griffith's excuses for avoiding his cabin were wearing as thin as the purple hue on the western horizon. He rarely ventured outdoors after dusk, especially on cold Atlantic nights, and this was a particularly frigid night. A canvas of bright stars speckled a black and cloudless sky. The crew had grown quiet, perhaps as a result of their captain's presence, and the ship glided through gently rippled waters. A light swishing, quiet yet constant, mingled with the soft creaking of wood and the intermittent sweeping of sails.
Harbinger
was slowly descending the East Coast of North America. She would hug the coast until she reached Florida, at which point she would break for the Bahamas.
At midday Griffith calculated the latitude with a quadrant. Afterward he spent a fair portion of the day studying navigational charts that he had obtained from various merchant vessels over the years. The charts were elegant works of art to behold, but Griffith was too often frustrated by their geographical imprecision. More often than not the curves of the coast differed drastically from what the charts presented. He often became so discouraged that he would rip a chart to shreds and throw the pieces into the ocean. Due to this crude process of elimination, only the most accurate remained.
After finishing with the charts, Griffith happened upon the ship's cooper. The man reiterated what Griffith already knew; the water supply was exhausted and food was dwindling. Over the past several months the barrels of provisions that had once filled much of the lower decks had gradually decreased, while booty had increased. All of the pigs and cows had been eaten and only one goat remained to provide milk. The majority of the chickens and geese had been stricken with a malady that swiftly claimed their lives. The cooper suspected that several ailing crewmen had been infected with this disease. Thus far, fourteen had taken ill. Griffith and Livingston convinced them to keep from their duties until they recovered. One man had died the day before
Harbinger
intercepted
Lady Katherine
.
After speaking with the cooper, Griffith went below decks to check on the ailing men, only to find that their conditions had worsened. If the malady didn't kill them, the lack of water and food surely would.
The problem, he grimly concluded, would work itself out naturally. He didn't like having to think this way, but years of seafaring had given him little choice. Losing crewmen to various illnesses was as natural to him as the boundless waves that the ship crested each day.
Griffith ascended from the clammy depths of the lower decks and joined the healthier members of his crew above. They were presently living off of dried meat, hardtack, and eggs from the few hens that had maintained their health. He trusted that his crew would survive the journey to the West Indies. This wasn't the first time they had found themselves
She stretched, her entire body shuddering, and she realized the great fatigue that gripped her muscles. She didn't want to think anymore. She'd had five days to do nothing but think and she was sick of it. Her mind was as drained as her body.
The captain's bed on the far side of the room was extremely inviting. She found herself drifting toward it in a daze.
I'll just have a closer look at it
, she told herself.
It's quite nice. Soft blankets. Maybe just a touch. Very soft indeed. Silk, in fact. And the pillows . . . so very soft. Mmm. I could die in them.
She was plunging into the soft blankets and pillows before she knew what was happening. She stretched out gloriously in the warm sheets and rolled over. Her eyelids were too heavy to hold open any longer.
As Katherine rapidly drifted out of consciousness, she dimly recollected that, for some reason or another, she had meant to steer clear of the bed. For the life of her she couldn't remember why she would wish to deny herself something so comfortable.
GRIFFITH
Griffith's excuses for avoiding his cabin were wearing as thin as the purple hue on the western horizon. He rarely ventured outdoors after dusk, especially on cold Atlantic nights, and this was a particularly frigid night. A canvas of bright stars speckled a black and cloudless sky. The crew had grown quiet, perhaps as a result of their captain's presence, and the ship glided through gently rippled waters. A light swishing, quiet yet constant, mingled with the soft creaking of wood and the intermittent sweeping of sails.
Harbinger
was slowly descending the East Coast of North America. She would hug the coast until she reached Florida, at which point she would break for the Bahamas.
At midday Griffith calculated the latitude with a quadrant. Afterward he spent a fair portion of the day studying navigational charts that he had obtained from various merchant vessels over the years. The charts were elegant works of art to behold, but Griffith was too often frustrated by their geographical imprecision. More often than not the curves of the coast differed drastically from what the charts presented. He often became so discouraged that he would rip a chart to shreds and throw the pieces into the ocean. Due to this crude process of elimination, only the most accurate remained.
After finishing with the charts, Griffith happened upon the ship's cooper. The man reiterated what Griffith already knew; the water supply was exhausted and food was dwindling. Over the past several months the barrels of provisions that had once filled much of the lower decks had gradually decreased, while booty had increased. All of the pigs and cows had been eaten and only one goat remained to provide milk. The majority of the chickens and geese had been stricken with a malady that swiftly claimed their lives. The cooper suspected that several ailing crewmen had been infected with this disease. Thus far, fourteen had taken ill. Griffith and Livingston convinced them to keep from their duties until they recovered. One man had died the day before
Harbinger
intercepted
Lady Katherine
.
After speaking with the cooper, Griffith went below decks to check on the ailing men, only to find that their conditions had worsened. If the malady didn't kill them, the lack of water and food surely would.
The problem, he grimly concluded, would work itself out naturally. He didn't like having to think this way, but years of seafaring had given him little choice. Losing crewmen to various illnesses was as natural to him as the boundless waves that the ship crested each day.
Griffith ascended from the clammy depths of the lower decks and joined the healthier members of his crew above. They were presently living off of dried meat, hardtack, and eggs from the few hens that had maintained their health. He trusted that his crew would survive the journey to the West Indies. This wasn't the first time they had found themselves
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