Chapter Three: East Is All They Said...

“How many are we taking?” asked Goshin. 

     “The message read, at my discretion,” the Captain replied.

Goshin eyed the crowd, shaking his head in disapproval. “Peasants,” he scoffed. “They’ll be stinking up the holds in no time.”

Below them a dense crowd loitered on the boardwalk, waiting to board any ship that would take them. Women and children, carrying baskets of bread and sacks of grain huddled near makeshift fires in stone casks. The scent of burnt wood and salt hung heavy in the air.

The Captain, a seasoned man of the sea, shared his first mate’s apprehension. “Who could have guessed we’d find ourselves hauling refugees for the Empire?”

“Desperate times…” Goshin mused, spitting over the railing. “Still, a bit hypocritical, if you ask me.”

The Captain scratched his brown beard, turning to look out over the sea. Several hundred ships lay anchored past the breakers, waiting. “Looks like half the captains aren’t coming. They probably took off for the Hales, or the Summerlands.”

    Goshin peered over the rail, signaling the dock workers to lower the ramps. “How come we didn’t?” 

    The Captain shook his head. “Even a blind man can see there’s nowhere to run. The Hales. The Summerlands. It makes no difference. The other captains will learn the hard way.”

Goshin flashed a look of skepticism. “Perhaps.”

    As the ramp touched the pier, the dockmaster appeared. A stunted but well-groomed man, he wielded his quill and parchment as if they were a sword and shield.

    “Good day, sirs. How many will you be declaring for?” asked the dockmaster.

    “We can take about a hundred,” the Captain answered, “so long as they ain’t bringing any animals and they ain’t bringing any weapons with em’. I’ll not have peasants on my ship butchering pigs or each other.”

    The dockmaster scribbled a note and signaled the guards below to allow the refugees to board. “We confiscated all their weapons and livestock when they entered the harbor. They were instructed to bring food and any necessary provisions with them for the voyage.” 

    “Do we have a destination yet?” asked the Captain. “Seems awfully queer to evacuate all these people, with nowhere to go.”

    The scribbling came to an abrupt halt. “East, is what they say. I was ordered to tell each captain and shipmaster to rendezvous past the break wall. You’ll be given further instructions from there.”

    “What does he mean, east?” asked Goshin. “There ain’t a damned thing east except ocean and sky.”

    “Aye,” the Captain nodded in agreement. "They think there's something out there.”

    “Starvation and death is what we’ll find,” Goshin replied with contempt. “The gulls will pick our bones and leave the rest for",” he paused, spitting over the rails again. “Them.” 

    “We will have to take our chances with starvation and death,” muttered the Captain. “There will be issues with food, since you mentioned it. Our holds can only carry so much”

    “I hope you’re wrong. Famine on the high seas can be a nasty business"” 

    “"I’m well aware, Goshin,” the Captain interrupted. “We’ll have to start rationing immediately.”

    “On a lighter note, I reckon we won’t be coming back here again. If it’s alright, I’ll be heading off to the Grey Mare one last time for an ale and a whore.”

    The Captain nodded. “Be back by dusk.” 

    “Aye, sir.” Goshin breezed down the ramp, vanishing into the crowd.

    The Captain stared out over the open waters, when a breeze whipped over the deck. A flapping sound caught his attention and he glanced to see his trench coat was torn.

His heart filled with a mix of worry and unease, though he dared not express it. The Vertanian Ocean was the edge of the known world. Many ships sailed east in search of new lands, yet not a single one returned. Stories abound of ships tumbling off the edge of the world into oblivion. The Captain wondered if the same fate might befall his ship, yet in his heart he knew falling off the edge of the world was the least of their concerns.

* * *

A handful of refugees remained on the dock waiting to board, when a commotion broke out near the gate. Vargas, the ship’s holdmaster, appeared from the cargo hold to investigate.

    “Please!” an old man in rags wailed. “You’ve got to let her on board. She’s heavy with child.”

    The guard scowled, shaking his head. “Sorry old man. You’re the hundredth. I can’t be letting any more on board. You can get off and stay with her if you like.” 

    “You don’t understand!” cried the old man when he reached out and touched the guard's shoulder. A sudden rush of mailed fist crashed into the old man’s face as he moaned, falling limp to the deck.

    “No. You don’t understand!” the guard exclaimed.

    “What the bloody hell is going on?” Vargas shouted.

The old man stirred from the floor as tears and blood poured from his face.

    “They told us no more than a hundred,” the guard replied, “and here he wants to bring some pregnant wench on board. It’ll be a hundred and two!” 

    “Aye, you can count,” Vargas snapped, glancing towards the guard at the base of the ramp. “Let her pass. One and a half more won’t sink the boat. Someone get this man to the hold.” 

    “Bugger you all,” the guard muttered under his breath. “Send the bitch up.”

    The pregnant woman climbed aboard as Vargas grabbed her hand. “Oh, thank you so much,” she said. “You must know how grateful I am.” 

    In all his years, he never crossed paths with a woman whose eyes glimmered like hers, a bright emerald-green, and metallic. He became lost in them immediately. “Who are you?”  

    “Felice,” the woman replied in hesitation. “My grandfather and I are from the Drells, in the northeast, seeking safe passage from the fighting behind us.”

    “You came a long way,” Vargas remarked. “Where’s the man who put that baby in you?”

    The woman looked to him as tears welled in her eyes. “He"he went off with the Emperor, to Appletown, in the Deep Pass, to hold them off. He said it was his duty.” Her eyes glistened in the sun from her tears.

    Vargas put a hand on her shoulder and led her towards the entrance to the holds. “Aye… He certainly did...”

    Dusk fell as the Emerald Turtle prepared to undock, readying the oars, securing the rigging, and raising the anchor. Several ships drifted out, forming a line between the torch buoys, which marked the pass in the break wall. The sounds of wind, waves, and oars smacking the water converged until they were indistinguishable. Those were the sounds every man of the sea becomes deaf to; always hearing, but never taking notice of. 

    Conditions below deck were cramped and crowded, but not unbearable. Most of the refugees stayed below deck, thanking the gods for their lives, or mourning the loved ones lost. Prayers and tears could be heard amongst the murmurs, as an acolyte representing the Faith of the Twelve was counted amongst the refugees, leading prayers and offering blessings to anyone who asked.    

John the cook boiled a cauldron of stew filled with onions, carrots, turnips and bits of rabbit and venison. The smell was inescapable, filling the air above and below deck. The hot food served well to keep spirits up.

    When the Emerald Turtle reached its position in the bay, the crew dropped anchor and lit torches on the stern and bow, alerting the other ships of their presence. Vargas counted near forty-five vessels at the rendezvous point, with whispers claiming them to increase five-fold.     

Vargas realized he would never again look out over the harbor of White Town. Thoughts of lost loves and old friends crept back to him. Most of all, he thought about his uncle Roderick and how the man was faring, if he was alive at all. Like all the crew, he turned to the east, looking over the endless expanse of ocean, pondering their true destination.

    Goshin appeared, staggering over the ramp, half-drunk and stinking of ale and smoke. The first officer walked with a strange swagger when he drank, like a man with nothing to lose.  

“You surprise me,” said Vargas.

“How so?” Goshin asked.

“You didn’t bring any of your bastards with you. Did you get your last taste of White Town’s finest?” Vargas asked, referring to the dockside courtesans.

    “I got one better,” Goshin grinned. “I had me an ale at the Grey Mare while the owner boarded up.” He was quite adept at catching the latest gossip in the taverns. 

    “Any good news?”

    “Good news is a luxury even the rich can’t afford now. Things are worse. Much, much, worse.” Goshin shook his head.

“Do I want to know?”

“There was a caravan coming from Arnhelm. It was supposed to be here four days ago.” Slightly drunk, Goshin moved closer to Vargas, in fear of eavesdroppers. “The prince and his family were on that caravan.”

Vargas swallowed, “Are they"”

“"All of em’.” The words rolled from Goshin’s lips like ice. “That ain’t all. Ol’ Mallory at the Grey Mare said when the Queen found out, she cut her wrists. Devin the Stable Master heard she threw herself from the Ellsbern Towers. Nobody agrees how she died, but everyone agrees she’s dead.”

    “I figured she was here, with the others,” replied a shocked Vargas.

    “There’s more too,” Goshin said, spitting over the rail. “I ran into the holdmaster from the Sword of the Dawn. He says the Emperor’s brother made a move for the throne and killed every member of the Eldermore who wouldn’t bend the knee.”

    “That’s treason, and insanity,” Vargas scoffed. 

    “He thinks he can beat back the scourge.”

Vargas laughed at the notion. “With what? Bows and arrows? Harsh language, perhaps?”

“Got me,” Goshin shrugged. “If I was a betting man, I’d say the man lost his mind.” The shock wore off rather quickly. Goshin had never held the Emperor or his family in high regard. “I won’t lie. Hearing the nobility cut each other’s throats"that’s justice for what they did to us. Making us their slaves. Making us work for them.”

“At least they pay us,” shrugged Vargas.

Goshin groaned, “Pennies and irons. My shit’s worth more money. I get the impression this whole deal was their making"the rich, the nobles, highborn, and the like. It’s like the ship’s sinking, and rather than getting off the boat, they’re still fighting over the treasure.”

Vargas stiffened up, checking a nearby rigging knot. “The world’s gone straight to hell. There’s only one thing the rich fear more than death, and that's losing their riches.”

    “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. Not now. Not after what’s happened.”

Goshin nodded in agreement, leaning far over the deck to belch across the sea. “Not like it matters anymore. The crown’s worth about as much as a piss pot.”