Noble Intentions

30. Adjustments

As soon as the rain stopped, the crew rushed out through the door, and I ascended to the quarterdeck to see it covered in melting hail. The thundercloud towered above me, its deluge blown clear of us as the squall moved westward. To the east, dark clouds grew above treetops bent and whipped by the wind, its howling almost drowned by the thrumming of Atlantica's upper shrouds.

Careful with my footsteps in the slipperiness, I made my way to the forward rail to watch the activity below. Water flooded through the mangroves, the current mounding against their stems and rippling past them, the roots now submerged. An awkward approach for the longboat. Need all sweeps manned – and with stout hands.

While a group heaved a hawser up through a hatch, others scooped hail from the deck and sipped the water from their hands as it rendered. I took another bite from the assemblage, set it on the rail and squatted to gather a double handful of hail.

While the hawser was being ranged on deck, the longboat pulled away toward mangroves abeam, causing me to puzzle. And that it was not towing the hawser confused me further. When I saw the heaving line following in its wake, I realised – easier to pull through the water. Secure the boat to the mangroves and heave the hawser from there.

But why abeam? I looked at the hawsers from broad the bow and from the quarter, nodding. Midway between them. With the wind veering, likely as good as doubling-up both – possibly better. Also, to better handle the current of the storm surge. Wise thinking, Jenson.

The longboat made slow way against the torrent, and when its bows were finally secured to the mangroves, I finished my rendered hail and headed below. The barometer showed twenty-eight point nine, and I recorded this in the log at eight and a third of the clock.

As I walked across the common area, Gillian stood from the table, holding a mug toward me as I approached. "Iced water with lemon, Jarvis. Not long since arrived from the cookery. How goes the securing?"

"Oh, how thoughtful of him. It goes well." I nodded toward the pieces of cloth, scissors and cord on the table. "What are you crafting?"

She blushed, then shrugged. "A purse for Cyclops. A means to prevent him from becoming trapped down your thigh."

I examined the pieces. "How would it work?"

"I do not yet know." She sighed. "I folded and bent pieces in various ways, but without a model on whom to fit them and adjust, I am baffled."

"It would be better to do this in the privacy of our quarters, Gillian." Then, seeing Judith's obvious interest, I wondered. Curiosity? Prurience?

Judith chuckled. "Your stitching skills are a bit wanting, My Lady. Allow me to assist you."

"Would that be proper?" Gillian slapped a hand to her mouth, then giggled. "Oh! You jest, Judith."

"Oh, goodness, no, My Lady." She shook her head. "No, not assist with the designing and fitting. I meant the finishing stitches – after you have cut, assembled and basted it together."

As Gillian's blush deepened, I was relieved by Judith's motivation. Then, tilting my head toward our door, I asked, "Shall we remove your crafting to our quarters?"

A minute later, inside and with the door closed, Gillian set the bundle and her mug on the table and turned toward me. "I should start by learning his dangling size." She placed a hand on my left thigh and shook her head. Then, moving it to my other leg and up to my belly, she chuckled. "You shifted him up."

I nodded. "Arousal by anticipation – and the early adjustment I have now learnt to use."

She grinned and unfastened my breeches, allowing them to drop to the deck. "Then, I will start by measuring him while up."