Fathomless Fortunes [slash]

Chapter 5 - Siren's Call *Audio commentary by the author*

Dear readers, welcome!
Since I didn't manage to get a new chapter done, I wanted to give you at least "something" to read. I have no idea if such an audio commentary as this is still done for stories (since nobody except me is still watching DVDs), but I hope you'll find it interesting nevertheless. I've done this a few times for different stories, and it also helped me understand my own work better. Of course I can't tell you any secrets not yet revealed, but I might give you some clues. Please enjoy!

"All hands on deck! We're under attack! All hands on deck!"

The sudden cry and the ringing of the ship's bell threw Nicolas out of an uneasy sleep. For a moment, he blinked into the darkness and thought himself back aboard the Valiance, in his old hammock. But this hammock was new and stiff, and the ceiling of the deck he was located on was much lower.

You probably remember from chapter 4 that Nicolas had joined the crew of a little trade ship. This is two days ago, as mentioned in the next part, but since nothing at all happened, I skipped the journey. There will be lots of sailing and life aboard later when it really matters, but uneventful travels will always be fast-forwarded.

A sudden shaking of the ship was enough to wake him up fully. Nicolas rolled out of his hammock with practiced ease, quickly pulled on his boots and grabbed his weapons. He had controlled his pistol the evening before, and it was loaded and ready. In close combat, it was only useful for one, well-aimed shot, because there would be no time to reload it during a fight. So he had to make that shot count - if he decided to fire it. While running toward the ladder, bumping into some other grumbling, slowly-waking fighters in their hammocks, Nicolas girded his sword belt. His trusted saber, a grudging parting gift from his father, was a reassuring weight at his hip. Since the Cygnia had departed from Calez two days ago, Nicolas had awaited this moment. He had slept in his clothes and with one eye open, ready for the fray.

He climbed up the ladder to the upper deck and looked around. It was barely dawn, the sky a misty gray. The morning watch crew stumbled around in confusion. Another shudder ran through the ship, and Nicolas lost his balance for a second. He saw Captain March behind the steering wheel, grimly trying to turn it. Something seemed to block it.

I guess this is a classic - in every movie with ships there's a guy trying to move the helm and failing. Even when it's a starship.

Nicolas couldn't see any enemy vessel yet, but the fog outside the ship was too thick to see further beyond about ten yards. Since there was no imminent fight, his mission was clear. Nicolas ran toward the wheel, grabbing the other side of it to aid Captain March.The wood felt like with was made of stone.

"Those damn bastards must have hit the helm!" March snarled. "Pull, man, or we are lost!"

Nicolas threw his whole weight into it, and the helm started to react at last. The Cygnia moved slugglishly, although Nicolas had known her for an extremely fast and maneuverable ship during the last days.

"Get the cannons ready!" Captain March shouted. "We have to show them we're not completely helpless!"

But Nicolas knew that it would be useless. There was no specialized gunner crew aboard, so it would take minutes to load the handful of cannons. And where should they aim?

In our day and age we can hardly imagine how long it took to fire a cannon. There were at least ten different steps necessary to get the things to work properly, and it took minutes. For that reasons, bigger ships had several decks armed with cannons that could fire in steady intervals while the other could reload.

"There they are! Fire!"

Nicolas turned around at the shout. Slowly, the shadow of another vessel became visible on starboard. It appeared in ghostly silence, its gray bow spearing through the veil of mist as if entering this world from a different realm of existence. The figurehead, a mermaid holding a tricorn in front of her as if ready to attack, was so perfectly crafted that she seemed to start moving at any minute. She was painted gray as well, just her eyes were pools of darkness. For a second, Nicolas felt as if she was looking right at him, pulling him down into her fathomless depths with her gaze. Atop the ship's foremast, a black flag was lazily moving in the slight breeze. Its sight burned itself into Nicolas' eyes: a red skull with an eyepatch on its left eye, crossed sabers behind it. The skull's mouth was open in triumphant laughter.