When The Petal Fell

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The bucket bounced against the hull as Jhsonni hauled it back up to the deck. When it reached the gunwale, he lifted it, balancing it before gripping the handle and turning back towards the centre of the deck where his holystone lay, awaiting him to return to his hands and knees to continue the daily task of smoothing the deck for the outward voyage.

While his shipmates drank and whored and caroused in the city, he remained on board, suffering for his careless mistake. If he was honest with himself, he didn't care to go ashore here, anyway. Even if the bosun hadn't punished him for not tying down the flying jib correctly, he would, most like, have only seen the dubious delights of the Lower Docks than to test his resolve travelling into the upper city. He had no head for heights.

With a sigh, he creaked to his knees, attempting to find a position that hurt less than the rest. He was getting old, now. Long years of climbing riggings, pulling ropes, shifting cargo in salty air, had taken their toll on his body. One more tour and he should have enough saved for that little farm he always promised himself and dreamed about.

Cupping his hands, he dug into the water in the bucket and tossed it on the deck in front of the holystone before taking a strong grip and starting the process of rubbing away the chips and splinters of a well used ship. It wouldn't do for a barefooted sailor to catch a splinter and then the inevitable infection. He'd seen good sailors lose their legs from that and with the Captain too tight with his money to afford a decent healer, scrubbing the deck became even more important.

He began to sing. The cadence of the song giving him a beat with which to time his scrubbing. "Yinni's Skirts", a particular favourite of his, bellowed from his lungs as he pushed and pulled the holystone forwards and backwards. As the sweat prickled on his brow and his arms tired, he decided to take a drink. Coastal cutters, like "Our Lady Of Flame", rarely found difficulty finding fresh water and the Captain ensured there was always enough for his sailors.

Taking a rag from his back pocket, he wiped his forehead and surveyed the Lower Docks area, thrumming with activity. Here, on the ship, he almost felt alone, yet there, not ten yards away, people ran around, carrying things, talking. The Lower Docks were a pale imitation of the city above. Stone moorings poked from the water, attached to wooden planking. The warehouses, taverns, flop houses and bordellos lined the chasm's high walls, as if grown from the rock itself.

"Crewman Mennerus!" The bosun, on the way to becoming portly, his only remaining hair a thinning ring around the base of his skull, stepped down the stairs from the fo'c's'le and headed towards the the door to belowdecks. "No lollygagging! Any sailor gets so much as a scratch from this deck, woe betide you!"

"Aye, Bosun." Jhsonni took a last sip of water and dropped the ladle to swing against the body of the fresh water barrel. "I'm right on it, Bosun."

"Tell me, lad." The bosun stopped, adjusting his breeches and looking up into the sky with squinted eyes. "How long've you got left, now?"

"This'll be my last season, Patrons willing, Bosun." Jhsonni held no ill will to the bosun, or the Captain, for his punishment. He'd cocked up and that mistake could have cost sailors lives, like anything could on a ship. "It's been a good life, but time to move on, I reckon."

"Aye. I expect it is. Sailing's a young man's game, eh? Or young woman's. Captain's never been one to turn away good sailors." The bosun looked over the deck, crouched down and rubbed his hand against the broad planking, before rising again. "I tell you what, give it a quick look over, make sure there's nowt to catch and then swab it down. Get yourself port side. Get a drink, a whore and don't make silly bloody mistakes, eh?"

"What about the Captain, Bosun?" He didn't want to sabotage the end of his punishment, but he didn't want the bosun in trouble, either.

"Eee, lad! Captain ended your detail four hours ago!" The bosun laughed, his extended belly bouncing with each chuckle. "It was me had you keep going. Not tying the flying jib right? So near the Maelstrom? Patrons mercy, lad! You know better!"

With a pat on Jhsonni's shoulder, the bosun opened the door to belowdecks and disappeared from sight, still chuckling. Jhsonni grabbed the swab, leaning near the fresh water barrel and returned to the centre of the deck. Kicking over the bucket, sending sea water spreading outwards, he began to swab the water around.

After the third bucket of water slopped onto the deck, Jhsonni swabbed it around only half-hearted. He felt an ale coming on now. Scrubbing and swabbing decks was thirsty work and water wouldn't fill this thirst.

He heard the call of gulls above and turned his face skyward, shielding his eyes with a hand as he looked high, up the chasm walls, up to the cloud level and the fleeting glimpses of the city above through thinner wisps. And something caught his eye.

Directly above, punching through the cloud cover. Jhsonni had docked here before and seen many things fall from the city above. Small things, usually. Mugs, coins, clothing, even a chair once. Most landed safely in the water, but, on occasion, some things would hit the ships, causing damage from the height of the fall.

This was different. At first, he thought it clothes but, as it fell, Jhsonni could tell it wasn't. It was a person. Heading for "Our Lady Of Flame". He ran to the belowdecks door and called for the bosun.

The body fell at such speed, Jhsonni had no time to get under shelter. It hit a brace, the taut rope tearing the body in two, arresting most of its momentum. The bottom half of the body spun away, pinwheeling out to the side of the ship, but the top half slammed onto the deck, crashing onto Jhsonni's water bucket, sending wooden shrapnel flying in all directions.

Jhsonni edged forward. He felt his face, wet and sticky and realised that the body's impact with the brace and then the deck had spattered and showered blood everywhere. Shaking, he moved ever closer to the body. Whoever it had been was no stranger to money. The clothes, although bloodied and ruined, were of high quality and, upon the battered, crushed head, there appeared to be a crown, or a circlet. Bent and misshapen.

A crown of flowers.

"Patrons blood! Tell me this isn't your fault, lad!" The bosun stood beside Jhsonni and they both stared at the remains on the deck.

Looking upwards, Jhsonni wondered whether the body, man or woman, he could not tell, had jumped, fallen by accident, or had someone pushed them? That was beyond Jhsonni. That was for someone else to investigate.

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