Encounter in Dechaine
Six replacement spars. A yard arm for the sprung mizzen royal, no thanks to Albert’s little stunt on the Cape after the little altercation with that Avalon sloop. Heavy hempen canvas for the aforementioned royal. Oil. Tar. Enough blocks to make Han wonder whether or not the bosun was trying to embezzle them, and the tackle to accompany. He’d argued with the bosun, and had settled on the extra spars in case they needed to fish any more yards.
Bless Albert, but he seemed to get a kick out of pushing the Gespenst’s limits. A better hand at the helm couldn’t be found, to be sure, although at the expense of the bosun's rather frayed nerves.
For the most part, Han was ensuring their unexpected stint in Dechaine was well spent. Call him a romantic if you want, but a man had once told him some of the best spars came out of Montaigne, and Dechaine happened to be near enough to the Lock Horn to ensure ample supply. The collection at the ship-yard didn’t disappoint. No curls, no knots. Just straight, clean wood. Han had to talk himself out of arguing to replace the whole lot of the existing yards, just in case the purser (if not Albert himself) decided to have his head.
In the end, the bosun had taken over such matters, and Han had dedicated himself to ensuring the Gespenst was ample loaded with enough sponge, worms, matches, priming-irons, wads and shot — bar, chain, case, langrage, grape or plain round — to keep her provisioned all the way around the Atabean, if need be. That was, presuming the steward was doing his job of loading the hold with adequate food.
It was a level more care than he’d usually take. In truth, it was mostly a manifestation of nervous energy. Carmen had excused herself to the bathhouse after a much shorter introduction than what he would have liked, and Han needed to do…
Something.
Anything.
Something that most definitely didn’t involve sitting still.
His head had been churning for most of the day, alternating between shock, surprise, relief, and about sixty other emotions he couldn’t even name. Meticulously pouring himself into his work always had a way of helping to keep his mind steady, and it was a long-time trick that Johann far too often relied on as a crutch. This was the end result. At the very least, it meant the Gespenst would be able to set sail wanting for nothing.
The Gespenst herself had been warped into the dock, sitting neatly under the derricks. The last of the supplies would be loaded shortly, and she’d soon be ready to set sail. Gulls cried overhead, the cold north wind carrying the sound into the stone square. Han cast her a final glance, and over little black shapes scurrying along the spar deck, before he tore his gaze away and tried to pick his way towards the boarding house.
It felt strange, being back. The colours, the clothing, the stone, the music, the dress. Being able to hear Montaignoise spoken freely around him again was heartening, in a way, but the stone streets felt almost as alien as they did familiar. He could still tell you where each turn would take you — to the bakers, the cobblers, the whorehouse, the market square — and the appropriate shortcut to each, but it didn’t feel like it should when you were returning to a place that could arguably be considered ‘home’.
Or maybe it did. What did he know?
Too much had happened.
Too much had changed.
He pushed the thought aside as he made his way through the sparse crowd, and, before long, caught a glimpse of dazzling white hair headed the same direction.
Han felt his lips purse.
If nothing else, his sister was conspicuous. That made him nervous just on the principle of it. It was a silly thing to feel. It wasn’t as though they were running from anyone, and he was sure no one was after them, but there was a bizarre sense of menace that was hovering over him. Over this town. Over this city. He’d already lost her once, and he wasn’t going to be comfortable until she was firmly bundled on the Gespenst and Dechaine was no more than a speck off their stern.
“Carmen?” he called, jogging a little to catch up. He wasn’t looking quite as put together as she was, given he’d foregone the opportunity for a bath in exchange for catching up with the ship’s business. Honestly, together with the early sign of a beard and his uncut hair, he was looking downright unruly compared to the last time they’d spoken, so many years ago.
A lot had changed since then.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:47, Wed 01 Nov 2017.