Love At Sea: De La en Glässer

Port Ivnany

Cockerell nodded. "Aye the crew 'ave been divided in groups o' threes. All will go at different times." The captain nodded but Cockerell could still see the tensing of his shoulder blades. "Cap'n I still reckon 'tis risky goin' thar, remember wha' happened last time?" The first man rubbed at his stomach. Just above his navel was a stitched scar he would never forget, though it had been long- the memory of the blooded knife kept him awake most cold nights. Macmillan tucked the looking glass into its leather poach and walked down the steps to the main deck, the first thing that caught his attention was the spotlessness of the floorboards.

"The lassy did the swabbin', Many o' the scallywags show thar respect, though some 'ave an evil eye fer her." Macmillan looked at him. "I do not want any harm to befall her." He realised a second too late that he had applied a lot of pressure on the man's shoulder. He let go and cleared his thought. The lassy was messing with his head and she had only been with him for two days. He needed to get her out of his head. "Cockerell." He called at his distracted most trusted man. They walked the stairs to the lowest part of the ship. It was stale and the air was terribly dump, mushrooms had already presented themselves on the moist wooden floorings.

"I wonder why ye had t' sneak 'em in at night. 'twas nah like anyone would wants t' loot empty boxes." Macmillan tapped one of the boxes and it gave out a hallow sound. "You are the only person I trust not to stab me in the back."

The captain replied and Cockerell blushed. "That be mighty fine o ye cap'n."

Macmillan stood from his bent position and looked at the man he had journeyed with for as long as he could remember. "They are not fine words. It is simply the truth, you would stab me in the heart with me seeing my death sword before taking my very last breath. It is just business Cockerell."

It was on the tip of his tongue to defend his captain but the man in question put out a hand. "Moving the boxes to harbour might be tricky." Cockerell tapped on another box and waited for its echo to die down. "Movin' it out will nah be tricky cap'n 'tis bringin' back wha' ye wants in. Now thar I pray we do nah meet those bastardly English scallywags."

Macmillan was temporally disgusted by the spit that Cockerell had spat on the floor. But he was not going to let that get him off point. "I heard thar be a new master sailin' the waters."

The sore look of utter most hatred crossed Macmillans features. He squeezed hard on the handle of his blade. "Never mind that help me with the boxes so it would be easier for the men to take them out without wasting a bit of their fancy time." Through the little light, Macmillan was able to see the glint of the sharpened knife. He knew the type of man his sea mate was- a dangerous criminal, but Macmillan had given him another chance at life, one away from the gallows and though it had cost him his precious wife and daughter, he hoped to the heavens that one day the family would be reunited. And he was not wrong when he had said it would be Cockerell to put the last knife through him, because there would come a time where every man would fend for themselves.

They set about binding the potable boxes in a fishing net and the larger ones were positioned for exist. The sweat dumped his body but he knew there was no time for a bath so he pushed the thought to the back of his head for when he came back from his journey.

He was on deck and was able to capture the land of yellow. An urge moved him to go down to his cabin but he hesitated before twisting the handle to his door. He bit on his inner cheek and turned for the little storage room. He was back at the bottom of the ship with his first mate and together they went about hammering the stubborn old rusty nails. It was strenuous but he rather that he did it than ask one of his other men.

Another bellow was shouted from above. His shirt was draped above his shoulders as he watched his men pull out the first bundle of boxes, finally they had reached land. He turned to Cockerell. "I will go with the first group of men. I doubt I will be gone for more than half an hour." Cockerell looked at the man puzzled. "Most o' the scallywags 'ave asked fer at least four hours t' drink ale 'n satisfy thar lions, why are ye askin' fer half cap'n?" Though he knew it was wrong to question his master he could not help the devious smile on his face.