Two weeks later I'm sitting on my rucksack by the mast. I'm sore and tired from the journey, and I constantly feel a bit queasy from having nothing but watered-down wine and salted fish with biscuit.
The late afternoon sun shone through the blue sky as I boredly watched the men work. Sitting where I was, I had hoped the sails might give me some shade, but our northern course meant the sail's shadow stretched over the port side rail. So I sat and baked between the rows of stinky orcs.
Better than marrying a stinky orc I suppose.
My idle thoughts were interrupted by a call from the lookout, he yelled a Graboshen word I didn't know, but it was undoubtedly something urgent. The oarsmen around me started muttering the same word while looking starboard.
I stood up to get a better view over the still rowing men. Steadying myself against the ship's mask I followed their gazes to what seemed like quiet water, but as we watched a patch of water 300m away began to boil.
The captain yelled from his spot in the stern to increase speed, as the ship turned about port away from the disturbed water. The drummer increased his rhythm, and any crew who had been slacking before in the afternoon heat now put their backs into their labour.
As the ship began to put distance on the disturbance, I still had no clue what we were fleeing from. I was very tempted to go to the back of the boat to try and see better.
"Best you sit down again girlie, we don't know when it'll strike." Said Gordon, one of the orcs rowing next to me.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Who knows, there's any number of things that can break the water like that, none of them good." He told me, still pulling hard on his oar.
"A beastie probably" said another man near me.
Gordon grunts, "A sea-beast, a mainland submersible, an old demon walking along the bottom, or this close to the centre even just an eruption of miasma escaping the sea floor. Too many things it could be, most of them awful. I mean it when I say you should sit down silver pixie."
I huff, unhappy I didn't get to see anything, but I do sit down again. I ask Gordon what the Graboshen call-out means, and he explains the word is used to describe any disturbed water.
The captain keeps the galley's pace high for 20 minutes, then after nothing happens and because of the growing exhaustion of the oarsmen, he calls for the pace to be slowed.
Everyone begins to relax, and the oarsmen start to catch their breath, when the lookout calls again, "Froth, 300 metres stern!"
The mood tenses again and the drummer's pace quickens again at the captain's order. Whatever this thing is it's following us.
The next three hours continue this way. The captain keeps the pace fast, but whenever the oarsmen begin to slow for a few minutes, the lookout spots the disturbance again. The navigator has put us back on course to Grabosh, figuring if we're paddling this fast it might as well be in the right direction.
Eventually the captain has to have the third shift of crew, who should still be asleep, take an early turn at the benches. Then as they tire he begins a rotation, with the crew swapping out for 20 minute rests.
The waterboy is run ragged, the crew too thirsty for one boy to keep watered. At least I have something to do, I take pity on the waterboy and after he quickly teaches me how to correctly dilute the wine, I too start bringing the oarsmen drinks.
At hour 4 the crew are waning, even the two drummers, who take shifts like the oarsmen, are struggling to keep up the beat. I'm tiring too, running water really does mean running when there are close to 100 men on the benches at a time. The captain told the waterboy and me to dilute the wine further or else the men will become too drunk to row.
At hour 5, the lookout once more calls out the approaching froth, this time only 50 meters away. The captain decides finally that whatever it is will outlast us at this rate. "Harpoons! Harpoon men to stern!" A few of the men currently rowing are swapped by the shift resting, and gather with some men from the resting group to the stern with the captain. I watch while I run water as a man carries a stack of iron-tipped harpoons from the hold.
"Bring us down to a steady jig drummer! Let him catch up!" The captain calls, "Harpooners, take aim!" The 12 harpooners all take a throwing stance in line in front of the rudder man, who doesn't look thrilled at the prospect of a dozen harpoons flying over his head.
As the frothing water reaches 25 meters distance, the captain yells "Harpoons away!" And the harpooners throw. Before they even hit the sea the captain yells "Fastest pace drummer! Give us distance! Row for your lives men!".
As the harpoons fall, their lines go taught, then slack as the harpoons are pulled along by the galley, the harpoons had missed. "Pull them back in lads, we'll go again!" The captain calls as the harpooners haul back their weapons. As the galley speeds up again, the disturbance lags behind us again.
When the last man pulls up his harpoon, the captain yells again "Slow the pace drummer! And you lot, aim nearer this time!"
The disturbance begins catching up, then once at 25 meters, again the captain calls. "Harpoons away! Ancients grant luck! And full pace drummer!"
As the harpoons fall through the frothing water, the disturbance steers port, and a giant webbed tail breaks the water. One of the harpoon lines goes taught, and then I almost fall on my face as the whole boat jerks as it's pulled from behind. The rope can't take the strain as the beast now flees from us, the line snaps and the ship jerks once more, the oarsmen never stopped rowing.
"5 o'clock 50 metres, 60 meters, 70, he's running mates!" The lookout calls. The men rejoice but the captain keeps up the pace, wanting to put distance between us.
10 minutes later he's finally convinced we're far enough. "Stop the drum! We'll go by wind alone for a while, stay at your benches! Lookouts stay vigilant! And waterboy, bring out the good stuff!" He remembers me. "Watergirl too!"
The men cheer as they bring the oars out of the water, I follow the water boy down to the hold. We fill up new flasks from a different cask, this time without diluting the wine.
Some of the men who were resting were celebrating the man who threw the winning harpoon. While the oarsmen still at the benches rest from their labour.
The water boy begins distributing the good wine to the men resting, going straight to the thrower to give him the first drink, while I begin going down the aisle.
The men are in very good moods now, they laugh and talk about what kind of sea beast we bested. The men don't drink deeply from my flask this time, instead, they take a sip before passing it down.
"Go fill more flasks, they can pass it themselves when their hands are free." The water boy tells me, who is now carrying two flasks, and once he passes them both off, I follow him to fill more.
I'm down in the hold again, refilling the fourth refill of the eight flasks the Waterboy and I are circulating. When suddenly I'm knocked over, and the ship jerks. Corking the flask I close the tap on the cask before it empties all onto the floor, I climb up deck-side to see the men putting oars back into the water and the harpooners refinding their weapons. The captain begins to yell "Don't worry lads, it'll take more than that lovetap to sink my boat! Drummer get us moving! Harpooners sober up and spread out! I think our beastie has changed strategies."
As oars hit water and begin to pull the galley faster, men begin looking overboard for the creature. Our ambusher however doesn't wait for us to gain speed, and a giant maw rises from the water port and center along the boat.
A giant eel, 30 meters long, and 2 wide at the head, strikes the side of the boat. But as the captain says it doesn't have the force or leverage to damage the hull, but we are pushed sideways. Oarsmen use their oars to beat the creature who hisses at their efforts but continues its assault on the wooden hull. Men try to pick up their oars to hold them like spears, but galley ship oars are far too long for that to be effective.
"Harpooners centre but hold! Oarsmen stop hitting it! Let it keep striking the side until we're ready to throw! He isn't damaging us!" The captain bellows.
The men follow his orders, and as oarsmen retreat towards bow and stern from the monster attacking the centre, the harpooners gather port-centre.
But before they throw, the beast must realize the futility of its attack and dives into the swell again.
The boat is silent as everyone waits for what comes next. The oars are unmanned and a few even fell into the sea in the confusion, but the sails are up so we're still moving forward under wind.
The men are split into 3 groups, most of the oarsman near the bow, the group of harpooners centre, and the rest sternside with the captain. And with me.
Unsure how to help I'm still peaking up from the stern's trapdoor to the hold. The ship's shallow hold isn't deep enough for a bull orc to stand up straight in. There's a short ladder coming down from the trap door which I'm clinging too, still half down the ladder while waiting for the eel to strike again.
Then without warning the serpent surges straight from the water, taking the rudder man from behind. The beast swallows the man whole, and I suppose realizing our weakness is from above, it climbs from the water onto the stern deck.
The men are in chaos again, most flee towards the bow, while a few brave fools try to strike the beast with their pocket knives. The retreating men prevent the harpooners from getting close or having a clear throw.
The eel is in a feeding frenzy, in lightning fast thrusts it snaps up men whole. Whenever a man succeeds in cutting it with a knife, it swings it's head like a club, throwing its attacker into the sea.
It progresses up the ship as men back off from it or are eaten. I jump off the ladder into the hold as its head passes over the trapdoor. The monster looks down and we make eye contact, but knowing its head won't fit through, it decides I'm not worth the effort and slithers past.
Once its gone, I climb the ladder again to see it's long body is still slithering next to me. The head is now 10 meters down the stern, almost to center and the harpooners have reached it. The men have wisened up on how to fight it. When it swings its head they all dodge back, and when it lurches forward to try and grab someone the harpooners thrust to force it back, using their harpoons like short spears.
"You down there silver pixie?" Gordon was apparently swung off the boat, and now he climbs back on behind me. "There should be another roll of harpoons down there, or else spears. Find me something to stick him with while his attention's up front."
I follow his instructions and go down below, I find the roll of harpoons and bring them up to Gordon. He picks one and then takes a stance like he was about to plunge it into the fish.
He hesitates though, "do you have a knife silver pixie?"
"Just a pocket knife" I say still within the hold.
"I've watched the men up front fight it, they get in some good stabs but they can't pierce deep, it does seem to thrash about when someone gets its belly though. I think its hide is too thick for an orc's strength. So lets try getting it to too skewer itself. When I say go, give it a prick on the white of the belly, then duck down."
I think this sounds like madness, but I don't know anything else we could do. Gordon wedges the blunt end of his harpoon into the crack where the deck meets the rail, and then crouches beside it too hold it steady. The point of the harpoon sticks out straight towards the eel's side.
"Go now little pixie, stab it good."
The eel is dark blackish blue on the top, while its bellyside is white. I take my little pocket knife, and bracing against the ladder I thrust into the side of the creatures stomache. As the tip of the knife sinks into the slimey skin it feels like I'm trying to cut through leather, and I only manage to get 3cm deep before I lose all momentum. My knife seems stuck good despite this.
Despite how minor the wound the creature does notice, and it hisses and thrashes, perhaps trying to squish me as I duck down again. It swings its side into Gordon's harpoon. The weight of the beast drives the spear deep.
Before it hissed, now it screams. Its whole body thrashes and it throws itself into the water. And leaving nothing but frothing water, it disappears into the depths.
