020 To Cripple a Great Beast (Patreon)

020 To Cripple a Great Beast

{Excerpt}

…Due to its lighter weight and thus greater speed, the caravel was a boon to sailors. Early caravels generally carried two or three masts with lateen sails, while later types had four masts. Early caravels such as the caravela tilhlda of the 15th century had an average length of between 12 and 18 m (39 and 59 ft), an average capacity of 50 to 60 tons, a high length-to-beam ratio of around 3.5 to 1, and narrow ellipsoidal frame (unlike the circular frame of the nau), making them very fast and manoeuvrable but with somewhat low capacity.  Being smaller and having a shallow keel, the caravel could sail upriver in shallow coastal waters. With the lateen sails—which gave it speed and the capacity for sailing windward—attached, it was highly manoeuvrable and could sail much nearer to the shore, while with the square Atlantic-type sails attached, it was very fast. Its economy, speed, agility, and power made it esteemed as the best sailing vessel of its time. The limited capacity for cargo and crew was their main drawback but did not hinder its success

Excerpt from Milburga Leah's Speculum universale - 'The Voltulian Philosophica', located on the coordinates 00.00.45.21.05; Udoris/Udoris/Ships/Caravel.

{END}

• 12.03.1624

Ricos.

JOHAN stood by the harbour, his armour shining in the warm light of the setting sun. The evening breeze blew gently through his hair as he gazed out at the calm waters of the sleepy Strega. In the distance, a small fishing boat bobbed lazily on the waves, its sails fluttering in the breeze. The sound of waterbirds calling to one another filled the air, and the scent of freshly caught fish and fragrant spices burgeoned, intermingling with the laughter and chatter of the merchants and townsfolk bustling about their daily business, plying goods to the amassing conscripts and mercenaries; they had hiked the prices of goods, of course. What respectable merchant wouldn’t with so many potential customers out and about? Johan watched as a group of children played by the water's edge, their carefree joy a stark contrast to the busy adult world around them. They laughed and shouted as they chased one another around, their ecstasy infectious.

He inhaled, the undercurrent of petrichor begotten from yesternight’s rain mixing with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers nearby as it rushed into his lungs; soothing.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said from his side. Johan looked around to face the speaker; a man in a suit of armour of slightly lesser quality than his. A wealthy mercenary most probably, given he bore no emblems by which he might be distinguished.

“It is,” Johan replied, melancholic. He turned back to face the river. “Are you from these parts?” he asked.

“Nay,” the man said as he took a seat beside Johan. “Khule. You?”

Johan shook his head. “Wirborough,” he said.

“Here to fight, the Lion’s war?” the man asked. “Knight errant?”

“Nay,” Johan chuckled, suddenly remembering he also bore no emblems. “I haven’t had the pleasure of being knighted yet. A mere mercenary I am; I fight for gold, not honour.”

The stranger laughed. “A refined mercenary who fights for gold? It’s always nice to meet a kindred soul in the wild. The name’s Tom.” he said extending a hand.

“Tyronne,” Johan said, shaking it. He smiled at the stranger before turning his gaze back to the river. His eyes caught a caravel as it sailed into view. The vessel was laden well into its waterline, a dark red X painted on its bow—Cherry bomb, Johan remembered the earl dubbed the ship. His smile grew strained and he sighed before looking away; at least I got to see the place before we would be setting it up in flames, he thought sourly to himself.

…

The night was dark for the moon was young. It was Johan's ally as he stalked his way down the harbour towards The Codfather, the largest brig in port. The beautiful vessel belonged to Count Karl Pers, the Lord of Ricos. Behind him, five other knights followed. Off in the distance, the harbour guards stood slothfully at their posts, most drunk, asleep or simply ignorant of their movements.

A few dozen meters away from the Codfather, the Cherry bomb sat serenely where she was moored next to five other vessels; the perfect portrayal of virtue and innocence. Her sister ship that had arrived the night prior sat opposite her amongst seven other ships. Just as the Cherry bomb and her sister had, the other ships at the harbour also dipped well into their waterlines having been laden with war materiel to sent east towards Faywyn. Johan sometimes wondered to himself how the young lord could think up such insidious plans; only a man twisted beyond the bounds of clemency, or ancestors forbid, Puhbeer himself, could imagine such dreadfully varied, yet inventive, means of imposing violence on others.

The knight shook his head as he made his way towards The Codfather’s mooring lines, his colleagues making their way up into the vessel itself. Drawing his blade, he began to make short work of the thick flaxen ropes holding it fast to the harbour. The Codfather swayed in the current as she was slowly been let loose. Aboard her, muffled noises and exclamations gradually rose before suddenly rising in intensity. Johan worked faster, quickly clearing the ship of its stern lines before moving on to its breast lines. The guards began to stir; Johan worked faster, moving towards the ship’s head lines. The Codfather sway suddenly once more, this time much more violently—visibly and audibly—than prior. The noise aboard the ship grew louder. More guards roused, their silhouettes moving closer to investigate.

Then she came free.

The Codfather’s last mooring line broke with a harsh snap, whipping back towards the ship as the current carried her downstream. She collided with the sloop moored by her side before bumping into a breakwater on her way out. Johan sheathed his blade before racing along the harbour after the runaway ship. The vessel twirled chaotically for a few seconds before self-righting under the influence of the river’s current and floating downstream, her helm unmanned. Johan wasn’t bothered though; he trusted his colleagues to handle matters aboard the vessel before things got too far out of control. There were only a few guards aboard the ship itself after all.

The knight continued running downstream along the harbour until he reached where the townsfolk fishing boats were moored. Muttering an apology under his breath, he cut the tiny vessel loose before jumping aboard. Snatching a paddle from underneath the bench he sat he began to steer his way after their stolen prize. Behind him, two other fishing boats came unhitched and floated out into the current one after the other. An alarm was raised and the harbour was quickly flooded with guards and mercenaries who came out to answer the call.

Then as if on cue, the Cherry bomb exploded in a conflagration of flames and shrapnel; the blackpowder that filled her hold and was used to replace the majority of her ballast detonated so violently that the two ships abreast her sank near instantaneously. Seconds later, her sister ship exploded, once more lighting the night sky. Johan’s eardrums buzzed from the sound of the blast and despite being over a hundred feet away, the boat he sat in shook vigorously from the resultant shockwaves.

Looking at the carnage they left behind, Johan had no doubt left in his mind. Lord Tristan would probably need new ships if he wanted to send his army down the Strega. Whether the earl would let him get them was another matter entirely.