Chapter 9

Chapter 9
Yvan’s terror is displayed clearly as he reaches for Alrik, Alrik sprinting to be at his only friends side, but the deck of the royal wedding boat grew longer and longer with every snap of his heel hitting the wood.
“Alrik…” Yvan’s voice called out to him as he awoke, panting, drenched in a cold sweat, and gripping his sheets with a death grip.
Alrik usually didn’t have nightmares as vivid as this suddenly ever-occurring night terror.
Every time he had this night terror, he’d wake up more exhausted and bone-weary than the night before, and that much more depressed and desperate to find his beloved friend.
“Where are you, old friend? Why won’t you let me find you?” He spoke to no one in particular, and that just made Alrik that much more depressed and tired, so he just shoved the thought of Yvan, stranded on some pirate – he certainly knew that ragged boat wasn’t a royal ship, based on the craft and the flag waving smugly in the breeze, along with the Rag-Tag patched clothes that the crew was wearing – ship out of his mind as he got dressed.
Alrik was a deep, methodical man. When he was at his home kingdom, he’d leave any trace of himself – most importantly his flaws -- behind the first moment he could to forget himself, until, that is, when he’d come home in just in the nick of time to run himself over to Yvan’s Kingdom, and try to distract himself talking with Yvan. He was slowly growing tired of chasing from…
As he was buttoning up his dark brown vest over a loose undershirt -- his usual adventure garb – he mentally prepared himself for his biggest adventure yet.
He had already written a letter to his parents telling them he loved them if he didn’t come back. He had already written his will a long time ago, and had put everything in place, just in case he didn’t come back … alive.
Alrik ignored the nervous glimmer in his brown eyes as he methodically combed his hair into his usual up-swipe-to-the-side updo.
He hadn’t asked Yvan’s parents’ permission to come along on the trip, he planned on sneaking aboard the ship without anyone noticing, then wait until it was too late to turn back to show himself. He needed to have his friend back.
Alrik wasn’t in for the adventures, the rush of energy or the sharp spike of excitement when the sound of clashing metal, sending sparks burning spots on his forearms. He was there because he had to be there. It was his duty now, and by the sea, he was going to do it, or die trying.
Alrik started packing all of his essentials; his adventure clothes, silently and quickly going over the plans for this morning…
***
Yvan strode off to find Cook, and started running through all of the herbs, spices, and home remedies that Yvan knew mentally. Maybe the seemingly useless hours in Herb Class actually would come in handy some day.
Yvan never knew that the feeling of wanting to help could feel so . . .fullfilling. Satisfying.
Yvan had always ‘needed’ to help people, his kingdom, for his own self image, or because his parents told him/bribed him to do so, and Yan went along with it.
Yvan found Cook out on the prow, drinking Ale, and looking out to sea. Humming a tune Yvan didn’t know. Without turning around, Cooks voice cut through the crashing of the waves.
“Hello.”
“Hello.” Yvan was impressed. Aparently Cook had hawk ears.
“I need your help.” At this, Cook turned around, leaning back on his left elbow, an eyebrow cocked in interest as he sipped from his metal pint.
“Now what can a lowly Cook do for you?”
Ignoring that question, Yvan plowed on.
“Do you have any medical background perchance?”
Both Cook’s eyebrows went up this time, and he gave into the curiosity.
“Why?”
“Do you have any herbs or medicine for a swollen ankle?”
Confusion flickered across his face as he nodded.
“Come with me.”
***
Mildred looked up at the cracking ceiling – seeing but not really focusing on any particular thing. It felt like her skull had been filled with hot water and she was slowly drowning in the warmth. Even the throbbing ache of her ankle was now starting to melt in the heat.
A sound rippled through the haze.
“Captain?”
*I know that voice… I don’t remember what that means… should that scare me?*
A red fuzzy spot appeared in her vision, and her eyes gave up trying to focus on it, her eyes suddenly heavy.
Sleep was calling her name, and she would go to that call…
***
Yvan panicked when the Captains eyes started to droop, her eyes clouding over with exhaustion.
“This is bigger than just a swollen ankle. We need to hurry.”
When Cook hesitated, Yvan snapped to attention.
“Do you want to be a Captain-less Cook? COME ON!”
Yvan snatched the bowl of the green and brown glop from Cook, careful not to spill any of it on himself.
“Spoon.”
“Still in a stupor, Cook fumbled for the slightly dented metal spoon in his breast pocket, and with shaking fingers handed it over.
Yvan looked at Cook squarely in the eyes, dark Blue eyes meeting Ice Blue ones. Dark Blue then softened, turning to the Captain, gently opening her mouth.
“Can you go get Shifty-Eyes for me?” Yvan asked, trying to soften his tone, and it seemed to work better than snapping at him.
Cook nodded, relief releasing the tension from his shoulders as he heaved his bulky frame out the door. “Thank you.” Yvan mumbled.
Scooping up the sludge, unto the abused spoon, he carefully lifted the spoon, tilting it into her mouth, closed it, then plugged her nose and gently massaged her throat so the herbal concoction slipped down her throat.
There was barely any response except for a slight flutter of movement behind her eyelashes, and the muscles in her throat contracting and relaxing until the medicine slid down, which raised Yvan’s anxiety.
There was a knock at the door, and someone walked in.
“Cook said you called for me?”
Yvan looked over at Shifty-Eyes, secretly grateful for the temporary distraction.
“Can you get a cold water basin and a clean rag? Her temperature’s rising.”
To check his assumptions, he put his hand on her forehead. Yes, she was burning.
Yvan didn’t even look up with the *click* of the door sounded, he assumed that Shifty-Eyes was going to do what he was told.
He picked up the spoon, and went back to work, trying to force the nagging voice in the back of his head.
After about half of the Medicine had slid down Captains throat, the door opened quietly.
“Where do you want it?”
Yvan gestured to the small bedside table to his right, and put down his spoon into the bowl, gently lowered the bowl onto the pillow beside the Captain’s head, making sure none of the Medicine dripped over the lip of the bowl. He then took the towel from Shifty-Eyes hand, and folded it in half, so that it was a long rectangle, then gently dipped it into the cold water temporarily numbing his fingertips, then hand as he rung out the excess water from the rag.
Carefully turning and leaning over the edge of the bed so he would lose his balance, he carefully moved the Honey-Blonde hair back, and laid the damp rag on her already perspiring forehead.
The flickering movement under her eyelids slowed down, her labored breathing deepened and softened, and the tension that Yvan had never noticed before lifted, leaving her shoulders to sink into the bed, the tension in her neck disappearing and a slight snoring sound came through her lips.
“Will she be okay?”
Yvan jumped, his arm jerking behind him instinctively, making contact with the metal basin, and making it tip towards the edge of the table.
Panicking, Yvan spun around, but a pair of well-worn and calloused hands was already there, steadying it.
“A little jumpy are we?” The question was light, but the strain in his eyes and voiced leaned on his words.
“She should be fine now. Thank you for bringing the basin.”
Yvan stood up, wiping the cold sweat from his hands on his pants.
“No problem. Anything for Captain.”
Yvan looked at Shifty-Eyes.
“Do you have an attraction for her or something?”
Shifty-Eyes looked at him like he had grown a second head. “What are you talking about?” Understanding dawned on him, and he laughed. “Oh no. I don’t like her at all. She’s the Captain.” But his voice hid something.
“How long has she been Captain for? Everyone seems so . . . loyal.”
“Ain’t that what a crew supposed to do? Be loyal?”
“You don’t have to be. You could just leave the next time you go to shore.”
The look that Shifty-Eyes gave him stopped him in his tracks. “What?”
“We only come to shore for 3 days a season. And that’s unusual. Usually less than that. We have been through more barnacles --” the way he said it made it a vulgar word in Yvans mind. “-- Than any other ship I’ve been on. Captain’s story isn’t mine to share, but it is a long, hard story that you’ll have to ask her about.”
Shifty-Eyes went to the bed side, and tucked the Captain in, raising the blanket almost to her chin, then he carefully lifted the mattress slightly, tucking the extra blanket that hangs down between the two mattresses.
The way that he did it reminded Yvan of his maids, how he would accidentally run into the maids making his bed, their movements perfected to the point where Yvan waged that they could do it with their eyes closed.
“I’ll take the first watch. I’ll let you know if and when she wakes.”
“Thank you.” With a nod, Yvan left.
Walking out onto the brig of the ship, he looked out over the horizon, the sun about a quarter of the way down, so he guessed it was around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. His stomach rumbled regretfully, reminding Yvan of his missed lunch.
It was amazing that so much had passed in such a little time frame in only a few days, so much had happened. . .
He missed Alrik. He wondered if Alrik missed him too. . . he put his head in his hands.
“You need to stop thinking about home.” He muttered to the moving planks beneath him.
“Speakin’ to yourself now? Too much salt water in your brain?” Yvan lifted his head, and saw LB looking up at him.
“Sorry.” He sighed “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“That was a sure handsome thing to do to Captain.” He said, rocking back on the souls of his calloused, bare feet.
“It was a noble thing to do.” Yvan agreed quietly, not sure if he was agreeing with LB because he was just too tired, or if it was because of the strain and stress of the past few hours.
There was a small comfortable silence when Yvan looked out to the sea, and so when LB asked his next question, it caught him off guard.
“Do you like Captain?” LB got straight to the point, didn’t he? Yvan thought sullenly.
The corners of his mouth lifting, he turned to LB, resting one elbow on the polished strip of wood that came between him and the dark, unforgiving sea. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yvan would wonder later how he came so suddenly to trust a plank of wood so near to his near wet-death.
“Well? Do ya?”
“Psh! Don’t be absurd!”
“I’m a boy, and she’s . . . well . . . mighty perty.” He looked sheepishly at the ground.
Yvan good-humordly ruffled LB’s already unkept hair and walked to his hammock under the ship.
“I’m going to go take a nap.”