šļø Chapter 5: The Serpent's Kiss
The Serpent's Kiss was not a vessel that inspired poetry. She was a creature of function, not beauty; a three-masted schooner with lines as sharp and unforgiving as a shark's tooth. Her hull, tarred a pitch black that seemed to swallow the weak dawn light, was scarred and pitted from a thousand voyages. Her sails, currently furled tight against their yards, were a patched, grey canvas, and the air around her smelled of brine, old fish, and the faint, metallic scent of rust. She sat low in the water, a predator resting before the hunt.
Harker marched me down the crowded quay, his hand a firm clamp on my shoulder, ensuring I didn't bolt. Two-Finger Tim followed close behind, a bulging sea bag containing my new, meager existence slung over his shoulder. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, a mixture of terror and a thrilling, awful anticipation.
"This is her," Harker grunted, coming to a halt before the gangplank. "Your new home. Remember what I told you. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. You report only to me."
A man stood at the head of the plank, watching our approach with an expression of profound distaste. He was tall and lean, dressed in a coat of faded blue, his face all sharp angles and severe lines. This, I knew instantly, was Captain Avery. His eyes, the colour of a winter sky, swept over me as if I were a piece of flotsam washed up on his deck.
"This is the 'asset'?" Avery said, his voice dripping with scepticism. He didn't even look at Harker as he spoke.
"He's the one who brought the key," Harker replied, his tone leaving no room for debate. "He knows the face of Billy Bones. He stays with the chart. That is the arrangement."
Avery's cold gaze finally flickered to Harker. "He's a boy. Boys are a nuisance on a ship. They get in the way. They fall overboard."
"He's your cabin boy. He'll earn his keep. And he'll be under my watch," Harker said, his grip on my shoulder tightening ever so slightly, a silent reminder of my true purpose. I was not just a cabin boy; I was Harker's watchdog.
With a final, warning squeeze, Harker released me and shoved me forward. "Get aboard. Tim will show you to the fo'c'sle."
I stumbled up the unsteady gangplank, my land-legs wobbling as my feet touched the deck of the Serpent's Kiss for the first time. The world felt different hereāa living, breathing entity of creaking wood and groaning rope. The deck was a chaotic web of lines, coils of rope, and lashed-down crates. A dozen men were at work, their movements economical and practiced, hauling, tying, and scrubbing. They barely glanced at me, their faces a gallery of weathered skin, squinted eyes, and grim mouths.
Two-Finger Tim led me towards the forecastleāthe cramped, triangular space at the front of the ship where the common sailors slept. "This is you, pup," he said, pushing aside a tarpaulin curtain. The smell that wafted out was a suffocating blend of unwashed men, mildew, and stale bilge water. A dozen hammocks were slung in the low, dark space, with sea chests lashed beneath them. "Find an empty hook. Stow your bag. Then report to the cook. Galley's aft."
I found a vacant hammock near the bow, the air slightly fresher from a nearby grate. As I shoved my bag into a netted shelf, my fingers brushed against the rough wool of the blanket inside. This was it. There was no going back.
The cook, a massive, bald man missing one ear, was named simply 'Gully.' He presided over a tiny, sweltering galley dominated by a great iron stove. He didn't speak, merely grunted and pointed a meaty finger at a mountain of potatoes waiting to be peeled. I picked up the knife and set to work, the monotonous task a strange comfort amidst the overwhelming newness of my surroundings.
Through the open galley door, I watched the ship come to life. Harker had taken up a position near the helm, his arms crossed, a permanent scowl on his face as he observed the crew. Captain Avery stood aloof on the quarterdeck, barking occasional orders in a calm, steely voice that carried across the deck. The crew moved with a disciplined urgency, but I could feel the undercurrents. Their eyes flickered towards Harker with a mixture of fear and resentment. They were Avery's men, but Harker, with his chart and his singular purpose, was the true power on this voyage.
As the sun climbed higher, the final preparations were made. The gangplank was hauled in. Shouted commands echoed, and with a great, shuddering groan, the anchor was raised from the murky depths of the harbour. The sails, with a sound like a hundred thunderclaps, were released and sheeted home, catching the morning breeze. The deck tilted ever so slightly beneath my feet.
A strange silence fell over the crew for a moment as the Serpent's Kiss began to move, slowly, then with gathering purpose, slipping away from the dock. The city of Bristol, with all its noise and stink and danger, began to recede, shrinking into a smudge of smoke and stone on the horizon.
I stood at the galley door, a half-peeled potato forgotten in my hand, and watched my old life disappear. The wind picked up, whipping at my hair, carrying the clean, sharp scent of the open sea. The vast, grey expanse of the ocean stretched out before us, an endless, unknowable wilderness.
Somewhere out there, across those rolling waves, was the Ivory Isle. Somewhere out there was the man with the scar, Billy Bones, who would surely be hunting for this ship, for this chart, for me.
The journey was no longer a story or a plan. It was real. The Serpent's Kiss had begun to slither towards its destiny, and I, Elias, the innkeeper's son, was trapped in its jaws.