Sea of Two Suns by Nicholas McAuliff

Author:Nicholas McAuliff [McAuliff, Nicholas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nicholas McAuliff
Published: 2021-05-27T22:00:00+00:00

XVIII

The seas where still, though soft gales rushed overtop the waters leaving wrinkled crests in the sheets of blue. They cooled Francisco’s face and he closed his eyes to the wind. From the helm he surveyed ahead as Lukas stitched his raw shoulder. White shapes dotted the far sky and small sheets of ice scraped under the hull, sounding like icy fingers beckoning the men to the deep.

“Wish this wind would cease,” said the surgeon.

“Then we would cease too,” replied Francisco.

“Now how did this happen?” asked Lukas pointing to the gash upon Francisco’s shoulder.

Francisco shook his head. “I think I fell against the harpoon when we boarded the whaleboat in haste. Thanks be to the captain for that.”

“He may pray the Inuk’s blade was not slathered with blubber or blood.” Lukas stopped his work and wiped his brow. “Even I sweat up here, it seems. Probably the farthest north any man has ever sweat, any explorer or navigator or whaler, for that matter.”

“Merchant vessels do not sail here,” replied Francisco. “Ships bound from Cambridge to California sure as hell do not. Nobody sails here. Save those fools who seek out a Northwest Passage.”

“I am a fool!” came a garbled shout from aft and Jerimiah raised his hand and smiled.

“As am I, my friend,” yelled Francisco. The Mexican felt a pinch as Lukas resumed his work.

Francisco studied the surgeon. His hands were fleshy mallets but he worked as if he could balance creation in his palms.

“A bit more,” said Lukas. “I have enjoyed our nightly talks. We seem to know as much as brothers would of one another.”

Francisco grimaced. “The forced friendship that the sea begets, Lukas,” he said flatly. He took one more sip from a brass-colored flask then pocketed it and grimaced again as the surgeon ran needle and thread through flesh.

“Oh stop,” Lukas grunted. “I’ve stitched through fingers before, whole fingers,” Lukas went on. “Never heard a man wail as such.”

“Now I see why you were a stone mason! You lack tact.”

“I’ve cut fingers from frozen hands, and watched men look at the severed digits. Feeling nothing, but only after they saw the fingers roll upon the deck did they scream.”

“Dios! I’m sure they did.”

“He was young, and strong, that one was,” said the surgeon.

“Who is this now?”

“Son of a German watch salesmen,” grunted the surgeon. “Long list of clients spanning from retired Nantucket captains to Vice President Calhoun, apparently. Alas the son was given the role of Boatsteerer though he never once held a harpoon. He couldn’t unfurl a sail; he couldn’t navigate by Polaris nor map nor Sextant or compass.”

“A damned landsman,” grunted Francisco.

“Aye. Insisted on the first kill and when a Right Whale be spotted a fortnight into our voyage, he was in the whaleboat. But he missed his throw and the harpoon line wrapped about his knee and pulled him overboard with the whale almost submerging the boat. And the line pulled taut around that knee and he skipped atop the tides like a stone thrown by a child.

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