(Yes..this a novel a plan on eventually publishing. Perhaps in 10 years
)
Setting: Hartlepool, England
Time era: Napoleonic Wars
Rating: well, this bit is PG but later on during the battle scenes it'll get to at least 15
Go me and my violence
December 1 Wednesday, 1804, 4am
A thick coating of fog clung to the tight, musky streets of the busy yet inactive port. Wooden signs hung from the doorways, creaking in the breeze that was coming in from the tide. Dawn, a creeping of red and pumpkin light cast a wonderful, elegant hue to the dark stones that made up the majority of the buildings. The ships, what few there were in this season, rose and fell in the rustic harbour. Material flexed and ruffled in the wind, the whole scene giving an impression of a small port - which, of course, it was. Hartlepool, England.
Captain William Bayeux strode down the street, the cold mist causing him to give a slight tug to the cloak he'd put on. Damn sea-weather - although he'd have to get used to it, and really should be after 13 years spent on the waves. His shoes clicked on the cobblestones, tricorned head lowered slightly so then the breeze didn't sting on his stubbled face. He paused on the curb to allow a horse and cart to pass, a polite nod given to both occupants and driver. He stifled a yawn, before pushing open the door to a nearby inn, which was rather suitably named 'The Dancing Hare'. He was immediately greeted by the muffled tangle of seaward accents, giggling voices and the coarse swearing of a drunkard. Negotiating his way through the crowd before giving a sharp clap on the back to a seated gentleman cloaked in much the same way. "Morning John," he chuckled, affectionately ruffling his companion’s hair before seating himself opposite. 'John' gave a slight yelp, clenched fist raising ready to strike whatever had disturbed him when he noticed who it was. "Oh it's you. I should have guessed," he smirked. Will removed his hat and cloak, laying them on the table slightly.
In the candlelight his features were fully visible - long, shoulder length hair that was a burgundy-red, naturally set into ever so slight and messy waves. Angular cheekbones and a thick-set jaw gave him an almost feline quality, added to by the flash of jaunty ice-blue eyes. Stubble ran along his jawline before a goatee claimed pride of place. A scar that looked like he'd taken a sabre to the face didn't detract from his looks, merely accentuating them. A grin was on his face, idly pouring himself a glass of hot toddy. "Of course you should of. For 5 years that's how I've greeted you when we're not at sea. Not enough chance for bloody informalities," he replied, both eyebrows rising in a silent confirmation of this fact. 'John' was the very opposite of his older, more experienced ally. Lieutenant John Bercley - With a boyish quality to his face, his obsidian hair was cropped close to his skull and he didn't have a scar or trace of stubble on him. A slight smile and a shrug was his reply. "Perhaps," he replied stiffly, his mood suddenly changing from humoured surprise to a military look of disapproval. William noticed it immediately, raising the glass to his lips and taking a sip. "What is wrong? I've known you long enough to tell when there's a problem and now is no different," he chided, raising his feet to rest them onto a stool nearby.
"It's...my wife divorced me a week ago," he mumbled, brown eyes lowering. He blamed himself, just like every sensitive man would and should. Yet he was so unlike many of the men during this century - he actually took the more sensitive role as a father, tending more to his love life than his military duties. Williams’s eyebrows raised again, a look of brief shock crossing his face.
"Dear god, John, why? You've always been the perfect husband for her - you care for her far more than any other," he replied, his tone conveying a strong note of concern and sympathy. The candlelight reflected off the glass that he now placed back onto the table with a dull thud. Shifting his shoulders, feet shoving the stool away as he swung himself round to give his entire attention to his friend.
“She…she said I should be out there fighting for my country rather than being tied down by home and hearth,†he grumbled, folding his arms and lowering his head to rest on them, eyes watching the flickering motions of the steadily-lowering candle before him. He looked in a right depressing huff. William let a sigh out from between his teeth, before dragging his stool round so he sat beside his friend. He placed a hand on his inferiors shoulder, speaking with tones of maybe not experience, but empathy.
“All will be well. After all, you’re the father of her child and she cannot deny you from seeing your son. And…well, there’s still the rest of the war. Maybe we’ll get lucky, bring home a few prizes at the end,†he added, trying to cheer him up with the moral-boosting tone and comment at the end. Then the yelling of a drunkard nearby brought them both out of their ‘zones’.
“Look ‘ere Paddy! It’s two o’them Navy gits…lookit ‘em all loving and soppy,†the largest cooed. He was tall, and also had a girth and nose to match. The second was wire-thin and quite the opposite. But still – they were a threat. The pair stood slightly, hackles up and forms tensed. William was bigger, and had been in far more bar fights than his slimmer and safer friend.
“Go to Putney on a pig,†he growled under his breath. He, of course, was straight as an arrow. He just had a tendency to be a bit more open and jovial about his feelings. But these two gentlemen were too drunk to let reason sink into their heads. They meant trouble – and both William and John had seen the results that many-a-bar-brawl could bring.
The drunk heard, pausing before his piggy eyes narrowed and he hurled the glass towards their table. It smashed and tinkled over the pair, although both had managed to avoid serious injury by ducking. Then the drunken pair lunged towards the nautical officers, roaring like some wounded beast. The bars more peaceful patrons gasped, several of the womenfolk fleeing out of the door and upstairs while the men hurried to either get out of the way or hurry to restrain the brawlers. “We dun’ welcome ye’ in our bar! one grunted, before swinging a meaty fist towards William’s head.
He reacted fast, enforcing his nickname of ‘Swifteagle’ as he blocked the blow with a forearm. His right hand scrambled towards his rapier and he swept it up to rest the point on the drunkard’s throat. The man paused immediately, his partner frozen in much the same position. William drew himself up, eyes narrowed and his lips drawn into an angry line. “Innkeeper! Fetch the police,†he growled, making sure that his request was well heard by the crowd that had now gathered. He’d managed to avoid the majority of the blows, although he had a small slice on his right hand that was bleeding slowly. Nothing major. John had escaped completely unscathed, proving that his agility also served him well in fights.
After the police had came and dealt with the troublemakers, the pair strode out onto the sea front. Striding down to the quay, the officers leaning on the wooden barrier and watching the steady movements of the ocean that had brought them love, life and danger in one fell swoop. Silence fell, the men letting the sounds of the sea, the early-morning bustle of the port and the crying of the birds already circling overhead.
“Is this all we’re good for on land? Keeping drunkards away and …,†John began, before a meaningful chuckle from William cut across him. Will’s eyes glinted with amusement, before an elbow was given in a nudge.
“Ah lighten up. We attract trouble – that should have been included in the job description. Once the wars over this will all stop. We’ll be able to go to the theatre, fairs, festivals…all without causing the havoc we do now. Me? Im hoping to settle down – whether it be with a wife or by myself, Im not concerned. Things will look up John, I assure you,†he rasped, voice husky from the salty air that he was inhaling. He both loved and hated the sea.
Hated it because he’d known so many men fall to it’s temptation of riches and fortune.
Loved it because it had brought so many new experiences to light. The sea was in his blood and he knew that it would always remain that day. Born a seaman, die a seaman.
A few long minutes later he gave a rather feline stretch, spine giving a slight pop before he ruffled his shoulders. A yawn, teeth coming together with a snap as he shook his head, before swiftly binding it up into a loose ponytail with a black ribbon. Adjusting his tricorn hat, once more seeming to assume the efficient persona of a Captain. A grin still showed on his face however, pale eyes dancing with merriment. He extended a hand and swept it back towards the port. “M’Lady,†he smirked, then offering his elbow. A long-time joke after he’d been forced to give John the kiss of life after he nearly choked on a cocoa bean. His friend looked like he’d been slapped then gave a bark of laughter and tackled his older companion. Will dodged, before taking off at a sprint down the harbour. “Last one to the ship has to clean the others boots for a week! He called over his shoulder, waiting till John had at least begun to attempt at following him. What an odd sight. Two fully grown military officers chasing each other like they were young ruffians – but the occupants of this particular quay were well used to it. The pair was an entertainment, a guard and a shoulder to lean on for the bustling city front.
Mid-morning: the time when many of the ports occupants were stirring and preparing for either a days work or a days play. The giggle of young children playing in the streets already echoed throughout, coupled with the clatter of iron-shod hooves on the cobblestones. John and William were busy talking to a blacksmith; eagerly enquiring as to if any new shipments of swords had been received earlier that week. The blacksmith, a plump man in his late 50’s gave a chuckle at the pair’s sheer enthusiasm. Brushing his hands down on his dulled leather apron, the man wandering over to a corner of the workshop, still chuckling quietly at one of the Captains earlier comments.
“Ohh this could be it! William grinned, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He seemed to almost be dancing on the spot, while John merely rolled his eyes and smirked – by now used to his older friends more ‘active’ and uplifting attitude to things.
The blacksmith wandered back over, holding something in a black cloth. Flipping it over, he presented the officers with a pair of finely crafted rapiers. Long and thin, the blades seemed razor-honed as they glinted in the flickering candlelight. Hilted with leather and hide, burnished to a wonderful buckskin hue. The pairs eyes widened, jaws dropping as they completely lost the entire ‘Im an officer’ persona that they’d been upholding. Will gingerly picked one up, flicking it from hand to hand.
“They’re wonderful! How much? He enthused, caressing the handle as he marvelled at the amazing craftsmanship. John on the other hand looked troubled, chewing his lower lip. To be frank, this was his first sword. All the time he’d used only a flintlock pistol – and even that was getting well past it’s sell by date.
“Uh...Will…I...I cannas get a sword,†he mumbled, after standing on tiptoes and using his superior’s hair to yank him down to ear level. A slight yelp came from the Captain, before he listened intently. His eyebrows raised suddenly, a look of surprise crossing his face. The blacksmith eyed them warily, before giving a cough. To him it looked very odd – not many military figures whispered in public. A moment of two of conferring and Will handed over a pouch of money.
“Just one please,†he smiled sadly, resisting the urge to give his inferior an eyeroll. How anyone could not want a sword….it was like a heinous crime in his opinion. After handing the crafter the required amount of money, the pair walked out of the musky shop, the door creaking shut as they began to pace towards one of the many markets that was going on that day.
“Why can’t you get a sword? Will commented, genuinely mused at the earlier reaction.
“Too poor,†John replied – knowing damn well that this was bullshit.
“Come on John, tell me.â€
“Drop it.â€
“Don’t make me pull rank on you.â€
“Drop it!! John yelled, stopping suddenly as his chest heaved angrily. Silence fell along the busy street; even the children had stopped their giggling. The crowd had parted into an almost circle around them, all attention focused on them. Could the pair finally be parting ways? Had John become too serious or William too jovial?
Long minutes passed, seconds trickling like sand through a filter. Then John shook his head slightly and walked off. Another moment, Wills teeth clamped together before he suddenly wheeled round, eyes narrowed as he fired his pent-up anger at the watching crowd.
“What are you bloody staring at!!? He bellowed, fists clenched together before he barged into the thick of them and off towards his ship. Mutters and whispers followed him, the single sobbing of a child heard in the thick of it.
By the time the burning noon had come, the pair still hadn’t resolved whatever problem that John had brought up.
William was sitting in the cabin of HMS Song Sparrow – an old frigate that was just entering her last season, already writing up the day’s documents that had to be finished by the time they were ready to set off in 2 days time. He pinched the bridge of his nose, giving a deep sigh. He and John had always argued in the past, but somehow this time he sensed that it was more that just Johns opinions coming into view. Many people disliked his jovial attitude – they preferred the harsh officers who punished with wanton and sadistic disciplines – those who didn’t have to be encouraged to use the whip and what power they had. Thoughts chased themselves around his mind – John was like a blood-brother to him. They’d been through hell and back together, supported each other during times of loss and celebrated during times of joy. Sighing, he kicked back his wooden chair and wandered over to the window, the ships deck creaking as his iron-shod heels hit the floor. He looked out at the sea, the breeze caused by an open window ruffling his hair.
“Oh what have you done to me? From taking me from my family to casting me adrift in this world,†he murmured. Then a sharp rapping on the cabin door brought him back to reality.
“Enter,†he growled shortly, his foul mood suddenly returning full force as his thinking was disrupted. The door was opened by a rather portly gentleman holding a young woman firmly by the upper arm. She looked thoroughly disgruntled, although once she sighted the Captain her flattering smile returned. It didn’t work – not to mention that the amount of make-up she’d applied had ruined it. William was lax about most rules on board but this most certainly wasn’t one of them. He returned the smile with a growl, canines showing slightly. She paused, and then twisted a lock of dyed blonde hair through her slender fingers, toying with the rim of her corset.
“Won’t ye’ let me stay on board? I can..,†she commented suggestively, before she was cut across by Bayeux’s sharp reply.
“No. Neither I nor do any of the men neither have nor will find any use for a whore,†he snarled, eyes narrowed dangerously. He raised a hand and flicked it back towards the door. She was bustled out, the Captain running his fingers through his hair before sighing and looking back out to sea. Great…now he had to contend with the problem of not only women trying to get onboard, but also the men wanted them to get on.
He had no interest in them to be frank, for the discipline of many of the ships he’d served on had been so strict some say that those that survived such an encounter were brainwashed. As he looked out, his eyes suddenly narrowed onto the port. Cursing, he snatched up his pistol and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
John, on the other hand, had already got himself into trouble no sooner had he parted from William. He found himself hauled up by the scruff of the neck against a rough brick wall, his tricorn hat snatched from him and his pistol crushed beneath a heeled boot. The gang of robbers watched him with gleaming, predatory eyes flashing in the smoggy gloom. One of them, presumably the ringleader, held a knife enticingly to his throat. John struggled, trying to grasp at the hand clutching his waistcoat and shirt while heaving for breath.
William rounded the corner, angrily shoving past several children that had congregated in the street – ignoring the shock comments of their parents and the distraught sobs as he passed. Most, however, darted out of his way once they saw the drawn pistol and the gleam in his eyes – something had got the Captain pissed. With his jacket billowing behind him, he whipped round the corner of the alley. Hair loose, lips drawn into a thin line.
John gasped as the knife nicked his skin, involuntary tears welling in his eyes as the blood run down the front of his waistcoat. The ringleader tilted the blade, preparing to slice it across his victim’s throat when…
William fired the flintlock pistol, the ball rocketing out of the barrel and thumping into the skull of his friends’ assailant with a dull thunk. Blood spurted out as the ball ruptured a hole into the brittle skull, the mans companions leaping away in shock. They didn’t back off immediately, John sliding slightly down the wall as the grip around his neck was released. Tilting the weapon, he then fired three more shots. Down they went – the first falling to one in the heart, the second receiving it in the throat and the third through the left eye. Breathing heavily, he then strode firmly over to John. Without a word he bound the wound using his own headscarf, then draped one arm round John’s waist and tugged him upright. His blood brother’s breathing was ragged, the poor officer being in a state of shock shock.
“Will…,†he groaned; eyes and body trembling slightly as he fought to keep his sense of reality.
“Shut up John and concentrate on conserving your energy,†came the harsh snap back. Although it sounded nasty, William was trying to keep John at least conscious – he didn’t need a dead weight on him. Seeing a policeman pass him, he made a discreet motion indicating the alleyway. A simple glance at the pair would have explained it all – perhaps not the severity of it but what happened nevertheless. The official nodded and turned off smartly down the alley.
After hauling John over to the nearby medics, he sat his companion down next to the Surgeon’s table and then sat on it. His dark eyes smouldered beneath his eyebrows, which were drawn down into a displeased scowl.
“Ok…What happened? He asked, motioning to the medic to start to work on checking his friend. The surgeon, sensing the emotion of the moment, kept his mouth firmly shut. He had no desire to feel the lash of Williams temper this early in the morning. Selecting a fine needle and thread, he began to stitch up the wound that had nicked John’s throat. Nothing too deep, but still enough to cause a relatively decent amount of blood loss. His stitching was perfect – although the first tug to draw the flesh together drew a harsh growl from William as John audibly winced.
“Stormed off. Got lost. Robbers..,†he managed to wheeze, eyes closed so then he didn’t have to look upon Williams’ disappointed and challenging expression. The surgeon glanced between the two, before clearing his throat and wiping his hands in his bloody apron.
“That’ll be 5 dubloons,†the surgeon commented, his rather nasal accent making him sound rather arrogant and haughty to the pair. But he withdrew his extended hand when he saw William’s hand tapping the butt of his recently used pistol. There were times when keeping yourself intact was more important than earning money.
The pair strode out the medicinal shop, or more accurately, John being supported by William and dragged out. The crowd muttered between them, the mood lifting when they saw the pair back to peace again.
Perhaps the occasional glance was stolen their way, but otherwise they were relatively left to get back up to the ship.
There's still..what, a long way to go for the Introduction before i even start on the first chapter 