The Ravens’ Banquet Read Free

lashed out and gripped my wrist like a serpent.
    “Not so fast, there. I get me another toss of them bones before you, Master Treadwell.”
    He was in the right, and the drink had begun to fog my brains. We were five days out of Plymouth and when we had dropped anchor that evening in the shallows off the Kentish coast, Captain Trask had told me to expect at least another five before we made Hamburg, by the weather's leave. For the moment, the winds were with us. But once into the Narrows, we were likely to hit the Northerlies – strong headwinds that would slow us.
    Trask exploded again at yet another lucky throw and this was met with muttered cursing by the rest. His head was as bald as an egg and he possessed not a tooth in his skull. This gave him the look of some monstrous infant when he cackled, awaiting an even more monstrous teat.
    My throw met with misfortune – I lost another round and now owed the master 15 florins.
    Trask laughed at my misery. “I'll be in danger of forfeiting my commission if your ill luck continues, Treadwell. Can't very well fleece the whelp of my paymaster first time out, can we now lads!”
    Artemis was a barque of middling size, only 90-foot and 100-ton, but it was one of three that my father owned, all plying the ports of Europe. The low and cramped cabin of the ship made the stink of drink, men, grubby linen and musty canvas collect into a fearful miasma that one could nearly see. I decided to go above deck for a lungful of air and my leave-taking brought forth more guffaws.
    “So he retreats! Now that there is a good lesson for a future soldier to learn,” said one.
    Trask emptied the little cask of wine into his cup and a good measure of the stuff onto his breeches. “Laugh not at the soldier's retreat,” he said, gesturing to the sailor with the empty vessel. “The lad shows good sense – it may help him keep his head attached to his shoulders when he makes it to the wars.”
    And as I left their company howls of laughter followed me out onto the main deck.
    Above me I heard the slow steady tread of the pilot on the halfdeck, taking the first watch. The crew that were not privileged to be gambling companions of the captain were already asleep below. Lanterns burned both fore and aft, but the night was bright, aided by a waxing moon. Apart from the clop of shoe on deck, the only other sound was the water slapping at the sides and the odd scrap of stowed sail flapping in the light breeze. Like the previous day and night, the sea was dishonestly serene, almost like a pond.
    There stood one figure at the rail, wrapped in a cloak and gazing out over the waters. Well, thought I, leastways he is standing again.
    Samuel Stone was not my servant but nor was he my comrade either. You may call him my companion, sent along to stand by my shoulder at my father’s insistence. Just what his station was to be on this adventure I still didn’t know, but he seemed sure enough of his purpose even if he kept this to himself.
    As I approached, he turned from the rail. Samuel was tall, a head taller than I stood, and of long face now made more gaunt from spewing his guts for the last few days. And though he was a rustic, he was well-limbed and fair of face, his grey eyes and jet hair giving him an air of vitality. Indeed, side-by-side, with my dark complexion, brown curls and green eyes, it probably seemed that I was the country clown.
    “I’m being thrashed at the dice,” I said to him as I drew near. “Still, it’s good to get into some practice before taking on the veterans in camp, eh?”
    Samuel drew his cloak tighter. “Dicing’s an idle pastime, Master Treadwell, and not one I favour,” he mumbled.
    His seasickness had made him ill-tempered. “Sea air is a cure for the melancholy they say,” I told him. “So drink it in while you may. We are half way to Germany now.”
    “Thanks be to God that it is so. That this misery would end even tomorrow...” He would not even look me in