Brann stifled a giggle, the tension that had knotted his insides all of his time on the ship exaggerating his reaction. He was sure that Gerens had meant it without any humour, given that the boy’s dark delivery had not wavered in the way he had said everything since their meeting. It mattered not. He was unable to totally prevent the giggling, and he bit on his sleeve in an attempt not to draw unwelcome attention to himself. Despite himself, he found that he was starting to like Gerens. His dark, practical approach to life was consistent, and consequently dependable. Brann tended to think things through, to be sure he was making the right decision; sometimes, however, it was necessary to cut to the simple truth of a situation, and Gerens was certainly the master of that approach, which Brann found, under the current circumstances, comforting. As was the boy’s unfathomable decision from the moment they met to make it his mission to take Brann under his protection. Unfathomable, but, under the current circumstances, there was no earthly need to attempt to fathom it and all that was left was to accept that it was extremely handy. Handy, and comforting.
The laughter subsided, and he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. The boys sat quietly for a while, mindful not to disturb any of the rowers around them – especially the large one in front of them – who had followed Grakk into slumber. Their tattooed companion looked as if a raging thunderstorm would not waken him, but they felt it wiser not to risk it.
The thin boy turned around, taking care not to wake the rower on one side of him or the sallow boy on the other. ‘Since we’re all in the same boat…’ Brann manfully resisted the urge not to giggle again. ‘Sorry.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Since we’re all in the same situation, I think it would be better if we all get on. Whatever went on between you and the old woman is not my concern. And your friend was right: I am glad it is not my concern. Any attitudes from down below could maybe be left in the hold, yes?’
Gerens shrugged and nodded. Brann, as the main target for the comments in the hold, felt awkward in his company and was more reticent about accepting it so easily. But he saw no advantage in showing open hostility; better to accept him on the surface, and be wary underneath. The smoother things ran among them, the easier it would be to cope with their ordeal. At the very least, it was one less thing to worry about.
He nodded as well. The youth introduced himself as Pedr, a metal-worker’s son from a small coastal village. He was taller than Gerens, but gangly and skinny in the way of boys who had grown rapidly in height; he had not yet filled out to match it, if ever he would. He was talkative, and strong of opinion and, although that could prove irritating at times, his chatter – kept low to avoid disturbing the frightening rowers on each of their benches – at least passed the time.
After what seemed like hours but could only have been, according to the sun’s progress, little more than half-an-hour, the large drum at the stern let out three thunderous bangs. With a start, Brann realised that Grakk was sitting beside them – he had gone from sound sleep to ready alertness so quickly that the boy had not seen him move from the deck.
Every one of the rowers was in position – obviously the drumbeat had been a signal to action. Flexing his arms, Grakk confirmed it. ‘Make yourselves ready. We will be commencing rowing,’ he said simply.
‘Straight away?’ Brann asked, alarmed. Now that the moment had arrived, he suddenly felt the weight of how little he knew about the activity that would be his life for the gods only knew how long.
Grakk looked at him for a moment. ‘If it were “straight away”, you would be rowing already.’ Brann blushed. It was indisputable logic, and obvious. Grakk grinned. ‘When the drum bangs three times, as it just did, you will prepare yourself. When the drum bangs twice more, you will extract the oars. Understand?’
Brann nodded, taking in the simple explanation with wide-eyed attention as if he were listening to the most complex of instructions. ‘Yes, I understand,’ he stammered.
Galen strode down the aisle. ‘We row in fifteen minutes,’ he shouted. ‘First of all, the first two benches nearest the bow on each side will practise getting their oars in and out, for the sake of the new lads. The oars are the big wooden things by your side, by the way, just in case you hadn’t noticed.’
Brann realised with yet more embarrassment that he had been overwhelmed by so many other things that he had not even noticed the single most important object in his new life. As the smallest on his bench, with the shortest reach, he had been placed closest to the side, where the swing of the oar would travel less. He looked to his right, and saw the oar lying flush with the side of the boat, at a slight angle. Its lower half extended out through the side of the boat via a hole that was currently sealed with a waxed wooden plug cut to fit precisely around the stowed oar to prevent sea water from splashing in around their feet or, in the case of Grakk and several others that Brann had seen, around their bodies when sleeping. The length of shaft inside the ship lay on top of the oar from the bench in front of him, and was strapped securely in place. The shaft itself was not straight, as he had expected, but had been crafted with a shallow double-curve around halfway along it to allow it to lie snugly against the boat both inside and out.
Gerens saw him looking at the oars. ‘On some ships, chief, they pull them completely on board, but there is not enough room on this one for that. My father used to make me wooden models of all sorts of ships when I was little. I never suspected I would find myself sitting on the real thing.’
Galen returned from the other end of the ship, where he had been explaining to the rowers what was going to happen. He spoke again to the boys. ‘Now you have had a chance to look around, listen to me. There are two things to notice: one, a plug with a handle and, two, a strap beside you holding in place the oar for the bench in front of you. You can see that the same strap extends over your own oar as an extra safeguard.’
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