id: 193
name: LEVAR OF THE FAMILY PIERRE
author: MONGO
date: 31st January 2021
text len: 57882
views: 406

LEVAR OF THE FAMILY PIERRE

CHAPTER ONE: BIG BROTHER
>Levar Pierre sat at the table with his eight siblings. He knew It was really just an old mass of driftwood that had been cleaned up to look like a table, and wished it was rough enough to give him splinters and something to pick at.
>As the oldest brother, he was busy answering the important questions of his dinner companions.
>“Levar, how do boats stay up in the water?”
>“They’re made out of wood, Abigail.”
>“Why doesn’t wood sink, Levar?”
>“It doesn’t want to, Sam.”
>“Why not?”
>“Ask Father.”
>Levar smiled as the youngest turned to pester his mother, Constance, who was stirring something in a big pot. Levar caught the smell and frowned. What was the occasion? What had he forgotten?
>“Ma,” Sam called, shifting side to side in his chair, “When is Father coming home?”
>He could barely be heard over the ruckus of six other rat pups scrambling at the dinner table. Levar wondered at their inability to sit still.
>“When he’s finished Dredging, Samuel, and not a moment before,” she answered, striding over and dishing out the stew. Sam's eyes went wide.
>“Riverbottom stew, my favorite! How did you know, Ma?”
>“Well, you've only been asking for it since the day I made it.”
>She seated herself and, after a quick thanks, everyone set to chewing. All except Levar. He set down his fork and leaned over to his mother.
>“Ma, what's the occasion?
>“Lord, you mean you forgot?”
>Before he could answer, the door swung open and James Pierre, husband to Constance Pierre, was nearly taken to the floor by the combined force of the children that ran to greet him and the load carried over his shoulder in a large sack.
>Above the sound of the children Constance asked, “How was it today, dear?’
>James panted out, “Got lucky. Don’t usually get loot like this in the middle of the dry season. Is that riverbottom stew? Course it is, Samuels favorite, isn’t it?”
>Levar coughed. “I've been wanting to ask you something, dad.”
>“Settle down, tom, I’ll show you in a second. What is it, Levar?”
>“You know how everyones so curious about the surface?”
>“Just spit it out, ya goof,” Sam said, comically trying to aid his father with the massive weight.
>“What’s at the bottom of the tunnels?”
>James shrugged. “I dunno. A big pond, I would guess, but there’s probably nothing worth going all the way down there for. Down is where they send the criminals, simple as. Why?”
>“I was thinking of trying to go there.”
>His parents stopped, but the children went on cavorting around his father.
>“I never thought of you as the questing type. Again. Why? At least the ones that go to the surface have something to look forward to. Something to discover. Why go down there? Your place is here, Levar, please. The rich fools that try for the surface don’t come back. The searats on their barges don’t come back either. I’d hate to think of what could happen to you down there. Besides, the only way down there is on those ships and no son of mine will be a Searat.”
>He shepherded the children over to the table and they resumed dinner.
>“All the same, I want to go! I want to adventure, to see what none have seen before and lived to tell! It’s my calling, father! As dredging was yours!”
>The room got quiet. Constance put her hands on her hips and faced him. “Your father has given you perfectly good reasons for not wanting you to go off on some fools journey that’ll get you killed! Huh, shouldn’t even be hard to get yourself down there on a barge, considering the company you’ve been keeping.”
>Levar snorted. Close enough to his actual plan.
>“I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Levar. Those pups aren’t going to be anything but searats. Why hang around them?”
>“Because, Father,” Levar said through gritted teeth. “They’re my friends.”
>“All the same, I’d caution against following in their footsteps.”
>Levar stewed grumpily. Just a simple question and they insisted on using it to lecture him. The room returned to its boisterous cheer. He finished his bowl and set down the rough wooden spoon.
>“How can he finish his food so fast, Ma?
>“He’s a great big glutton, that's why,” She answered jestily.
>Levar began to inch towards the door.
>“Oh, don’t go slinking off now, Levar, you haven’t even given Sam his gift yet!”
>“Just going to go and get it!”
>The family paused and looked at him. He forgot?
>“You forgot my birthday again, Levar?”
>Levar stumbled to the door, avoiding the accusatory tone of his brother and the pall cast over the room. He hung on to the frame, peering apologetically back into the house.
>“Er, yes. Sorry. I’ll find you something. Sorry!”
>He stepped out into the street and walked off to the end of the lane, kicking stones as he went.
>“Roll me in the mud at the bottom of the river. I am a bad brother, aren’t I?”
>His home, an old, wooden, polished floathouse on lonely stilts, sat in the middle of the peaceful neighborhood. There was nothing really solid, or anchored, but in the quiet and relative stillness of the enormous reservoir that held this part of town, these barebones planks passed for streets and lanes. Each lane, a walkway itself, had spans that led to houses, his own returning to it’s usual volume. He paused at the end of the “street” to look back. If you stared at the water, you could eventually pick out an almost imperceptible flow that ensured the water would not stagnate.
>“Oh, Ma,” He thought. “Oh, Pa. Nine kids and a lovely old house like that. How did you do it? I’m sorry to leave it behind. I’ll be home, as soon as I can.”
>He made for the edge of the reservoir, where the rickety wooden bridge was better supported by the ancient wall of yellowed bricks and crumbling mortar. He looked down as he hurried to the tunnel for the lower levels. Some “drier season.” He’d be up to his neck if he fell in that. Small wonder most accidents involved drowning. He made it to the narrow tunnel, along with many rats coming home from dredging, both walkways just large enough to walk on, the spillway below clearly visible and rushing along. Levar remembered sliding down that “river” a few times when he was younger. At least before Ma had stopped him.
>He skipped the first few exits, the other rats disappearing down those ways until scant few remained, and kept going down until there was no other way. He rounded the corner into the lowest marsh.
>When he was away, back home, he would wonder how rats died. Why he heard about drownings, and accidents. Then, every time he rounded this corner, he would remember. Ah. This is how rats die.
>Bridges so rotten the termites seemed to make up the supports, houses so overgrown and rough you thought they were abandoned.
>At least, until someone pulled a key out of their mangy clothes and fit it in the lock.
>Fortunately for Levar, he knew this place. Mostly. He scampered along the lanes, making his way to the hideout.
>At last he found the place. Brushing aside the reeds and creepers that grew in these stagnant and filthy waters, he knocked on a particularly large wooden plank.
>“Simeon,” He whispered. “It’s me.”
>The plank shifted, and an ancient, runty rat gave him a near toothless grin and a croaked, whistling greeting. “Levar, my pal, my mate, what took you so long?”
>“Family, my friend. Is everyone ready? What’s the plan?”
>“We head up into the highest marsh and rob that fat tailless moron blind.”
>“Good. I am ready.”
>“I hope so, Levar.”
>Levar leaned against the wall, reflecting as the crone went back inside. He supposed he should feel guilty for stealing, but he never did for lifting from that amply sized tormentor.
>Gadge ran the smallest dredging operation in town and was a demanding boss, recruiting chiefly from the bottom marshes where the workforce was the most compliant. They were, incidentally, also the weakest, something Gadge never stopped reminding them, day in, day out, on the swell below Barst’s. No, he supposed he just couldn’t feel guilty for doing this.
>A gangly rat younger than him appeared at the door. “We’re going now. Catch up if you can, you pampered pup.”
>“I’m the only one with the money to make this work, Kitch.”
>“Oh yeah? Where is it?”
>Levar straightened up, his mind racing.
>“You think I’m dumb enough to tell you?”
>Kitch laughed, high and thin. “Worth a try, Levar.”
>Dodged that one. The gang formed up and set out. Orphans, cripples, and outcasts, uneasily united in the pursuit of loot. He had a hard time keeping up; he knew these rotten bridges, but they lived on them, ducking away from the watchmen in their blue uniforms and diving away from their clubs.
>Soon enough, they were at the tunnel, and then across Levar’s neighborhood, and then up, up, and up again, into the richest place any of them had ever known.
>Stoneworks and bridges that rose and lowered at a word. Houses with expertly crafted openings and finery. Marvels. Luxury. Weakness.
>The watchmen here were less observant, less harsh in their rounds. It was tricky, and close, to slip past them and get to their destination, but it was possible, and they made it, with only one close call when the pointrat, Jimmy, almost led them into a square with four patrolling.
>At the house of Gadge, now, looking through holes in the wall on raised claws at their prize.
>The fat old fool had left them out in the open, on a pedestal for all to see. Extra security was not needed; any thief wouldn’t be able to hide in as small a town as this. Anyone that stole them would be caught very quickly. But that was all part of the plan.
>“Which one’s yours, pup?”
>“The glass thing.”
>It was a clear glass vessel that, when held correctly, would let you float by hanging onto it. >A fat lot of good it would do you if you got caught in the current, which is how most rats died, and it would only last until somebody dropped it, but it was an admittedly neat trinket. Not much compared to the other items on display.
>“You sure? It’s not-”
>The crone cuffed him. “Shut up, jimmy, he wants what he wants. All the more for us.”
>Levar hid a smile.
>After everyone picked out what they wanted, they hid from a patrolling watchman, climbed over the wall, picked what they wanted, and scrammed, just as a rather rotund watchman saw what they were doing, looked again, and ran off to sound the alarm.
>They all went different ways, each hoping to not get caught and to get back to the hideout safely, ultimately ending up at the entranceway to the high marsh. Watchmen came sprinting over to catch them, gaining as the older and disadvantaged gang members slowed. Levar barely ducked out of the grip of one, part of his brown jerkin ripped away by his hands.
>Lucky for them, they were not limited to the walkways while in the tunnels.
>They all jumped into the spillway, careful not to break their loot, washed away from their pursuers, though completely soaked. Then it was a mad dash, through Levars neighborhood again to lose them, bumping across the wooden bridges.
>At the last turn, they made their move. Levar stopped and turned around, waiting for the sound in footsteps.
>“Good luck, Levar!”
>“Give that bastard Martin a kick for me!”
>They were surprisingly long in coming. He had a moment to reflect on this insane plan. Was he really ready to leave it all behind? To risk his life and pursue his quest?
>He heard the pitter patter of the watchmen and started darting around, chewing his claws, looking at one exit, then another, a nervous look on his face, pretending to be lost.
>The pitter patter became steps, and then a thunder as close to a dozen watchmen caught up with him.
>He fought the restraints while they dragged him up to the closest neighborhood, kicking and worming out of their grip, until one struck him expertly with a cudgel, driving the wind out of him. He collapsed on the lane outside of the tunnel.
>“That’ll be Martin,” Levar thought as he struggled to take a breath.
>He was right.
>Constable martin, taller than levar and the other watchman by nearly a head, peered down at him and tut-tutted.
>“Levar, Levar, Levar. You’re too indecisive, my boy. This way or that way? Home or the slums? Respectable dredgeman...” He leered at Levar. “Or Criminal?”
>Levar said nothing.
>There was a sound like a fish gasping, and soon Gadge was there, panting and swearing. He pointed a ringed, shaking finger at Levar. >“You’ll pay for this, boy. You’ll pay for that little bottle you grabbed, and you’ll pay the fine, too.”
>He tried to chuckle, but being so out of breath it came as a wheeze. “You should have just bought it from me, boy. It would have been much less expensive than paying for the glass and the fine.”
>Martin shushed him and straightened up.
>Levar spoke. “Is this the part where you say you’re sorry that you have to do this, and that this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me?”
>“I’ll never apologize for enforcing the law. I know your parents can pay if you can’t, but they’ll raise hell for this, and you’ll be on your own, struggling in a poor house. Come along.”
>“No.”
>Martin looked back, annoyed. “Too late for that. Come along.”
>“I won’t pay the fine.”
>Martin paused, and turned to see Levar stand up. A shadow seemed to come over his face. >“You don’t want this.”
>“I do.”
>Gadge, so cheerful a moment ago, was now confused. “What, he doesn’t want what?”
>Martin spat. “I can’t protect you if you go down there, Levar. No one can. Think of what misery you’ll put your parents and brothers and sisters through. I can promise, you don’t want this.”
>“I’ve already made my decision. I can’t get down there any other way.”
>They stared at each other, the moment hanging like a dead man from the gallows.
>“Fine,” Martin growled out. “There’s no way out of this if you won’t cooperate.”
>His shoulders sagged, and he looked more tired than Levar had ever seen him. “Men, get the chains. Levar is now convicted. A searat. Our youngest in eleven years.”
>“For god's sake, Martin!”
>“Can’t you just force them to pay it?”
>Even Gadge seemed taken aback.
>“No,” Martin said. “He’s at the age where you can’t in good faith punish the parents. Him asking them to pay is not the same as us forcing them to. The only way for him to get out of this is to let them help…”
>He paused one last time, waiting for Levar to change his mind.
>Levar shook his head.
>Martin cursed and glared at him. No matter how much Levar wanted to do this, that glare made him feel awful.
>“Well, come along,” Said Martin, still glaring. “Come say goodbye to your friends and family.”
>They took him to the highest level, chained him, and led him through all of the neighborhoods while he clutched to the bottle. >Rats and rats and more rats came out of their houses to witness, some wide eyed, some sad, all staring at him. Levar hadn’t prepared for this. He tensed at his home, empty, silent.
>"Where are they?” he asked Martin, in fear.
>“They will be the last to see you.”
>He relaxed.
>Eventually, in the lower marshes, just before they went to see Constance and James and Sam and all the rest, they stopped by the hideout. The gang was there, outside, waiting for him.
>“Goodbye,” Levar said, forlorn. “I’ll miss sliding down the tunnels with all of you.”
>They each came to him, thanked him for what they had gotten, said goodbye, and, much to the outrage of Gadge, Levar covered for all of them by insisting that he, and he alone, took the items. No watchman said otherwise.
>Martin interjected when he began swearing at the gang. “Don’t push it, Gadge. There’s going to be enough bad blood between you and the town for this. The least you can give up are some silly baubles.”
>Vitch, the last of the gang to say goodbye, came up to him. “So, uh, Levar, uh…”
>Levar grinned and shook his head. “I never had the money, Vitch.”
>“Ohhhhhh…”
>Levar chuckled. “Goodbye, vitch.”
>“Goodbye, pup. take care of yourself.”
>They led him to the last tunnel, where a small boat and his family were waiting for him.
>Everyone was red eyed, his mother still sobbing. His father took his arm.
>“You’re coming back,” He said, with such ferocity it startled Levar. “I know what you’re planning to do, and you have to do it. You have to come back. For them.”
>He gestured to his siblings and mother.
>“It’s a damn fool thing you’re doing, and I hate you for it, but if you’re going to do it, you’re gonna have my blessing.” He inhaled. “Might not get another chance to give it.”
>Levar bit back tears. “I love you, da.”
>They hugged, and James gave him his blessing. Next was his mother.
>“I just can’t believe you. I can’t believe you hated us this much.”
>She turned away, still sobbing, before he could say anything.
>Next were all of his siblings, starting with the oldest. He gave them all hugs and said he’d be back, and said goodbye, each one saying in turn in their own way. As he finished with Sam and they turned to leave, he called Sam back. He hugged him close. He secretly passed him the bottle.
>“What’s this, brother?”
>“It’s your birthday present.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ti-FtTz8t5U
END OF CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER 2: CONVICT
>They led him onto the boat, chaining him to one of the oars.
>“You may as well learn this now,” said martin. “You’ll have to do it when you go on one of those hulks. Watchman Cheeves will bring you to the port. I wished to god you hadn’t done this, my boy, but all the same I wish you good luck.”
>He tossed him a small bundle.
>“It’s two blankets and enough food for the trip. Don’t lose it.”
>“Thank you, constable Martin.”
>The watchmen turned and stepped away, leaving Levar alone with Cheeves.
>“Well, well,” he said. “Have ya ever rowed before?”
>It was tiresome and difficult. They moved along the tunnel at a frustratingly slow pace, the wide tunnel and thus slow river setting them off at a crawl. Levars inexperience wasn’t helping.
>“Dammit boy, row with me, not against me! Feels like you’re trying to turn the boat around, you landlubbing fool!”
>Levar grit his teeth and said nothing. It would be hard enough going without infuriating the guard.
>They didn’t make it very far. They pulled up to a grate shelf and made camp. Cheeves pulled a meal of stale fish and staler bread out of the bundle.
>Sleeping on the cold stone with a thin blanket wasn’t a problem for Cheeves, but all Levar had known was the nest at home. He put the blanket under him, couldn’t sleep, put it on him, got cold, listened to Cheeves snoring, and sighed. The night would be long.
>Starting in the morning, sore and tired, Levar seemed to not have improved. Cheeves cursed.
>But shortly, after warming up, it clicked. Levar caught the rhythm, and began to row in sync, the once indeterminable speed becoming second nature.
>Cheeves sighed with relief. “Good. At this pace we’ll make it there before nightfall.”
>Levar noticed that the tunnels weren’t as bright as they usually were. They weren’t particularly bright to begin with, but they had been better than this.
>It was confirmed for Levar that they were going down.
>“Cheeves?”
>“Yea?”
>“How dark does it get?”
>“At sea, the light you see now only comes for a few moments in each day. You’ll spend your time in low light, with most of it coming from the seafly on the ship. It draws in the catch, you see.”
>His arms burned fiercely from the work. Levar hoped they would be there soon.
>“I’ve never seen a firefly.”
>“They don't like our houses. Prefer the great swamps where no rat goes.”
>“Then why does it stay on the ship?”
>“They lure it, half tamed, onto the hulk. Nowhere for it to go when it's out on the open seas. That’s where it becomes a seafly.”
>They rowed on in silence. The already low light in the tunnels dimmed until the tunnel outline was just visible, and soon their boat bumped gently into the jetty. Levars arms were shaking from the exertion. A rat came along, tied the boat to the jetty and helped Levar out, unmooring the chains from his oar.
>As he led Levar off, he called back to Cheeves. “How will you get back?”
>“Harder going against the current than with it, Levar, but don’t you fret. It’s yourself you should worry about now…”
>His voice faded as Levar was led to the main dock.
>“Where are we going?”
>The rat guiding him made no attempt to answer.
>It was revealed soon enough as they rounded a corner and saw the pier, the familiar brickish stone that made up the tunnels receding and making way for a wall dug out of the rock itself.
>Levar gaped at the scale of it all.
>Three Ships, massive wooden hulks in poor condition, being tended to by dozens of rats, rigging and lines and hulls repaired, replaced, and renewed; the billowing, filthy sails, patched and rough and enormous, looked big enough to wrap Levars house in.
>Three Ships, massive wooden hulks in poor condition, being tended to by dozens of rats, rigging and lines and hulls repaired, replaced, and renewed; the billowing, filthy sails, patched and rough and enormous, looked big enough to wrap Levars house in.
>The lake itself, where the ships were moored, stretched on and on, back into the darkness and all around, the wall where the moorings jutted out providing a sense of stability in contrast to the seemingly endless waters. Levar realized he was looking at a proper ocean, not a lake.
>The rat he was with jerked the chain impatiently. “Come on. You’ll be sick of it all soon enough.”
>He was led to a yard where other chained rats stood in idle conversation, some leaning against the rough hewn walls, secured to iron rings that had been set in the rocky floor.
>“Here’s where you’ll wait. You’ll be assigned to a ship and be out in a couple of hours.”
>“Out on the ocean? Today?”
>The rat scoffed. “Where else, searat?”
>He secured the chain and left him.
>Levar sat down and looked around. Strangely, he thought, no one came to speak to him, to tell him what they expected or how things were done.
>They just stood there, conversing in low tones with their friends in small groups, waiting, it seemed, for something to happen. It was all exceedingly boring.
>The minutes dragged on. Levar ran his hands over a part of his chains that hadn’t been forged correctly, and as a result had a small protrusion that provided meagre entertainment.
>“Hey!” Someone whispered lowly to him.
>“When we get on, wanna trade chains? I got a scratch in mine that's worth messing with, see? I'm sick of it.”
>He rasped the scratch in the chain link with his claws.
>Levar regarded the rat with a mixture of caution and uncertainty.
>“Why?”
>“I want a new one.”
>Lever looked around for someone to ask. A tall, lithe rat with vibrant paints on his back looked unoccupied.
>“Hey, uh, you with the paints, can I ask you something?”
>“What, you don't trust me?”
>“I just want to make sure.”
>“Come on, kid. I'm not trying to scam you here.”
>The painted rat wasn’t going to help. Levar fidgeted, and hesitated.
>“Well…”
>A horn blew and a rat overseeing the courtyard called out.
>“The good ship lighteye is departing. Rats are now being chosen for hulk two. Captain Selevich commanding.”
>The rat cursed. “Well, it won’t matter anyway if we get put on separate tubs. I always get chosen for that blasted ship.”
>“What’s your name?”
>“What?”
>“What is your name? Mine’s Levar.”
>“I’m Shamaneye. Quiet, now. Here the serjant comes.”
>By this time the prisoners had formed up, each rat to his chain.
>A tall and singularly merciless rat in black uniform strode among them, occasionally calling out names in a clear, refined, and menacing voice. A riding crop bounced on his hip.
>“Drifttail! Roran! Shamaneye! Otarus! Juneson!”
>There was an upstart. “That’s not my name, you oaf!”
>There was a sharp crack. “It's the name your mother gave you and it’ll be the name you die with! Be still!”
>He stepped between Levar and Shamaneye, chuckling at him while flashing a pair of golden doubloons. “I would say I’m sorry for doing this, but I don’t tell lies. Give your thanks to Selevich for me, will you?”
>“If I die because of that crazed cripple it’s on your hands, swine.”
>“Careful, convict. No one cares if you die. At least, no one important.”
>Levar was angry. “I do.”
>The rat whipped around and struck him across the face. “Yes? Then you can join him. What’s your name, whelp?”
>He answered in a murmur, a hand to his face. “Levar, of the family Pierre.”
>“Family means nothing, here. You’re just fresh meat.” He straightened up, calling out. “Levar!”
>He turned and strode away.
>Shamaneye messed with the groove in his shackles. “He’s wrong, Levar. Family does matter. It’s what put me here.”
>He refused to elaborate.
>They were led in rows to the ship and clambered on, climbing on the rigging over the side of the ship. Levar could barely climb. His arms had stiffened and were long since begging for rest. On the final rope, his arm refused to pull him up. His new friend eyed him.
>“Are you really as weak as all that?”
>“Had to row… here. Never done that... before,” Levar gasped out.
>Shamaneye snorted and pulled him over the railing. “Wonder what your arms’ll be like by tonight. Shredded fish, maybe.”
>“Thanks.”
>The rats were then led belowdcks, over creaking and salty wood that splintered and stung. Another rat gestured to Shamaneye as they walked.
>“He’s yours, okay? Until salt proven.”
>“Until salt proven,” Shamaneye said.
>The other rat nodded and turned back.
>“What does that mean, Shamaneye?”
>“Later, Levar. It's complicated.”
>A room opened up before them. An unattended drum sat there, overseeing the rows and rows of oars and seats. Shamaneye laughed at Levars groan.
>“Harr! The first day is the hardest, Levar, and don’t you forget it!”
>Still in chains, they all sat at the oars, each to his own, Shamaneye ahead of ralph. Chatter grew and grew among the convicts. Levar tapped Shamaneye on the shoulder and shouted.
>“What was that all about earlier?”
>It took him a moment to answer. Levar could barely hear him.
>“Did you say something?”
>“Until salt is proven?”
>“Don’t shout, Levar. No reason to add to the din.”
>Levar threw up his hands and stewed.
>At least the rowing pole was splinter free. Levar grasped it gingerly. What would happen when he tried to row? Would his arms fall off?
>All too soon, the drum was beaten and the chamber fell silent.
>“Whatever happens,” Levar thought dully, “I won’t shirk my duty.”
>The drum beat and the rowers began. Levar groaned again at the ripping in his arms. The row was harder than he thought.
>Shamaneye hissed at him. “Slow down, fool! You’re not in a rowboat anymore!”
>Levar adjusted and sighed with relief. This pace, at least, was bearable.
>But it never stopped.
>Hour after hour the oar was turned as the ship left the harbor and went out to sea, the effort slowly turning to agony, until the muscles in Levar screamed for him to stop and he saw spots at the edge of his vision when he leaned over, straining.
>“Pick it up, Levar, lest the drummer come and tap you.”
>“Can’t…”
>He gasped and flopped onto the floor, his vision turning dark as Shamaneye tutted and called to the drummer.
>“Drummer! This lads got rowing sickness.”

>Levar awoke to painful arms and a rough bed on the floor of a dark room. He felt weak, so much so he could barely stand. His shackles were on the floor beside him, along with some hardtack and filthy water. There was a sharp pain in his back, and he could scarcely move without groaning.
>His stomach didn’t really care. It demanded sustenance.
>“Better than nothing,” Levar thought, and tucked in, whimpering at his soreness.
>After he was done, Levar sat there, wincing at his arms. If it was to be like this everyday, he was going to escape sooner than he had planned. If he could.
>The door opened and a familiar silhouette showed itself. Levar couldn’t see his face, and the light behind him seemed almost blinding. He shielded his eyes.
>“You’re to rest for a day and a half and then return to duty,” Shamaneye said, reaching behind him. The light dimmed as he turned away and spoke to something. There were strange sounds coming from thenceforth. “There there, pet. Don’t get upset now.”
>“Shamaneye,” Levar croaked. “What does it mean?”
>“What does what mean?”
>“Until salt is proven?”
>Shamaneye stopped.
>“Until you prove yourself as a searat, expect no friends, expect no enemies, expect no one at all. I am your tutor. Interactions with others come through me unless I say. These are a hard lot, and unwelcoming to strangers. I'll keep you from embarrassing yourself, and you don’t embarrass me, yeah?”
>Levar closed his eyes. Already he wanted to fall asleep again.
>“Okay.”
>“Now, about what I asked you earlier-”
>“Yeah, go ahead,” Levar said, leaning back. “I’m sick of mine already.”
>Shamaneye chuckled and swapped their chains. He walked out, crooning to the light ahead of him as the door closed.
>Levar slept.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lc6IfE7zf8c

>Disgruntled, Levar sat and kept after the seafly next to him. 
>“Her name is Samantha. She can eat what you can but you have to offer it before she will. Learned that the hard way, you see.”
>Outside of the rowers deck, he had been given the task hardest to mess up. In the galleys no >one talked to him. In the ring he silently made his bets. 
>They gambled with pieces of bread so old no one could possibly eat them. Try, and a tooth missing, a jeer from those around you. They exchanged these little rocks for breaks from their work, more food, a different chain, and other little things. Levar wasn’t very good at the games they played. Once in a while he would earn a smirk when he played greedy and got punished.
>Shamaneye was teaching him other jobs in little parts.
>“That’s not a knot. THIS is a knot!”
>Levar’s fingers burned and blistered as they worked.
>“Ya get blisters, ya get calluses, chin up Levar!”
>Shamaneye thwomped him on the back and took him to the rowers.
>That is how his days passed. Levar would wake up and sit in the cage until Shamaneye came, and then he would work on knots and loading ballistae, then he would row, then the galley and some hardtack, rowing again, and then sleep in the cage.
>The cage was where the boat rocked the most and where levar was cured of his seasickness through exposure. Those first days had been miserable.
>It was a small, rough mesh, wrought iron box with no top and two ropes hooked through the floorbars. One supported the cage and hauling on the other, the guide rope, dragged it up and back, where it eventually rested in a compartment on the bow. There was an old brass bell hanging from the side that tinkled gently during his shifts. It looked crude in places, Shamaneye said, because pieces of it had to be fit together after they were forged. There wasn’t a foundry in the world big enough to make it all at once.
>Rowing had made him strong and lithe, and for that he was grateful. He hadn’t been aware of how soft he was until he saw the other rats and their oars. 
>The food had gotten worse and worse. One day on his way back to the cage, Levar stopped, looking closer at the ration of bread in his hands, and, more specifically, the weevil larvae wriggling in it. Shamaneye and another rat, driftail, stood next to him.
>“Don’t think of it so much as maggots, levar, just close your eyes and think of it as… uh, butter! A tasty butter for the bread!
>Levar closed his eyes. “Please stop.”
>Driftail grinned. “No, that’s just right.” He took his own rations and proceeded to crush the larvae into the stale dough. “See? You just smear them on.” He took a slow, delighted bite.
>“Perfect.”
>Levar responded by turning green and vomiting over the side of the ship.
>“You’ll like it eventually… Perhaps like is the wrong word. Tolerate. You’ll tolerate it eventually.”
>He technically didn’t have to be in the cage all the time. Before, he was always either underfoot or ignored. At least now he could tie some knots, slowly, painfully, while the others stood there and waited impatiently.
>The cage became his home. The seafly became his companion.
>“You aren’t so high and mighty, hmm? Not so silly as to refuse a friend?”
>She had no response other than to come closer.
>“I thought not. Good girl.”
>Levar tapped the crust and the larvae surfaced. He offered them to sammy, who gladly accepted them. Her low red light didn’t prevent him from sleeping. She was a good pet. Levar wished he could take her with him when he was going to escape.
>If he would even be able to escape. A cool draft rattled the lines of the ship. The warmth from the insect was welcome, and he snuggled against her. 
>Levar mulled things over as the cage shifted and swayed. Being a convict wasn’t what he expected. Stories always talked about infighting and the thrill and danger of the catch, but there wasn’t any of that on this ship; just ropes, wood, and grim faces waiting for him.
>“When am I going to get out of here?”

>Levar heard a swishing and churning. He froze, a breath halfway out of his lungs. Was he hearing things?
>A distant splash.
>Levar sprang up and started tugging on the guide rope at once, trying to calm the seafly down as he did. She knew what was happening and didn’t like it any better than he did. 
>“Calm down! I’ll get us out of here!”
>Shrieking, the fly tried to take off, nearly pulling levar off his feet as he grabbed her lead.
>The splashes grew louder, a distant roar could now be heard, and it was no use. One hand on the rope and the other on the lead, he tried his best. The roars of the animal and of the rushing water grew louder.
>He finally remembered what Shamaneye had told him and what he had forgotten in his panicked floundering. Cursing his idiocy, he tied the lead to the floor of the cage and rang the bell, able to properly haul on the guide rope now that his other hand was clear.
>Levar heard the beast burst from the water and the seafly gave a piercing scream. He grit his teeth and wrenched the rope down with his burning arms.
>Over the sound of the lifting mechanism a very loud SNAP echoed just underneath the cage and Levar knew that he had avoided certain death.
>Or a wrecked cage and the chewing out of his life. He didn’t know which was worse.
>He heard clamoring and shouts above and opened his eyes.
>“Cutting it a bit close there!”
>They helped haul the cage into the hold and then dashed off to their positions, Levar being tugged along in a jittery reverie.
>“Where’s Shamaneye?
>“E’s already in position. Had to thump’m to wake him up.”
>“Where are we going?”
>“Topside. The ballistae are strung. You’re loading… New’uns always do.``
>They passed through the spotters deck. The ship, so dark just a few minutes before, was now flooded with lights, lanterns, carefully encased to prevent any fires. It was far too dangerous and costly to have them out all the time, but here they were invaluable.
>The noise and light drew the fish in like nothing else could. Irregular thudding shook the ship and levar almost fell.
>A fellow sprang up beside them as they went, gasping. “Captain, it’s a big one, she’s battering our port side hard-”
>“Is water coming in?”
>“No-”
>“Then back to your post, idiot! If she won’t bite, she won’t break us, and if she bites, we’ve got her!”
>Stunned out of his reverie, Levar stared up at the captain. A ratty blue uniform and an eye stared back at him. Levar stared back and jumped when he started speaking. He looked again. The eye was glass.
>“You'd be dead if you hadn’t tied Sammy down,” he muttered. “Guess that bastard brother’s good for something.”
>Levar hurried along. What was he talking about? The eye almost stirred.
>“Not you, young one, you wouldn’t betray me, would you? Ha! Course you would.”
>Levar was utterly baffled.
>They broke out onto deck and the captain shoved him towards one of the port ballistae.
>“Leave your post and I’ll quarter ye!”
>Levar wasted no time in asking what the expression meant. He stopped by the ballista and helped a rat to crank it open. Thank heavens it was Shamaneye. He stood behind the firing platform and put his hands on the machine, calling as he did.
>“Rope load! Catch loose!”
>Levar kicked the catch loose, looked around and found the harpoons behind them in the center of the ship, two connected roped and the rest bare. He struggled to load it properly and Shamaneye cursed at him. He already had the thing aimed exactly where he wanted it.
>After weeks of training, at least he should be able to load one of these. Levars ears turned red. He moved to secure the catch but Shamaneye stopped him.
>“Not yet you idiot, It’s not there anymore…”
>Levar stood there awkwardly as he lined up a good shot.
>“Now!”
>Levar engaged the lock and Shamaneye fired it.
>*BANG!*
>It made a terrific noise and the coil of rope spun out. Levar got a glimpse of the harpoon disappearing into the flank of the beast and shivered at the bellow it procured.
>“Terrific shot, sir!”
>“No time for that now, keep loading! Iron load! Catch loose!”
>They moved smoothly now, Levar’s hands doing the work for him automatically, the two of them sending harpoon after harpoon into the beast.
>Levar toppled, almost impaling himself on a harpoon as the fish thwacked the ship with its tail.
>He could barely stand. He heard yells and distant ballistae and saw the spotters with their long sticks holding out the lanterns to guide the shots of the crew as he loaded.
>“Faster!”
>The click of the catch, bang, click, shouting, iron load, click, bang again. Routine. Tiring.
>After a long while, Shamaneye stopped him.
>“Any more and she’s dead. We’ve got her now.”
>“We’re not killing it?”
>“Don’t be stupid. The meat’d spoil.”
>He seemed bothered somehow. Levar peeked his head over the side. The thuds had stopped; roars so fearsome before now sounding like whimpers; the fish slackened, sunken in the water, floundering, kept to the ship by the roped harpoons. There was the sound of rigging, and a splash. A small crew began moving around the beast in a rowboat.
>“They tying er up?”
>“We stay up here.”
>“For how long?”
>“Until they say.”
>“Why?”
>An irritated sigh. 
>He hadn’t thought so much about what would happen once the fish was hooked. There was a distinct smell, salty, raw, rising from whence the tormented creature bellowed. 
>In ruins it sobbed and cried out, a rattling whine that stripped his soul.
>He didn’t know that he would be hearing this. He looked back at Shamaneye.
>“What’s making her scream like that?”
>He was slow in answering. “The harpoons… must be taken out. Otherwise they’ll kill her.
>They aged, waiting there, on the dark sea in that dark cavern listening, regretting, and waiting for them to be called; Levar saw his manacles and for the first time in his young life knew the true burden of being a convict.
>“They’ll be less short with you now.”
>He looked up.
>“Hard to speak with newcomers when they start asking questions. They just don’t understand.”
>“I understand.”
>“Not until you’re out here, two, three weeks from now, knife in paw and wondering whether you’d rather hear her scream or face that maggot bread…”
>Levar shivered and stood up.
>“We’ve not been called.”
>His voice trembled. “I don’t care.”
>Shamaneye called out as Levar stepped down into the lower deck, making his way towards his lodgings.
>“Don’t do it Lad! Get back here! LAD! LEVAR!”
>“I won’t do it,” He thought, baring his teeth at the ship and clawing the wood as he walked. “I won’t live among or become such a beast. I’m going to the bottom of the world. Tonight.”
>A scrape in the passage ahead. “Going somewhere?”
>It was the Captain.

CHAPTER THREE: BURIAL AT SEA
>“Well,” Levar thought as he was frogmarched, “Not tonight.”
>The door banged inward and Levar was seated.
>Once pristine meats and bits stewed in their own juices. The cabin was a damp, dark, festering hole filled with wine that was now vinegar; bread that writhed and wormed; plates, napkins, and knives perfectly placed.
>It was a feast for the rotten.
>“Not what’ye were expecting, ay?”
>Levar slowly shook his head, dumbfounded. The odor was so pungent he could almost taste the fetid meat in front of him.
>“Thes’r’my friends. Soon they’ll be yours.”
>Levar came back to the spread before him. “What?”
>The captain was at the door. In the darkness of the doorway, his silhouette was darker. His slurring and accent disappeared, and his voice twisted into a cruel lash. “You were warned. I’ll not have a mutiny. Not again... ”
>“I wasn’t mutinying!” 
>“You left your damned post! You were trying to escape!”
>“I wasn’t-”
>“They always do, lad! They always try! You’re all just like the ones we catch!”
>He advanced on Levar, drawing something out of his uniform with a rasp. 
>“And unless you want to end up like the ones we catch,” He whispered, “You’ll stop trying to escape. You’ll remember not to talk back to your captain.”
>Something pressed against Levars throat and he knew to be silent.
>After a long moment, the weapon was sheathed, and strode out the door muttering to himself. The door slammed. The lock clicked. 
>Levar sat and tried not to think about where he was.
>He hadn’t known that a room could smell so awful, so unbearable that he could never get used to it. The odor never faded, the flies never stopped buzzing, his stomach never stopped churning. 
>After a long while, the door opened, and someone was thrown in with jeers and a slam of the door.
>“Shamaneye?”
>“Ayy, Levar! Good to see you!”
>“I’m so sorry!”
>“S’ alright, a lot desert the first time… Real bad of im to throw you in here.”
>“How long?”
>“Eh?”
>“How long will we be in here?”
>“Ah…”
>He absentmindedly chewed at a soft, slithering mass more maggot than apple. “I don’t know. Rather temperamental, my brother is.”
>“Your-”
>Shamaneye checked him. “The story is rather long, but, then again…”
>Flexing his arm, he crushed the thing in his hand. Levar felt the splatter of it and shuddered.
>“We’ve got nothing but time.”

>“It was a howling night, Levar, and you might not believe me when I tell you what that is. There are bigger fish in this sea than the one we caught last night, so much bigger they could smash this pile o’ toothpicks with one wayward strike, one wave they make diving below, deep below, where no one can go, Not even you.”
>Levar perked up.
>“Cmon, now, lad, you’re far from the first… Just don’t do anything stupid. You could get out of here, aye, and off this hulk…”
>Levar waited to be set free. He kept speaking instead.
>“So, you might ask, what happens when a proper big fish gets killed? Not by us, even, but by others, smaller, faster little schools that just swim through it, taking chunks as they go? Well, Levar, well.”
>With that statement, The hunch in Shamaneyes shoulders disappeared, and his ratty, spoiled clothes took on a new character. Levar blinked. He now saw that it used to be a uniform.
>“The waters were torn apart. Every fish within a hundred leagues wanted a bite. I was there when this fleet was buffeted to pieces, when us sailors became convicts and the proud ships became these splintered barges.”
>He sank down, aging into the rotten old seat and fixing his eyes on that sight.
>“The old fleet… You don’t know. You can’t. But try, please, Levar, just try and think of it. Sammy used to have a lot more friends, you know. They used to have their own ship, before it got smashed to pieces.”
>He started to take a sip of something on the table but thought better of it.
>“We’d been out for a few weeks and seen nothing. The usual traffic yed get, the little things in the waves that keep you up with their bumping against the boat, there was all of that, it was all splendid and we were so proud of ourselves, so strong- and that night it all stopped. There weren’t no fish anymore, no more waves, none of the flies’d come out their cages. Dead calm. I should have known. Remember Levar, remember; When everything blows up, starts caterwauling, you run. When it's, well, normal, and everything suddenly goes quiet- run harder. Get the hell out of there. There’s a reason the world’s afraid to speak.”
>He paused, and, in the silence, eventually, Levar saw what he meant. He could hear the flies buzzing and the maggots wriggling.
>He could hear something else, too. He opened his eyes.
>“It seems,” Shamaneye said, “that my Brother hasn’t forgotten us.”
>The door opened slowly. “No. I haven’t.”
>He stepped in, totally unaffected by the stench. The glass eye wasn't quite in right. He kept scrabbling at it.
>“Rather personal things you’re telling him.”
>Shamaneye nodded. “It’s a great story. Gripping.”
>The captain chuckled. “I’ll show you gripping-”
>He swung, catching Shamaneye in the ribs and sending him backwards into the slop on the table.
>“I want it back!”
>He had drawn the cutlass, but Levar had had enough. With what he imagined to be a war cry he tackled the old rat, and Shamaneye leapt up, swearing at the both of them and trying to pull Levar off.
>“Run! I’ve got him, I’ve got him, Ive-”
>The flat of the cutlass struck him the face, hard, twice, and he fell back. With a kick the Captain doubled him up, and turned just in time for Shamaneye to catch him in the head with the leg of a chair. The glass eye went rolling, and the Captain howled.
>“Traitor, Treason, Murderer! You filthy oaf!”
>Shamaneye hesitated, and the old rat took him to the floor, both of them roaring and biting and kicking.
>“Oaf? Who wrecked us on the rocks? Who abandoned the fight?”
>“Who stole my eye? Who couldn’t make captain?”
>Levar gingerly picked up the cutlass, and dropped it again. He couldn’t risk it.
>*THUD!*
>The whole ship trembled, and Levar was nearly knocked to the floor, but the combatants took no notice.
>“Run for it, Levar! I've got business with this bastard!”
>Levar heard a tattletale creaking and knew something horrible had happened.
>“What’re you waiting For?”
>Levar gave a spirited yell and dove on top of the Old rat, driving him into the deck; thuds, thuds, and thudding again, dust coming down over the dim room. He felt Shamaneye yank the back of his clothes.
>“Time to go, lad!”
>They raced through a bad dream. The ship was listing port, heavily, and getting worse by the second. Somewhere, some careless fool had dropped a lantern when the ship shook, and the resultant fire held screams, and smoke, and the whistling of the air that sucked in to feed them. Dust knocked loose from the rafters made navigation nigh impossible. Through it all, there was the sound of smashing timber and thudding. The ship seemed like it was getting hammered to pieces.
>It was hard to breathe. “What’s going on?”
>Levar knew now what fear meant. It was harder and harder to move through the dust and hear the screams. 
>“Not now, lad, nearly there… not now…”
>Levar heard a hiss, and Shamaneye shoved him aside. He turned in time to hear his howl and see his back laid open by a cutlass protruding from the dark. Another swish, and Levar felt the whiskers trimmed from his face.
>He yelped and dropped to the deck, looking for anything that could aid him. A sword above him, splinters below him, Levar saw the wall of the passageway being eaten by fire, and, gritting his teeth, kicked it as hard as he could.
>*FWOOMPH!*
>The deck above crashed down, burying the passageway in timbers and the remains of a ballistae. Levar could see nothing, feeling in the dim light for his friend. His hand touched something wet and he heard a groan. 
>The cutlass was still in the Captain's outstretched hand and he nearly stripped the muscles off the bones in Levars arm. Reflexively, Levar knocked the cutlass out of his hand and stepped back.
>The captain hissed venomously. “Traitors- murderers- mutineers, all of ye- I’ll have ye guts for breakfast- I’ll have you drawn and quartered!” He began to drag himself out of the rubble, lurching forward.
>Levar picked up the cutlass and felt something in his stomach churn and quiver. He backed up.
>The captain came forward, rushing him with a snarl.
>Levar closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and jammed the cutlass forward. There was a second of resistance, the sound of flesh coming apart, a death rattle, and silence. The body slid down onto the hilt and Levar dropped it, horrified.
>Before he could think about it, he took some rubble and piled it on top of the corpse, pulling the cutlass out and dropping it to the floor. He heaved a large rock on top of the body and heard a groan from underneath the place he had dragged it.
>It wasn’t only the Captain he had buried in rubble.
>“Leave me, lad, Im sorry-”
>“No.”
>Levar scrambled and shifted debris with shaky hands but a resolute spirit. 
>“Cap’n got me already… I’m not-”
>“Sharrap!”
>Heaving aside a particularly heavy plank, Levar tried to pull his friend up. He wouldn’t budge.
>“I think something’ll fall out of me if I get up, lad.”
>Levar sniffled. “Then it falls out.”
>After a long moment, Shamaneye held his hand up and Levar took it. Shamaneye stood, swaying, and, as it turned out, something did fall out.
>“What was that?”
>Levar stammered. “I-I-I think it was ye kidney, mate.”
>With a crash, the mast fell through, completely burying the captain in rubble, smashing the spot Shamaneye had been a second ago, Levar catching him. 
>“How do we get out?”
>“Up the mast, mate!”
>Levar eyed his back. Something else might fall out.
>“Just a mo’.”
>Shamaneye’s blood had soaked Levars clothes through. Stripping them off, he tied a sash around his midriff as tightly as he could, provoking a gasp.
>“Damn,” Shamaneye grimaced as they struggled up the mast and forward onto the deck. The ship was listing fore and port, and other crew members were here, fighting a fire scorching up the side of the boat, >passing vessels in a bailing line and tending to the survivors.
>“Go aft,” Shamaneye said. Lever nodded.
>Black smoke scorched their eyes. The fire, smelling of pitch and tar, had completely decimated that part of the ship, collapsing bulkheads having tipped the mast over.
>Levar helped Shamaneye over to a group of other injured rats, most worse off than him, limbs missing and bones broken. A pile of tools lay nearby. Driftail came over, holding a proper bandage, putting it on top of Levars makeshift one and lying Shamaneye down onto the deck.
>“How bad is it?”
>“He’s been cut deep. I don’t know.”
>“By what?”
>Levar didn’t dare speak. He heard the captain again, dying, felt him falling down onto the hilt.
>“Hmph.” He handed Shamaneye a canteen. “Drink. It’ll help.”
>Driftail left them, attending to the other injured.
>Shamaneye spoke, faintly. “Levar- I Don’t think I’m getting up from here. Go on. Make yourself useful.”
>“I don’t want to leave-”
>“It isn’t about what you want, mate. It’s about the ship, about the crew. It’s about all those poor bastards stuck below decks… Go on. I’ll be here.”
>Levar nodded. “Alright. Stay alive for me.”
>Shamaneye didn’t respond.
>Gingerly, Levar got up. He turned and ran to Driftail.
>“I’m going below decks.”
>“Bless ye. Take an ax.”
>Levar nodded, took one, and dashed to where the mainmast had caved the deck in. Skittering down the thing, he ran headlong into the hallways below. The crew, recovering from the initial shock, had managed to put out many of the smaller fires and clear some of the hallways of debris. Levar came to a working party hacking away at a burning pile of rubble piled against a door. Wordlessly he joined them, adding to the din of sparks and fire and such behind the pile.
>The mass blocking the way slowly cleared, and with a roar and one clean blow the lead rat stove the door in and pressed forward into the flames, a line tied around him tended to by the rest of them.
>One of the rats, Flidge, whispered to him. “One tug means let out more, three tugs mean pull me out, I’m coming back, and a lot of tugs mean pull me out or someones going to die.”
>“What does two tugs mean?”
>Flidge gave him a bemused look.
>There was a wait, and a crash in the fire, and a lot of tugging.
>“Pull him out!”
>They heaved, hand over hand, and the lead rat fell back into them, swearing, dragging something after him.
>“Ye idiot thing, stop biting me!”
>“Bloody hell!”
>“Sammy!”
>The firefly was alive, if panicked, confused, and more than a little singed.
>“Take her back up, lad. That was the last door on this deck. When you come back we’ll go below.”
>She was a handful. Without a lead, Levar resorted to a combination of threats and coaxing to bring the thing up and onto the main deck and over to Driftail.
>“Alright then,” he muttered darkly. “Let’s have a look at this cut.”
>They tied Sammy down next to the injured so Driftail could see what he was doing. Peeling back his makeshift bandage to reveal the wound beneath, Levar grimaced. Driftail whistled.
>“Look on the bright side. If he lives he’ll have the biggest scar on the boat. If he lives.” Levar shuddered. 
>Shamaneye began to chuckle, groaned, and stopped. Levar left them and returned to the working party.

>They were at it for hours, clearing the lower decks of the living and the dead alike, fighting the ship as it dipped lower and lower beneath the waters. Several rooms were underwater, yet to be cleared, but there were no crew members unaccounted for, except for the Captain. Levar and Shamaneye had silently agreed to cross that bridge when they came to it.
>Driftail had assumed command. A picture emerged as to what had happened. Lousewort was using a lantern he wasn’t supposed to be using to try and carve a piece off the fish, and the fish smacked him, and he dropped it. His was the last corpse they found, burned near unrecognizable by the lantern fuel. The fish had got away, battering the ship in the process.
>They had been lucky; only eight deaths. They lay on the deck, fore, patiently waiting for the most wounded to recover and the crisis to be over so the living could properly grieve for them.
>Half the ship was now on the bailing line while a quarter rested and ate. The rest lay on the deck tending to their wounds as best they could.
>“We’re gaining ground. Might be able to patch it.”
>As it happened, they were.
>Hanging the sail of the mast over the side of the ship, above the hole, doubled over itself, they sank it below the water and covered it, slowing the leak and letting them repair it properly.
>The carpenter, samson, had lived, and he was able to mostly plug it with some spare timber, a hacksaw, and a large mallet. Luck and a sleepless night had saved them.
>On the second day, they lifted the mast onto the main deck and dug into the rubble below it.
>“Oy, Driftail, if the cap’ns under here, can I have ‘is cutlass?”
>“Fat chance, Galdo.”
>Levar was worried. Driftail had come over to him when he was bedding down. 
>“Now, lad, you and I both know it weren’t no damn splinter that laid Shamaneyes back open. Where’s the cap’n? What happened?”
>“He had come into the rotten room and started a fight. The fires and shaking started and we both ran. He chased us and cut down Shamaneye.”
>“Yea? Then what?”
>Lever looked down. “I dropped down and saw a timber that was holding the deck up. I kicked it and everything came down.” Levar paused. “He wasn’t dead- He came at me- I had to-”
>“Sharrap.” Driftail looked around, and then directly at Levar.
>“Not a word of this to anyone, you hear me? Not a word. Plenty around here that don’t like you or Shamaneye.”
>Levar nodded.
>Driftail sighed. “If anyone else digs him up first and pieces together what happened there’ll be hell to pay.”
>“I’ll take the lead tomorrow.”
>Driftail snorted. “You couldn’t swing an ax to save your life. I’ll do it.”
>He looked down, then away, and swore. He stormed off.
>The next day and work started again, Driftail taking the lead and hacking madly at the mass of timber and rigging.
>“Slow down, mate! You’ll wear yourself out!”
>“Aye, speak for yourself, slowpoke!”
>He struck at the timber like it held his family ransom, sweating and panting, kicking and clawing at it. He was beginning to slow when he swung down powerfully into a particular crevice. There was a sickening crunch. Everyone paused.
>“What was that?”
>Driftail gulped. “I think I just gave the cap’n two heads.”

>Driftails “Accident” had mutilated the body enough that no one could tell. For all they knew, He had just slashed Samaneye when the mast collapsed the deck down on all of them. Levar thanked Driftail and gave him some rations he had been saving in case of emergency. He accepted them with a wink. There was some fuss over who should ultimately have the cutlass, but in the end it was decided that as Shamaneye was the one who had almost been killed with it, he would hold it when he could, unless he died of his injuries, in which case it would remain with Driftail.
>“He’s not out of danger yet,” Knockerson muttered grimly. “That wound could still fester, it’s a miracle it hasn’t already.”
>Funerals for the dead were held the next day. They didn’t have some of the customary honors, having to burn a piece of weathered rope instead of sage and clothing the dead in spare canvas instead of a good shroud, but they did their best, as far as Levar could tell. Their tears and stories were real enough.
>“I miss him already,” sobbed Flidge. “There wasn't no one like him at dice or knucklebones. No one at all.”
>“Because he cheated,” muttered Shamaneye. “Least, I think he did. That or the luckiest rat alive. Well, ah... you know. Not good to speak ill of the dead. He was good. I’ll miss our games, even if  I was always angry playing them.”
>Galdo sighed. “Why'd Ye do it? Just a few more days and you could’ve had all the fish you wanted. Now we’ll never sing with you again, warm and drunk and jolly on the shore. Never ever.” 
>The body was lowered into the waters.
>Late that night, Levar tossed and turned, got up and sat down next to Shamaneye.
>“Friend, this place has nothing but torment. The cap’n and the whale, the dead and dying, they haunt me.”
>Shamaneye spoke softly. “That’s all of us, Levar.”
>The ship rose and dipped until they both fell asleep.