MAN

The echoes of the broadside seemed to linger long after the fact, although it was soon replaced by the silence of the crew and the gentle lapping of waves against the hull.

The air was still thick with the smell of burnt gunpowder.

A single cheer erupted from the main gun deck, and almost like on Que, there were a thousand more.

Triton let the cheer wash over them for a moment, a broad, triumphant grin splitting his face.
He slammed a hand against the quarterdeck rail.

“YE SEE THAT, LADS AND LASSIES? YE SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN DEMONS POKE THE MAW? THEY GET BIT!”

Cassandra was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. “Bit? Triton, that was hardly a bite! We swallowed it whole! One moment, a ship, the next… a massive explosion! Did you see the way it just… came apart? Glorious!” She nudged me with her elbow, and I will admit, her grin was quite infectious. “Don't you think, Arda? You've got your serious face on. Loosen up! We won!”

“We did,” I agreed, smiling slightly. “But victory comes with a price.” I gestured with my chin towards our own ship.

The immediate danger was gone, but the encounter took its toll.

My gaze drifted to Tulote. 

He stood apart from the celebration, his hands clenched on the rail as he stared at the churning patch of sea where the demon ship had vanished.

His face was as rigid as stone.

There was no victory in his eyes, only a hollow emptiness that seemed to swallow the surrounding sunlight.

The thunder of our own guns had clearly shaken something loose within him. But I didn't know what.

The moment of celebration passed as Triton's practical nature took over.

“ALRIGHT, YOU 'ORRIBLE LOT, CELEBRATE ON YOUR OWN TIME! I WANT A DAMAGE REPORT NOW!” Mr. Hero, Arda sir, stand down your marines and have them assist the carpenter's crew! Bosun, get your best men aloft and see to that tear in the mizzen top! Master Gunner, report on powder and shot expenditure! Let's look alive! The sea doesn't wait for a hangover!”

The crew acted immediately.
The immediate threat may have been gone, but the work was far from over.

“Marines, stand down and form up! We're on clean-up and repair!” I led them across the deck, which was littered with the debris of battle.

Thick splinters of our own oak hull were scattered everywhere.

The sand they had spread was scuffed and stained, having done its job.

The most pressing issue was the shot-holes. Our hull was thick, and with Terracane protective coating that could withstand 20 pounder shots courtesy of Tulote, but a few of the enemy's 9-pounder shots had punched through the upper works.

They were clean holes, but a hole is a hole, and the sea is relentless.

The ship's head carpenter, a stout man named Finn with sawdust in his beard, was already directing his crew, They worked with a sort of efficiency reminiscent of my days in the navy. They reamed the holes to a smooth, round shape before hammering in tapered wooden plugs wrapped in tarred canvas.

I spotted Yui, his face was pale, but subtly resolute, and he was carrying a bucket of water for one of the gun crews. 

He moved with a determination that belied his age, trying to make himself useful amidst the controlled chaos.

“Yui,” I called out

He flinched slightly, then corrected his posture.

“Sir! Reporting!”

“At ease, son” I said, walking over to him. I placed a hand on his small shoulder. “You did well today. You held your station and didn't panic. That takes courage.”

He looked down at his feet, blushing faintly at his cheeks.

“Just did my duty, sir.”

“I know. Now, your duty is to help Mr. Finn's men. I want you to go around with a bucket and collect all these splinters from the deck. Every last one. A man can get a nasty gash from one of these if he's not careful. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” he said.

I remember when my father had me do this when his little fishing boat was wrought by a wicked storm.
It was a simple task, but an important one.
As my father would say, “it taught thoroughness, attention to detail”.

I had not yet brought any of my sons out to sea, so this was my way of somewhat rectifying that.
It did ache my chest, and I had longed for my sons.

While the carpenters plugged the holes, the sailmakers were busy on the spar deck.
The great, torn mizzen topsail had been lowered for repair.
Men and women with needles as thick as my thumb sat cross-legged on the canvas, stitched a heavy patch over the gash.
It would have to hold until we could get to a proper port for a replacement.

Cassandra was 'supervising' the sailmakers.
She wasn't sewing, but she was keeping their spirits high, telling a wild tale about a time she'd supposedly patched a sail mid-storm using nothing but her own hair and a fishbone

In all honesty, it was probably true, I remember Tulote mentioning to me how elves had a REAL love of the sea.

The crew laughed, and it was good to see the battle tension breaking.

I sought out Tulote.

I found him on the lower gun deck, operating within the capacity of the Quartermaster.
He stood with the Master Gunner with a logbook in hand as he took inventory of the spent powder and shot.
His voice was steady, and his movements were precise, but his eyes... they were distant.

“Eighty-two rounds of 42-pounder shot expended,” the Master Gunner reported. “Eighty-two of 32-pounder, and eighty-four of 24-pounder. Powder expenditure commensurate. A full broadside, Lord Regent. A beautiful, perfect broadside.”

“Indeed,” Tulote replied, but his voice was flat.

He made a note in the log.

“See that the magazines are re-secured and post extra guards. We don't know what else is out there.”

“Aye, sir.”

As the gunner left, I approached him. “He's right. It was a perfect broadside. Triton's timing was impeccable.”

Tulote didn't look up from his logbook.

“The timing was perfect. The result was... efficient.” 

He closed the book with a soft thud.

“This ship, Arda... it does what it was built to do.”

He finally met my gaze, and I saw what I can only describe as a storm raging behind his eyes.

“Aquarius built her to be the ultimate shield of the Imperium. A bastion so powerful that none would dare attack us. He wanted her to be a symbol of peace through strength. A deterrent.”

He walked over to one of the massive 42-pounder cannons, the one closest to us, and laid a hand on its cold, black barrel. The thing was a monster of cast iron, weighing over three tons.

“But a shield can be used to bash a man's head in,” he murmured, “We didn't deter them. We didn't warn them. We vaporized them. I felt it through the deck… the shudder as a hundred tons of iron left the ship, and then… nothing. The cessation of a thousand lives in an instant. I was there, Arda. I lied, I didn't leave with my parents. I was on this very ship as Aquarius fought tigress. I was here trying to support him. He begged me to watch over his men as we retreated. As he sacrificed himself for us all. He was more a man than I could ever be.”

Before I could respond, Cassandra's voice floated down the companionway ladder. 

“Are you two moping down here in the dark? There's work to be done topside!” 

She slid down the ladder with the grace of a cat and landed lightly on the deck. It was amazing that even without using her powers, that she could still move so gracefully.

She took one look at Tulote's face, and her usual teasing smile softened into something more knowing, more gentle.

“He's thinking about the big boom again, isn't he?” she said quietly, coming to stand beside us.

She leaned against the carriage of the great gun, looking at Tulote.

“Aquarius built a tool, Tulote. That's all this is.” She patted the cannon's breech. “A hammer. You can use a hammer to build a home for orphans, or you can use it to cave in a man's skull. The hammer doesn't care. It's the hand that swings it that matters. Right now, you're the Lord Regent of the Imperium, and Aquarius trusted you with his navy, so for the love of god please, we need you to use this hammer to save what's left of the navy. Of your people. You think Aquarius would be ashamed of that?”

Tulote was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the cannon. “I just wish I could've done more. We couldv'e found a better way. HE would have found a better way...” he finally said.

His voice was thick with grief.

“Maybe,” I interjected, stepping forward. “But he's not here. We are. And we are using his legacy, this ship, to uphold his final wish- to protect the innocent. We aren't celebrating destruction, Tulote. We are enduring it so that others won't have to. Every shot we fire speaks to the peace he fought for. That is how we honour him.”

My words seemed to reach him. 

The rigid set of his shoulders eased slightly. He took a deep breath, the first in a while that since we've been at sea that wasn't shallow and tight.

"You are right," he conceded, though his voice was heavy. "Both of you. The hand that swings it..." 

He pushed himself away from the cannon.

"There is still much to do."

—

Later that afternoon, with the major repairs complete, I found Yui sitting by the forecastle, carefully sharpening the dagger I had given him on a small whetstone.

"Putting an edge on it, I see," I said, sitting down beside him.

"Yes, sir. You said a dull blade is a useless blade."

"That I did." 

I watched his small, concentrated movements. 

"Yui, I want to talk to you about what happened today. You saw what this ship can do. You saw what war is. It's loud, and it's violent, and it's terrifying. But it's not a game."

He stopped sharpening and looked at me.

"I know, sir. I wasn't scared."

"A little fear is healthy, son. It keeps you sharp. But I believe you," I said. "Now about this dagger. I taught you how to use it to defend yourself. But the true test of a man isn't how he fights. It's how he chooses not to. This is a tool of last resort. You use it to protect you life, or the life of a shipmate, or any other innocent. You never draw it in anger, and you never use it for revenge. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. It's for protecting." He looked down at the blade, then back at me. "Sir... Arda... Did my father teach you how to fight?"

The question was so innocent, so direct, it knocked the wind out of me.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight.

"No, son. My own father did. But I can teach you the things I've taught my own boys. I can teach you how to be a good man. That's a lot harder than being a good fighter."

A real, genuine smile spread across his face, lighting up his features.

"I'd like that," he said. "Very much."

I clapped him on the shoulder, a warth spreading through my chest.

"Good. Lesson one of being a good man: you did your work well today, now go see the cook. I think he saved a biscuit for you. Tell him I said it was alright."

He scrambled to his feet, much happier now. "Thank you, Arda!"

As he ran off, I felt a sense of peace settle over me.

It was as though I was speaking to one of my own sons.

Well I guess it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say I adopted him.