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Splintered Light Chapter 1.3: Facing the Moonrise

Despite having had a pleasant evening up until the point he encountered Foreman Willem, Rolf knew right away that the overall trajectory of his night was about to take a turn for the worse, and that was before the Goat had done more than call for him. The Prong Horn let out a sigh and descended the set of stairs, putting himself on an even deck with the approaching Foreman. "What is it, Mr. Zuider?"

The Doelichian Goat stopped just within a distant speaking range and announced quite loudly. "I mean no disrespect, Herr Rolf, but your decision to cut the staysail down to two jibs means we're making a slow going of it."

The Prong Horn blinked, taking a moment to assess the comment as he stepped closer to the Foreman. "I appreciate your candor, Willem. For the sake of argument, you heard about this order from whom?"

The Foreman folded his arms over his chest, taking on his trademark gruff-and-disappointed posture. "Viktor, but I didn't believe you'd say something like that without first checking in with me."

Rolf had known both the Foreman and the Rigger long enough to know that the discussion was about more than how many sheets were laid to the wind. "I see... and why would I have to check with you regarding how many jibs to open?"

The pointed question was enough to knock Willem off his high horse without outwardly insulting the old Goat and Rolf knew from experience that it was the main key to dealing with him. Willem's next words were slightly more neutral toned. "If I'm running the deck then I'll need to know who to put where based on the sails, Herr Rolf."

The Bosun nodded; it was a suitable answer, but it still avoided a very important fact that Willem was overlooking. "And you sought out the Rigger instead of myself or the First Mate to get clarification?"

The question put Willem further on the defensive. Playing the game of balancing obedience for the sake of bypassing attitude required a deft touch and careful use of words; Rolf was good at it but occasionally he pushed too far. The Goat's face regained its scowl and the Foreman struck his finger out past Rolf toward the stern castle. "You were supping with the Captain. I didn't want to interrupt... Sir."

Whenever Willem referred to a superior as 'Sir' it was a dead giveaway that the Goat's mood was souring quickly. Rolf revised his tact. "Then let's go visit Viktor, shall we?"

The simple suggestion quickly changed the Foreman's entire demeanor and a smile very nearly snuck past his dour expression. "Aye, Herr Severna... he was right this way when I last left him."

It didn't take any time whatsoever to encounter the Rigger; Viktor descended from overhead the moment the two approached. The Hare offered a respectful Mehnzilian salute and reported. "Fair-weather, Sir. Offers and Moot are barrel men through middle watch. I'll be sending Nikolay to bunk within the hour."

Rolf acknowledged the report with a nod of his head but passed it by with a much more direct question. "Viktor, would you please explain to me why we only have two jibs open?"

The Hare's gaze remained on the Bosun every moment except for a split second when they shot a glance toward a very smug-looking Foreman. Viktor replied candidly. "None of the officers set a demand for night running so I used my best judgment sir."

The Prong Horn nodded, rubbing the tuft of fur at his chin in thought. "I see."

The Rigger reached up to remove the band that held his ears together, letting them stand up as he smoothed them out. "Do I need to make a change, sir?"

Rolf shook his head. "No, Mr. Viktor. That's quite alright, and I think they'll serve just fine how they are now... but Mr. Zuider here tells me that you informed him that you did so on my order."

The Hare nodded once with certainty. "Yessir. I did, sir."

The Prong Horn frowned even as the Goat smirked. Clearing his throat, the Bosun stated simply "I never ordered you to handle the sails in a specific manner."

Viktor lowers his gaze. "I am sorry, Sir. It was easier to tell him it was by your order than it was to sit and argue over a matter where his input counts for shi--"

Rolf quickly interjected. "Be that as it may, Mr. Viktor, I do not condone my men putting words in my muzzle."

The Hare stopped what he had been saying and replaced that with "I understand, Sir. I am sorry, Sir."

Willem, still smiling, finally unfolded his arms, his hands going to rest on his hips as he smugly suggested "Perhaps a punishment is in order, Herr Severna?"

Rolf considered the suggestion for a moment then, after a time, nodded. "It wouldn't do to let this go by without corrective measure, you're very right, Mr. Willem."

Viktor raised his eyes again, gaze meeting Rolf's. Rather than object, the Hare simply stated "Yes, sir."

The Prong Horn moved his hand from his muzzle tuft to rub at his ear as he resolved the matter with a simple declaration. "Viktor, you are putting in an extra half shift this morning before you are relieved of duty. Is that clear?"

The hare nodded without hesitance. "It is, Sir. Yes, sir."

Beside the Prong Horn Willem scowled. "I was thinking something more severe, Herr Severna. Considering how he overstepped his bounds may I suggest the captain's daughter, perhaps? That would keep him from--"

Rolf interrupted the Goat. "No."

The "captain's daughter" was one of many popular nicknames for a multi-tailed whip kept on board many ships for the purpose of administering corporal punishment. Rolf knew there was one on board, but he'd only ever heard of it being used once by the Captain, and that had been an extreme case. He certainly had no intention of it being used, despite Willem's insistence. The Goat wasn't ready to give up however. "Herr Severna, if you allow insubordination such as this to-- fester aboard the ship--"

The Prong Horn held up a hand to silence the Foreman, and it worked, after a few words. Once the Goat fell silent Rolf declared simply "Viktor is right and the staysail should remain how it is."

"But Herr Se--"

Rolf spoke right over the Goat. "I can appreciate that you don't agree but that doesn't change my point of view."

Willem's response was almost a growl. "Yes, sir."

The Bosun wasn't done. "And, Foreman, unless I forget how assigned duties are handed out based on title, your job is to look after the deck, not the rigging."

He could tell that the Goat went straight back to being defensive. "Mr. Severna, no senior officer was around and in my opinion the rigging needed fixing. As the highest ranking officer on duty I took it upon myself to see the matter corrected. This is not a matter of who was right or wrong-- this is a matter of Mr. Viktor's respect for authority and the lack of respect he has for the chain of command."

Rolf followed the accusatory finger that poked out at the end of the Goat's arm toward the Hare. The Prong Horn let out a sigh and barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes; petty crewman squabbles was decidedly not one of the parts of his job he would consider enjoyable. "In the future I advise that you locate a senior officer. Your task is to handle the deck and you have command over the crew if and ONLY if no command officer is available."

The Goat's teeth grit audibly. "Yes, sir."

The Prong Horn wasn't done with clarification. "That means you will report any perceived issues to a superior officer any time they do not relate specifically to your assigned duties. Is that understood, Mr. Zuider?"

The Foreman's response got shorter still. "Aye."

Rolf wasn't about to let him off the hook just because he was grouchy. "Aye?"

Willem took the hint. "Aye, SIR."

The Bosun smiled neutrally. "Good. I'm glad we understand one another. Oh, and Willem?"

The Goat, who had just started to turn around thinking he'd been dismissed stopped the action and glanced back. "Yes, Sir?"

Rolf took a much more casual, much more pleasant tone. "You should be thankful that I am assigning Viktor such a light punishment for his lack of respect for authority and chain of command."

Willem's ears rotated back to Rolf and the Goat's body followed suit. "Why's that, Herr Severna?"

The Bosun inclined his head to the Foreman as he passed by, heading for his cabin. "Because, Mr. Zuider, you are receiving the same punishment; you get an extra half-shift tonight. I will see you at breakfast."

* * * * * *

Karl Jak... just Karl Jak-- no 'Lieutenant'. He'd served the Wyranese military honorably for more then a decade and his plan was to do so for more than two, but life had taken him in a different direction. The commanders in the military were infallible and without fault; it was every man's duty to do as they commanded and, as Karl's last act as a military man was to accept the responsibility for the failure brought upon them by the ship's first mate. Nobody knew that Karl was not to blame; the secret was one that the Rottweiler would take to his grave. Despite losing his standing, his pension, and his way of life, there was nothing that the Dog would not have done for his commanding officer.

Life took him in strange directions, it seemed, and he continued considering them even as the silly civilian drama took place just down the deck from where the Gunner leaned against the rail. It was just another difference between military and civilian ships; petty squabbles never would have been permitted aboard a Wyranese Man o' War. The Rottweiler pulled a half-smoked cigar from his broad muzzle and exhaled a spray of smoke out toward the sea. His free paw reached up to rub across his face as he grumbled in Wyranese. "Maybe I'm just getting too old for this."

It was a lie and he realized it even before it escaped his lips. If Karl had remained in service to Wyra he would likely have been given command over his own ship, or close to it at that point. As far as the Rottweiler had been concerned he would have continued sailing well into his sixth decade, and he still had one year to go until his fourth. No-- what Karl was too old for, he realized, was all of the stupidity of a lack of respect for the chain of command. He honestly and earnestly missed the camaraderie of 'die Verwandtschaft', the mindset in the Wyranese military that the crewmen aboard each ship were family.

Family stuck together and so did the crew; family listened to their elders and the crewmen listened to their commanders; family was able to squabble but when it came down to it they had one another's backs. For the most part Karl was able to say with confidence that he believed in the Wave Rider's captain but he didn't always feel that everyone aboard would be worthy of 'Verwandtschaft'. The Rottweiler ended that line of thinking with a grunt, sticking the remainder of his cigar back into his muzzle as he turned around, leaning against the railing so he could look back at the deck; the argument had ended and everyone vacated, leaving the Dog alone with his thoughts.

Karl took the opportunity to do his rounds along the deck, checking the cannons and inspecting the equipment; with only a half moon out it was dark, but the Gunner had enough experience that he easily could have handled it in pitch black by feel alone. As expected the weaponry was in perfect condition. Then again, it was used so rarely that the only wear and tear put on it was from weather. By the time he'd made a complete circuit the Rottweiler had finished his cigar and tossed the butt overboard. Weapons check aboard the Wave Rider was easier than the galleons he'd served when he was in the navy; rather than just one deck of guns most of the man o' wars had at least two... if not three.

Once his task was complete the Rottweiler resolved to head down to his cabin and try to get some sleep. His previous days had been filled with unrest and since taking back to the sea he'd been working twice as hard to make sure everything aboard was ready for a long voyage; despite still being healthy and stalwart, Karl realized he wasn't as young as he once was and that meant part of upkeeping HIMSELF meant a reasonable amount of rest. They were still in friendly waters and, despite that being no reason to be lax, it meant that he needed to conserve his reserves for the time when danger was much more likely to strike: open, unpatrolled waters. Unlike some of the crew the concept excited the Dog.

Known to only a few of the men on board, Karl had served predominantly with Klaus 'Die Jäger' Krause, a respected Wolfhound Admiral who made a name for himself as a pirate hunter. It was, in fact, among Klaus' men that Karl had found acceptance as an able gunner and served for the majority of his time with the Wyranese Navy. It was also aboard Die Jäger's ship that Karl's time with the navy came to an end; Klaus was mortally wounded in an engagement and Karl himself had lost part of his ear. He held no ill-will toward the first mate for what had happened... at least, not as much as the man himself, who committed suicide by flintlock within a year of the event.

Karl snorted, growling to himself as more and more ancient history dredged itself up from the recesses of his mind. The one thing the Rottweiler hated the most about quiet nights at sea as the way memories had a habit of sailing to the forefront of his thoughts. Entering his cabin, the Dog locked the door behind himself and sat down on his small cot. He went immediately to the night stand and pulled out a small bottle he'd obtained during one of his last forays into town before the Wave Rider's departure.

Pulling the dropper free from its rubber ring he carefully loaded it with fluid. Carefully measuring out three drops into the tumbler at his bedside the Rottweiler added a half glass of obstler to it and made short work of his drink. Laying down, the Dog let out a deep breath, waiting for the medicine to take effect. His body had been damaged over the course of many years but his spirit remained strong; the right drug would help chase away any prevalent pains and help him find the rest he knew he'd need in the coming weeks. It also had the benefit of quieting the nagging thoughts in his head and, when the sounds finally ceased he was able to sleep.