Chapter 5

The mood in the narrow mess hall was subdued, the crew speaking in low voices as they ate roasted salt beef with pickled cabbage and carrots. They each had a tankard of small beer with their meal which helped calm nerves after a fraught few days but was not enough to get them drunk or rile them up.

Erin waited in line for her meal, tin plate and mug in hand, feeling small and uncomfortable in the too warm room filled with a mix of aromas pleasant and otherwise, while standing between two burly sailors, each head and shoulders taller than she. The men in line talked little, each of them waiting impatiently for their turn to be served.

The cook, a man far too fat for comfort, served the thick slices of meat, while his assistant, a young boy barely thirteen, ladled the vegetables onto plates. There was a keg on a stand beside the counter, with the small beer that each crewman would fill their tankards from.

When it was her turn, Erin handed over her plate and while the food was ladled onto it, she filled her tankard. Then, plate and tankard in hand, she scoured the dimly lit room for a place to sit and eat.

Normally she would have eaten on deck, but a change in the weather had put an end to that, the sound of the rain audible even below decks. She spied a space near the door, and she headed to it, weaving through the crowded tables to reach it.

A hand grabbed her arm as she passed and she jerked back, stomach twisted into knots at the sudden stab of fear. She turned to the bearded sailor with stained teeth and foul breath who had grabbed at her, as he lifted his leg over the bench so that he straddled it and patted his knee.

"Sit her, darlin. Keep a man company."

"N-no, I-"

"C'mon now! No need to be rude. We've lost mates, we have. Sit and raise a tankard to them that was lost."

"Aye," another sailor said, lifting his tankard. "To the lost."

"Sorry, I need-"

The sailor shook his head, face darkening. "Now didn't I tell you not to be rude."

"Leave her be," Old Man Uric said coming up behind her. He pushed between Erin and the sailor. "Else you'll face the lash."

That was almost enough to quieten the sailor, but it was the hard look Old Man Uric gave him that settled the matter. The sailor ducked his head, muttering, but he turned back to his meal. Old Man Uric gestured with a jerk of his head for Erin to go ahead of him and the two of the walked to the table near the door.

Erin took her seat and with a gesture, Old Man Uric had another sailor shifting along the bench to allow him space to slide onto the bench beside her. She shifted in her seat and the old crewman noticed and chuckled.

"Worry not, lass. I'm just looking for brighter conversation than this dour lot of sorry souls can give."

Easy for him to say, Erin thought. To her knowledge there was just three women aboard the ship; one of those was an officer, and the other the quartermaster's daughter, and assistant. Since the quartermaster was also the paymaster, with a barrel chest and biceps the size of most men's thighs, few dared talk or bother either.

Which left Erin.

She had avoided the worst of it by staying close to Geoffrey or Brightcrest, but with Geoffrey angered, she was barred from Brightcrest's quarters while her master busied himself with tending the gryphon.

That left her entirely alone, and feeling incredibly vulnerable and more than a little lonely. As poor company as Geoffrey was, he could often be urged to talk about gryphons and their care, and he had many funny tales of his years in the guild.

She sniffed and poked at her food with the two-tined fork, moving around the plate rather than eating it.

"You gonna eat the beef?" Old Man Uric asked, nudging her with his elbow to get her attention.

Erin shook her head and pushed the plate closer to him. He stabbed his fork into the slices of beef, lifting all three onto his plate in one motion. He picked a slice up with his bare fingers, folding it before stuffing it into his mouth and chewing.

"You're as dour as this lot." The old sailor waved a hand at the men sitting at the table. They all exchanged looks and small smiles, knowing the older man was building up to something good. "Tell me what ails you, lass."

Erin looked around the table and felt that familiar pang of fear. She was all too aware of how much smaller she was than any of the sailors, and how much stronger they were. If they decided to close the mess hall doors and stop her leaving, there would be little she could do about it.

She glanced at the knife on her belt. It wasn't much but it had hurt the Shrike.

Noticing the look, Old Man Uric leaned in, his voice quiet, the whispered words for her ears alone. "Fear not, lass. None shall harm you here, you have my word on that."

His words were almost convincing and when she looked into his deep, brown eyes, she saw nothing but honest truth there. Her shoulders relaxed, the tension leaving them and he flashed her a grin as she picked up her fork.

"Bet you'd rather not have given your meat away now, heh?"

His laughter was infectious, and he turned his attention to the sailors around him. "Come now, lads. We've had a rough time of it, but we all know the score."

Old Man Uric stood, looking around. He banged his fist on the table until silence fell, and all men looked his way, even the cook and his assistant. Erin shrank back, feeling entirely too visible, but quickly realising they weren't looking at her for once.

The mess hall flickered with the warm glow of lanterns, the air thick with the scent of roasted beef, and too many men pressed together in close quarters. Many of those men slumped at their tables, their bodies weary and their hearts still pounding with the memory of the battle and the losses they'd felt.

When he was sure that all men's eyes were upon him, Old Man Uric raised his tankard high and began to sing, his voice deep and filling the mess hall, reaching every man's ears.

"They came on swift with claws and spite,

We met 'em bold, we met 'em right!

Steel flashed bright and spells did burn,

They screamed and fled, they'll not return!"

He laughed at the last and a few men chuckled, the sound rumbling from somewhere in the hall. Then, as the old sailor stomped his boot to set the beat, another voice joined him, then another, until the room swelled with the song.

"Their wings beat fast, their fangs shone white,

They sought to feast, they sought to bite!

But steel was quick, and spells burned true,

Now shattered bone were all they knew!"

Tankards thudded against the tables in time with the chorus, a heavy rhythm that shook the floor. Someone clapped a hand against the wall pipes, adding a sharp ringing beat, while another banged a spoon against a plate in time with the song.

The mess filled with laughter and roars, the battle-worn sailors pushing back their exhaustion with ale and pride.

A younger deckhand, his face still smudged with soot and his arm bandaged tight, leapt onto a bench, shaking his fist in time with the verse. Another clapped him on the back, and soon men were swaying, arms thrown around shoulders, boots stamping as the final chorus rang out.

"So drink, me boys, and raise a cheer,

We stand, we fight, we've naught to fear!

With blood and fire, with steel and spell,

We send 'em screaming back to hell!"

The last word hit like a hammer against iron, the room breaking into wild laughter and cheers. Tankards were lifted, backs were slapped, and for the first time since the battle, the weight on their shoulders felt a little lighter.

Old Man Uric smirked, tipping his mug towards the room. "That's better," he said, before throwing back the last of his ale.

He dropped back into his seat and belched, bringing more laughter from the men around him. Erin stared at him, wide-eyed and he grinned, showing crooked teeth. He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"They needed that," he said. "To remember they lived, they won!"

Behind her, another man began to sing, a bawdy tune that she listened to for a minute before her eyes went even wider, and her cheeks began to burn. Old Man Uric laughed and slapped her back, surprisingly gently.

"Drink, lass," he urged. "We saw you fly, and fight! You earned your beer and your seat at this table."

A chorus of 'Aye's' sounded from the seated men, those not singing along with the song anyway, and more than one tankard was raised in her direction, much to her surprise. It was overwhelming to her, yet she felt acceptance from those men, and for the first time, she felt safe.

She gripped her tankard, wrapping both hands around it and lifting it towards each of those men in turn, and then finally, to Old Man Uric. He smiled warmly as she took a deep swallow of the foamy beer, and he laughed again as she smacked her lips.

"Aye, lass. Drink deep and drink well, for tomorrow begins anew and today…" He upended his tankard above his open mouth, letting the dregs fall before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and letting out a loud belch. "Today we are alive!"

Yes! Erin thought, she was alive and had survived the Shrike. A tale she would be able to tell again and again when she returned home. Her family would be amazed, and worried for her, but proud too, she was sure.

But she would still be a gryphon handler, and perhaps not even that once word came that she had bonded with Brightcrest, and the guild responded.

Her smile faltered, for just a moment, before she forced it back. Sipping once more from the tankard of beer.

That was a problem for tomorrow, she reasoned. Today, was the time to enjoy life and surviving an attack that had left others dead, their bodies wrapped in canvas and cast over the side with little ceremony.

There was no time for such things. That would come later when they made landfall and were safe from the dangers of the void.

When they stepped onto a new island. When they handed over Brightcrest while she was kept aboard ship, distanced from the gryphon in the hopes he wouldn't kick up a fuss.

When she was alone, once more.

She finished her beer and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Her head spun, even the weak small beer, more than she was used to. Old Man Uric noticed and reached for her shoulder, placing a large hand there and steadying her.

"Time for sleep, lass," he said, standing. "Come on now."

"I'm fine," she insisted, though when she stood the room swayed, and she had to plant her hands on the tables edge to keep from falling. "Maybe not."

Laughter from the table, good natured in tone. Each and every man there remembered their own experiences of drinking when they were young and the effect it had on them. They knew what came next.

Gentle hands guided her away from the table and towards the door. She clung on to the arm of Old Man Uric, barely listening to his chatter.

Through the cramped corridors of the crew deck, and back to the small cabin she shared with Geoffrey, though they alternated. Each of them taking it in turns to use the cabin or sleep in the gryphon's quarters, though she had been denied that since she had flown.

"Not fair," she muttered and Old Man Uric bent down to better hear.

"What's that, lass? What's not fair?"

"I didn't mean to do it," she said, looking up at him. "You know that?"

"Aye, lass. I do," said the confused sailor. He pushed open the door to her cabin and guided her in. "Sleep, lass. He pulled the key from the lock and waited till she sat on the cot before he closed the door and locked it behind him.

With a chuckle and knowing the sore head she would have when she awoke, he slid the key beneath the door for to find in the morning and headed back to the mess hall. He whistled as he walked, knowing well that Cook's generosity grew with each empty tankard.

The night was young, after all.