Chapter 1022: Under The Service Rail

Six fish were lifting a mast beneath Ty’s feet. Their exposed ribs held the net open, and the water rose in folds between them while Ruvet sang. Through those moving folds, Ty could see the mother’s empty pool against the harbor wall. Her yellow floats had made six places for the fish to come home.

The cradle had left the ramp behind. Ty’s boots pointed toward what had been his ceiling, and the mill workers looked sideways from here, bent over their hauling bar. He kept his left shoulder against its binding and pressed his right palm flat on the seat. The mast turned below him. Ruvet lowered his note, drawing the fish against the current until the flooded platform shifted clear of the cabin’s service ledge.

An older rigger leaned through the window with a rope loop. The young man beside her pointed at the wreck line wrapped around the mast, then at the skiff waiting by the wall. The mother’s launch would have its line back if they could reach it. Ty moved the borrowed rope onto his lap and watched for the young man to lower his hook.

The young rigger caught the wreck line with his hook, but a scrap of launch sail held it under an iron bolt. When the mast turned, its line drew the sail toward the cradle’s guide rope. The rigger pointed at the bolt while Ruvet kept singing. Ty held the loose end of his borrowed rope clear of the guide rings.

Ruvet leaned past him with the longer hook. Near its tip, a sheathed knife tangled in the wreck line swung against the platform. Ty passed his rope under its shaft and let enough out for the hook to reach beneath the scrap of sail.

The bell struck. Ty felt the sound come up through the cradle before he heard it. Two fish slipped from their loops; the other four swung beneath the mast. Ruvet’s note broke into a cough, and the sail tightened against the guide rope. Their cradle tipped toward the water.

Ty’s harness caught his waist. His left shoulder stayed against its binding, but his skull knocked the rail. Ruvet held the hook across both seats to keep them from sliding against one another. Blood ran from his mouth onto its shaft. The older rigger had a loop ready at the window; she threw it short and hauled it back before it caught the mast.

"Burn the sail where it’s caught on that bolt," Ruvet managed. "Keep the heat away from our guide rope."

Ty steadied his right wrist against the rail. The hanging sail was clear of the water, its lower corner dry enough to flutter. He brought black flame to that corner, near the bolt rather than the rope. The cloth curled. He drew the flame back as the burning edge reached the tarred seam.

The seam broke. Ruvet’s hook went upward with the released sail, pulling his arm toward the mast. Ty caught the shaft in the borrowed rope and paid it through his remaining fingers, keeping the jerk off the sailor’s wrist. Heat from the tarred edge scorched the rope where it crossed the shaft. Ty let that part go clear of his hand while Ruvet released the hook and found his note again. The young rigger caught the shaft with his bucket hook and dragged it onto the ledge.

The four net fish pulled along the platform’s side. Their wake opened a strip of water above the trapped sail. The young rigger caught the wreck line on his second reach and brought its loop onto the service ledge. A knife knocked against the hull. Ty untied the yellow float from the cradle rail and held it out. The rigger tied it to the recovered line, leaving the knife where it was, then lowered both by a cord from the waiting skiff.

The skiff took the line toward the yellow floats. Someone on the wall raised both hands for it. Ty watched until the knife was lifted over the skiff’s side, still in its sheath. He had helped bring back something that a mother could hold, and dreaded seeing her hold it.

Ruvet stopped singing once the mast lay clear of the approach. Of the four fish still in the net, two had lost their loops by then; the remaining pair turned toward the skiff’s smaller net. The sailor sat with his head between his knees until the mill workers began winding again. His next swallow brought more blood onto his sleeve.

Ruvet told Ty, "You’ve got their launch line back. Let them follow it. Dorel’s waiting for the water you brought."

The woman caught the approaching cradle’s front corner with her loop. Ruvet rose stiffly, put the recovered hook from the window crew into a staple, and fastened his harness to the service rail before opening the cradle fastening.

Ruvet’s boots went onto a ledge above Ty’s head; then his coat dropped toward it, and he stood with his head pointing back at the mill ramp. Ty kept his harness fastened while his own feet found that ledge. His spine wanted to stay with the cradle. He waited, feeling his bound shoulder shift, until the water lay beyond his toes instead of above his skull. Ruvet held a hand near his right elbow, but Ty was able to stand without taking it.

The woman had a purple bruise beneath one eye. Her fingers paused at the burned rope resting on Ty’s seat. He put it aside before lifting the water skin against his ribs.

"He’s alive under that beam. Give him the cup before you ask him to move."

Ty handed the sling through the opening. The young crewman took it to Dorel and held the cup to his mouth. The keeper’s trouser leg was split from knee to ankle. Strips of wood supported his shin, padded with pieces of the older rigger’s sleeve. Ty looked from the splint to the narrow window.

Ty crouched beside the sill. "Can we bring him through on his back without bending that leg?"

She answered, "His splint won’t clear the lip. The wide door is past the keeper box. That’s where we send him."

Her gaze moved to the saw under the cradle’s seat strap. She pointed Ruvet toward a bent iron frame beyond Dorel’s shoulder.

"That frame has the bow chain against it. You saw through the door and the chain takes the floor out from under us."

Ruvet left the saw where it lay and crawled into the opening. Ty followed only far enough to put his right hand against the inner sill. A row of buckets was wedged behind the timber. Water was coming through a cracked seam, and the young man had been passing the buckets to the woman one at a time. Near his feet a folded coat kept the water away from the injured man’s splint.

The young man put the cup in Dorel’s hand. "Hold him while I shift his coat. He hates asking twice."

"I’ve got it. Tell me if that seam opens farther."

The young man tucked the coat higher beneath Dorel’s hip. Dorel tried to help and spilled water down his chin; the rigger gave him a corner of the coat to wipe it off. Ty braced Dorel’s good knee instead of asking again about the window.

Through a hole beside the frame, Ty saw the bell. Its bronze rim lay inside a sliding carriage, half covered by water. A wooden stop had split beneath one wheel. When the boat’s bow dipped, the carriage rolled until the clapper struck, then came back against the wrecked stop. A chain from the bow passed over the frame that had been driven across the wide door.

The young rigger said, "I heard a strike out by the launches before ours started rolling. Dorel was still at his breakfast."

Dorel lowered his cup. "You heard our bow chain hit the mast. I was at the bell when we turned."

The young man said, "You came back for your bowl. Our other rigger went down to lash the carriage. I handed him the cord myself."

The older woman took the cup from Dorel before he could spill it again. "We heard him knock from beyond the lower door. That was before the mast shifted. Don’t make me carry you out while you pretend he stayed in here."

Dorel looked past her to the flooded end of the cabin. Ty followed his look. A closed door lay beyond the beam, with water reaching its upper hinges. There was no hand at its edge, and no voice came through it.

Through the hole, the clapper moved with the carriage and gave another strike. The young rigger glanced toward Dorel’s bowl but said nothing. Ty watched the wheel return to the wrecked stop. That was a sound he could show Sivra. He had no evidence to bring her about the note that had followed Tavra.

The older woman handed Ty the cup. He laid it against the bucket handle and followed the iron with his fingers. The door’s hinge was bent. A latch bar still held on the far side, beyond the gap he could reach with his whole hand. He could feed a sound unmarked link through it, leaving the flattened section secured at his chest. Whether the door would move after that depended on the frame he could not yet see.

"I can catch that latch from this side," he told Ruvet. "Can she watch the frame while I test it?"

The sailor took his hook from the rail staple and drew it back through the opening. The woman stopped with a full bucket in her arms.

"Show me the link before you pull anything," she said. "I’ve been listening to that hinge since breakfast."

Ty fed only the sound unmarked length past the collar and ring at his chest. The damaged section stayed tied there as the woman laid the loose end through the gap. The young crewman drew Dorel’s boot away from the door. Ty caught the bar with a link and closed his remaining fingers on the chain.

He pulled. The bar moved, but the door stayed against its frame. A crack opened in the plank beneath Ruvet’s knee. Water pushed through it into the buckets. Ty eased his hand back, and the crack narrowed. The bar fell into place with a scrape that ran through the deck to his feet.

Ruvet moved his knee away. "Leave it there. We’re loading the beam every time we touch that bar."

The older woman put down her bucket and took the hook from him. She brought its iron tip through the cracked floor, lifted gently, and watched the bow chain rise against the keeper frame. The frame had folded under the chain, wedging the door shut from both sides. Pulling the latch had begun to drag the damaged floor after it.

"We get the carriage held away from this frame first," she said. "Then we can lift the chain off and open the door."

Ty looked from the bell to the service window. The narrow opening remained usable for two people who could crawl. The injured man lay between them, watching the door with his good foot braced against the beam. He saw Ty looking.

"Send him through the window to reach the lower door," Dorel said. "I’m not leaving another man below my bell."

The young rigger began unfastening his waist tether. The older woman caught the loose strap. Beyond him, water lifted against the lower door as the bow moved.

"You get that splint through the wide door first," she told Dorel. "Then we hold the carriage while he looks below. He isn’t going under that beam with you still pinned beside it."

"I’m not pinned. Give me something and I’ll crawl."

He pulled against the beam. The splinted shin struck the plank, and his hand closed on Ty’s wrist. Ty let him keep it until he could speak. The young rigger fastened his tether again and reached behind the splint for the cloth sling.

"I can put you in this and still look for him," he said. "You don’t get to stay as an excuse for leaving him."

Dorel asked Ty to hold his good knee while they spread the sling. Ty had wanted to tell him it was time to leave; instead he waited for the keeper to choose where the cloth went. The older rigger stayed between the young man and the lower door. She would need him here when they tried to lift Dorel.

Ruvet gave the young man his harness tether and had him pass it around the beam. Ty slid the cloth sling beneath the injured man’s shoulders with the woman’s help. The man swore when his hip rolled; Ty stopped until he chose where to put his good foot. They got him a little farther from the cracked plank, with his back against the beam rather than under it.

Ty looked at the bent hinge and put his chain away from it. Burning it loose would release the weight above Dorel. The keeper caught him looking and drew his good foot closer beneath himself.

"You burned that launch cloth quick enough. Is the door worse?" Dorel asked.

"The door’s holding your bell up. I’d rather not put it in your lap."

Dorel slid his bowl out of the way anyway. Ty took it and set it beside the empty water skin.

Ruvet crawled back onto the service rail and tried to call to Sivra, but his voice failed before it reached the wall. The older rigger took the funnel. When she asked for a lifting tackle, the mill workers brought a block toward the guide line. She stopped them with her arm across the cradle’s corner. The mast they would have hung it from was the wreck Ruvet’s fish had drawn away.

"That eye carries the cradle. Don’t let them hang our bell on it," she told Ty. "We’ll need a separate line back to the mill."

She tore a corner from a cabin chart and drew the carriage eye and a separate line back to shore. Ty held the paper steady on the sill while she marked it. His wrist ached from holding Dorel clear of the wet plank; he rested it only until the paper went down by the skiff’s cord. Sivra read it and sent a worker toward Tavra. Behind Ty, Dorel watched the lower door while the younger rigger kept a palm against the splint.

The older rigger asked Ty to stay with Dorel while she found a way to hold the carriage. Ty passed Dorel the cup from beside the bucket, then put his right hand beneath the keeper’s good knee. Outside, Ruvet spat blood over the ledge and watched the skiff search along the recovered launch line. The young man sat facing the lower door with his knees drawn clear of Dorel’s splint, waiting until he could go there without taking the splint and its owner with him.