Chapter Six: Salt Tears and Sea Legs
The Atlantic Ocean
The days passed slowly as they made their way along what would, in another universe, have one day become a clipper ship route. Pam had studied everything she could find regarding her intended voyage before she had left Grantville, and found the age of the great clippers fascinating. Alas, the heyday of the tall ship won't happen here, Pam mused in her cabin. Those magnificent constructs of rope, sail, and wood were destined to be passed by all together in favor of bluntly effective engine power, an almost naturally evolved technological butterfly crushed by the gritty steel, and growling motors from the future.
Sometimes, the Redbird came in close to the other vessels in their small fleet, and they were able to wave and shout brief conversations to each other. Pam's Swedish was still clumsy, but the cheerfully stoic Swedes on the Annalise, Ide and ever-watchful Muskijl all congratulated her on her growing fluency, which pleased her greatly. She found that, by God, she liked these civilized scions of the Vikings. There was something about them that attracted her. Sometimes she would watch the captain going about his duties, and would find herself blushing. There was definitely something about him that attracted her, but she pushed such thoughts aside sharply. No time for that, idiot! Get back to work!
One afternoon, she and Gerbald walked the deck for some exercise, the stiff breezes of the Atlantic a refreshing respite from the confines of their cabins. There was something moving in the water about ten yards off the prow, so they paused to see what it was. Two large seabirds swam along the waves, chasing fish, and occasionally calling to each other. Pam was pretty sure they were flightless, their sleek wings looked thoroughly adapted to swimming.
"Are those penguins?" Gerbald asked, having seen them in the movies and taped TV shows he enjoyed so much.
"No . . . not penguins. They only live in the southern hemisphere, and we haven't passed the equator yet." Pam looked closer at the pair of large, swimming birds. They certainly looked like a penguin, about thirty-three inches long, their markings black-and-white, with a prominent white spot on the top of their heads. Still, their beaks seemed rather big for a penguin . . . Suddenly she remembered, another page in the sad little chapter in the back of Birds of the World shared by the dodo.
"Oh, my. I know what they are. They're great auks. They were extinct up-time, just like the dodo was," Pam told him in a very small voice, her eyes staring at the sight of the unique creatures, a classic case of convergent evolution, and yet another species destined for extinction.
One of the sailors, paused from his work to join them in watching the great auks.
"I haven't seen those things for a long time, not so many as there once were. I hear they make good eating!"
Pam just blinked at him, feeling her face grow hot, and her eyes fill with moisture. Suddenly, it was all much too big for a bird-loving former housewife stuck in the wrong century, and she couldn't stop the hot tears from coming, blurring the sight of birds that were surely doomed, wondering if she could somehow save them as well as the dodo, or if it weren't too late already. She mumbled an apology, and fled back to her cabin, burying herself under her blankets for a long cry.
On the deck, the sailor, a pleasant enough fellow called Helge, turned to Gerbald, his face filled with worry. "Herr Gerbald, I did not mean to offend the lady!"
"It's all right, friend. It wasn't you. It seems the world grows narrower and crueler with each passing year, and Pam's heart is so big she feels the pain more keenly than most."
Gerbald started to go, then paused, a slight smile on his face. He spoke then, in low, confidential tones. "Perhaps you haven't heard! I must warn you, it is very bad fortune to kill the great auks! I saw one fellow who ate one die terribly, as if he had ingested poison! It was awful! His face turned green, and he coughed blood." He paused for dramatic effect, then leaned in closer. "But here's the worst thing: The same thing happened to that fellow's mates, and they hadn't even taken a bite yet! Very bad juju."
The sailor's face was very pale as Gerbald nodded his head knowingly
"If I were you, I would take those birds permanently off the menu. That is, if you want to live! Better spread the word."
Gerbald smirked to himself as he walked back to his cabin, not realizing that he, himself, had just taken a major step toward preventing the future extinction of the great auk.
****
The long days at sea rolled on. And on.
"Does that hat of yours ever come off?" young Pers asked Gerbald as they stood watching the increasingly sunny skies of their southerly course. He spoke in Swedish; Gerbald and Dore had soon joined Pam in the effort to learn that musical tongue of the far north, and they were all picking it up fast, especially since there was not much else to do. Pam chimed in, also in Svenske, the words now coming swift and sure.
"Ha! He'd feel naked without it! I would have sworn that it's sewn to his head if I hadn't seen him take it off for dinner." Pam laughed. Along with his sage-green, many-pocketed wool longcoat, the ridiculous-looking, mustard-colored hat made up Gerbald's signature look, no matter how much they teased him about it.
"I insist on that much. He used to take it off in church as well, but his shadow never crosses that doorstep anymore," Dore added, with an admonishing look at her confirmed black sheep husband.
"But what about the wind? Herr Gerbald, do you not worry that the sea breeze will take it?" Pers asked him in a concerned tone. "I've lost my hats so many times I no longer bother to wear one."
"No, my friend, it troubles me not. If nature should take it from me, it only means that it is time for a new one," Gerbald reassured him in his usual, quietly self-confident tones.
Pam and Dore both looked at each other with wide eyes, which then narrowed into the slits of hunting cats.
"Nature nothing! Get it, Dore!" and with that, both women lunged at Gerbald in a bid to tip his ridiculous hat off into the wind. He dodged them both easily of course, reflexes honed to avoid the jabs of deadly pike and sword being no match for such innocent sport as this. Laughing, he gently kept his assailants at arm's length until they gave up, the offending headgear still safely in place.
"Oh well, it was a good try," Dore grumbled, flushed and slightly out of breath. "I have thought to burn it while he sleeps many times, but oh the fuss he would make, I would never hear the end of it! Men are such children about their precious things."
Pam shook her head in resignation. "Well, I guess he wouldn't be Gerbald without that stupid hat. It's like his trademark or something."
"There are still a few men in the Germanies who fear the sight of this hat, you know," Gerbald remarked matter-of-factly, adjusting the floppy mustard brim to no visible effect; the felt remained warped and ragged.
"A few men?" Pers asked, still in awe of the ex-soldier but curious.
"Yes, it is so. I had some notoriety on the battlefield, long ago," he said, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his trusty shortsword, pulling it partially out of its scabbard to proudly show it off to Pers. "This katzbalger is feared by more than just cats!"
"Please excuse my forwardness, but with prowess such as yours, why only a few?" The cheerful young fellow's question held just a note of teasing, trusting in the good nature of his new friend.
"Because most who have met this sword are dead, young fellow! Some survived, but only a few." Allowing himself one of his very rare, proud-as-a-lion-and-twice-as-dangerous-smiles, Gerbald sauntered away, every inch the great warrior, leather boots to ridiculous hat. Pers grinned after him, in full blown hero worship.
Pam and Dore looked at each other with eyebrows raised. Gerbald seldom spoke of his soldiering past, much less bragged about it.
"All hail the conquering hero! Must be the sea air?" Pam asked wonderingly.
"He rarely speaks such words!" Dore answered in a surprised tone. "Perhaps it is the close company of other fighting men." She nodded toward the Swedish marines drilling further down the deck rail. "He is still very proud of those days, you know."
"I'm just glad he's on our side," Pam said, and meant it. Meanwhile, Gerbald had sauntered over to the marines. After a brief, and smiling discussion with the löjtnant, they watched him join in their drills, stepping and swinging the deadly katzbalger right along with the rest. Not long after that, they saw that Gerbald, an experienced combat veteran, was giving the younger men some pointers.
"Oh, here we go now." Dore switched back to German, frowning deeply as she pointed at her husband with her chin. "The great soldier will teach these Swedish boys how it's done. He will be full of himself tonight." With a long-suffering roll of her eyes, she headed back to her galley.
Pers had been standing with them quietly watching the drills until the ever-surly first mate walked by, and cuffed him lightly on the head, causing the lad to bend himself back to the nearest task at hand in embarrassed haste. Pam turned back to the view over the rail with a smile, and watched the gulls swoop and cry alongside the ship, her heart filled with a sudden, and surprising contentment with life at sea.