Ok here's Chapter Two

Chapter Two

There was already a crowd around the rostrum when Lochlann arrived. Without hesistation and with the calmest voice he could muster he stepped onto the natural pedestal and began his motion.

"I Lochlann West, am departing Havant for the Eastern Ocean. I am seeking crew for The Western Dream. She is surest boat on the western seaboard," Lochlann said. "You all know that's true."

The crowd had already begun to disperse immediately after Lochlann's first boast, but one greybeard continued to eye the young man who had just spoken.

"Four this year so far," Old Getty murmured to one of his fossilised cronies. "Madness is certainly in fashion this season."

There had already been three attempts to depart Havant by the time Lochlann took to the rostrum. The small crowd had thinned to hecklers, gossips and a handful of young peacocks all desperate for something to take the boredom out of the dreary early spring days.

"Insane! You're a mentalist Lochlann," Jasper retorted, drawing a few laughs from the assorted peacocks. "You couldn't sail that boat of yours through the school pond." yelled another. More retorts followed they were openly mocking him now but despite their rebuffs Lochlann suspected that they secretly all wanted him to try.

Kaleb had been gone a week and despite his renown as a sailor and the reputation of his fast schooner, his name was already in stencil on the side of the stone. Sarah Gray had gone the day before Yesterday. The sea had stayed serene and peaceful until the next morning when a legendary storm had sent half her sloop The Waymaker back in pieces. Her name was now complete and final, albeit below Kaleb's.

Kathy Dean was due to sail tomorrow, having spent a month readying her clockwork cog. She and her crew had cranked the motor to incredible lengths and the buoyant, fat little ship had won much approval amongst the islands inhabitants.

Lochlann's steamer, The Western Dream, was the unlikeliest of vessels to face the raging Eastern Ocean.
Lochlann had inherited the old girl from his uncle, whose love of adventure and lack of nerve had led him to a slow and bitter end at the bottom of a rum bottle.

Lochlann loved the ship almost as much as he had his uncle. She was a fine legacy but like the other steamers the isle still claimed. Her heydays were gone now. Costly on fuel and too slow to chase the valuble shoals that formed the majority of the island's economy the dwindling steamer's served mainly as restaurants, homes and even as the odd warehouse.

The Western Dream was among the largest on the island and, although his boast about her stability was justifiable, she drank almost as much as his uncle had and she moved more slowly than almost any other vessel on the rock. It seemed to Lochlann that only Old Getty's rust barge could claim to be less graceful in the water, and she at least had a purpose.

"Lad, I've no wish to see yer name on the lonely rock," Master Chambers said. "I know you've got a heart for the voyage but why not sail the old gal to Catsport in the west. She'll likely fetch a good price on the markets and you can begin your adventures there?" Chambers scratched his well shaven chin as he spoke but Lochlann refused to even acknowledge his question.

He had a point though. Lochlann knew his old steamer would be a highly fashionable commodity in the western imperial port. Where travellers from all over the Western continent fought to gain passage on all manner of ships, bustling round the kiosks and the steamer docks seeking escape to the west, the north and even to the sandy hills of Mshmeer and beyond. He could even carve himself a career as a captain.

But he had already dismissed the idea partially for the love of his uncle and the old mans dreams. But mostly because of his hatred for his father who had taken the easy route north and west with his sister ship and the families entire fortune. Truly though, Lochlann had decided on the journey East because he loathed Havant. He would happily sail to of the end of the world if he could escape it.

"You can have me rust run lad when I'm gone," Old Getty suggested. "Taking ma boat with me, you know. I'll no last forever." Lochlann doubted this. Old Getty had been old before he was born and he was sure the ancient sailor would linger longer than the island itself. It was a kind offer, and heartfelt. Lochlann sighed, he would rather join his uncle than take up the repetitive rust run towing out the old hulks to drown when they were no longer able to float unaided.
The trip to the Iron Isle where the old metal ships had all began and would eventually return was, Lochlann decided, possibly the the dullest voyage one was able to make on the Island. The thought of repeating the process day in and day out made him sicker than the thought of a month of highwater.

"I leave in a week," Lochlann declared. "I've space for crew. Divvies are all I can offer but the rewards are sure to be worth it." He straightened his back and tried to appear calm, although his heart was crumbling as the meagre crowd thinned even more.

He did have two others prepared to make the voyage with him: his oldest friend, Miranda a tall and fiery haired navigator with eyes as green as the sea itself. her natural beauty, so striking that lochlann found himself wondering if more than one of the assembled dandies may have been contemplating signing up just to be near her. Secretly he hoped not. Miranda and Lochlann's bond was so strong that she'd pretty much sail into hell with him. By her side as always was her brother Caspian.

Blind from birth Caspian, had grown up strong to hard labour and despite his affliction he was cheerful as always. He was a giant amongst the local population standing more towards seven feet than six. His wiry mop of auburn hair was dishevelled as usual but his sister had at least seen fit to keep it in the latest style. Between the three of them they could pretty much sail the ship, although they would have no time for rest and exhaustion would certainly take them before the first storm even set in.

"I'll sail with you, lad," Master Gray announced. He'd been studying the young sailor from the start and had moved to stand in front of the throng. "Your uncle was a friend a good one. With Sarah gone I've nought left here but sorrow." Master Grey was an imposing figure one of the most renowned sailors in the Isles. His beard was full but neat and he was dressed in the latest style of the gentry with a long woollen frock coat and cravatte. His hair was shorted than the Isles current style. Lochlann imagined his estranged father dressed in a similar fashion. He wondered if the two had ever sailed together, they were certainly of a similar age.

Master Grey was a fine catch for his crew. He crossed his fingers and held his breath while this news percolated through the suddenly noisy and slowly growing crowd. Gray's brave offer had put the others to shame.

In the end he had head nine, his original three, Master Grey, and five others. Two young peacocks, named Chance Illford and Stephens McKay, stocked full of bravado and a wish for glory. Albert Grim a rusty old sailor wired on rum and worm smoke. There was a feisty red haired girl with a cruel duelling scar and wicked curved cutlass. She addressed herself as Laila. She was a stranger from the west. She quite obviously had no love of the dreary island and no means to return. Finaly, a rare catch indeed, a shimerall. The amphibious creature resembled a young woman but with a greenish hue to her skin. A great dorsal fin began at her crown and ran to her buttocks. Her legs were long and also finned.

She seemed to appear from nowhere. Lochlann tried hard but failed to remember her in the crowd when he had made his declaration. Despite the rarity, Lochlann knew the shimerall took the least risk of them all in the voyage and would almost certainly survive whatever befell them.

The briefing would begin at dusk. Lochlann quickly and gratefully exchanged thanks and instructions with his newly assembled crew. Tradition dictated he relinquish his command should he accept a more experienced crew member into the fold. Master Grey was among the most experienced sailors in the entire community. As such Lochlann would now become the expedition's chairman.


The meeting began after sundown on the bridge of Lochlann's ship. Its great red hull was sparkling in the fading light as if she'd been launched the day before.

With little to do but worry and drink, his uncle had kept the steamer in impressive condition.

Lochlann had inherited the ship from his Uncle Samson. He remembered the day well, when he found out his uncles intent.
He had been just twelve years old when Samson had summoned him to the ship's state room. He'd been drunk as always. Lochlann could smell the stale scent of rum.

“This ship was given to me by my Mother.” Samson told his nephew. “I was so proud. I didn't care that it was smaller than Tony's boat, somehow she seemed nobler. I watched them build her too! I wasn't supposed to but I was young and you can't keep secrets this big on an island this small. When I was about your age they called me to the docks I had been loitering in the gardens by the church I seemed to recall. We were on some scheme of your father's. He was always a rogue that one. Anyway, they summoned me to the docks and I knew what it was for.”

Samson's eyes grew misty as he talked, it might have been the rum, his nephew considered. But as lochlann listened he could hear the joy in his uncles words.

The ship had been covered in bright yellow cloth like ribbons. She really looked something on that sunny day. Tony was with him. It wasn't often he'd freely choose to follow his wheezing little brother on any adventure but somehow he felt obliged. Today Samson was the leader of the escapade. He knew, as usual, it was jealousy that had prompted his big brother to tag along. He'd been too young to remember the launching of The Northern Star but there was no way Anthony could miss this.

Tony managed to stay in the back ground for once, as the speeches were made. He had even followed respectively behind his brother as the tours were conducted. This was Samson's day and not even Tony could ruin it.

It was early evening when the ceremonies finally concluded and Samson was ushered to the ships bow. He could feel the chill from the silver cup as the chalice was presented to him. He took it gracefully from his mother and bowed to the Monovernite Priest. He was terrified of spilling the wine as he inched his way to the edge of the deck. Too scared to hesistate, the young man litterally threw the goblet into the sea with neither grace nor style. His brother Anthony was actually the first to cheer.

“He never did much I asked but he couldn't miss the unveiling. He even tried to look happy for me for once but I could smell the envy, I always could. Even with the flagship of the fleet, faster bigger better he was still jealous of The Western Dream.” He looked back at Lochlann as he talked, pride evident in his eyes.

“Oh he made some quip about her colour and told me she'd been made cheap but I could tell he secretly he wanted her. I'm leaving her to you lad. You should have had The Northern Star truth be told but The Western Dream is a prouder ship. I'll be proud knowing whatever you do with her will be the right thing.” Before Lochlann could even respond Samson had fallen fast asleep, dreaming again of the day he'd hurled the silver cup.

Lochlann left him sleeping there pausing only for a second to touch the great silver wheel, imagining himself her captain. He stood there for a moment daydreaming about adventures on the high seas before heading off on his errands. No mention of their exchange was made afterwards but true to his word when Samson died a year later. He had left the boat to his nephew.