Ficlet: Cormorant
A friend asked me to write a drabble to persuade her to go see Master & Commander. It ended up a little too long to be a true drabble, but here it is anyway...
Cormorant
Stephen turned the pages of his book and sighed. It was always thus: the moment he took to his hammock and turned in for the night, behind the bulkhead the sailors would carouse drunkenly. It would not be so aggravating had it not been for Jack’s insistence at removing the Surprise from the waters of the Galapagos in favour of chasing the Acheron hither and thither across the Great Southern Ocean. A bad business to start with, it was; to pursue the Frenchie around Cape Horn was hubris enough, but to risk the old ship against the privateer had, in Stephen’s opinion, gone far past bravado and now reeked of shallow desperation.
The door to his cabin creaked. Stephen applied himself to his book, examining the minute lines of the engraving upon the page. The bird described therein was almost exactly the image of the creature he had seen earlier that day: upright bearing, a long, slightly hooked bill, an erect head-crest and those curved, clutching feet.
The lamp flickered. Jack ducked beneath it and stood leaning against the partition-wall, his eyes hooded and the scent of madeira rank about him. “We can barely see their stern-lights. We put them to flight, well enough!”
Stephen found that he could not return Jack’s cheer. Instead he gave him a quick smile and returned to his book, deliberately running a finger along the lines as if he were following the text.
Jack grumbled and swayed forwards with the heave of the ship, coming to rest with his arms positioned in the hammock atop Stephen’s thighs. He snatched the book and stared hard at the open pages.
“This is your damned bird. A cormorant.” He held up the book to a better angle and squinted hopefully. “What’s so special about the one you saw today?”
Stephen cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of Jack’s weight on his body. “It’s flightless.”
“Flightless, eh?” Jack seemed to recover his wits and realise where he was, and with whom. His lips slid into a lascivious smile. “Flightless. I like the sound of that…”
Cormorant
Stephen turned the pages of his book and sighed. It was always thus: the moment he took to his hammock and turned in for the night, behind the bulkhead the sailors would carouse drunkenly. It would not be so aggravating had it not been for Jack’s insistence at removing the Surprise from the waters of the Galapagos in favour of chasing the Acheron hither and thither across the Great Southern Ocean. A bad business to start with, it was; to pursue the Frenchie around Cape Horn was hubris enough, but to risk the old ship against the privateer had, in Stephen’s opinion, gone far past bravado and now reeked of shallow desperation.
The door to his cabin creaked. Stephen applied himself to his book, examining the minute lines of the engraving upon the page. The bird described therein was almost exactly the image of the creature he had seen earlier that day: upright bearing, a long, slightly hooked bill, an erect head-crest and those curved, clutching feet.
The lamp flickered. Jack ducked beneath it and stood leaning against the partition-wall, his eyes hooded and the scent of madeira rank about him. “We can barely see their stern-lights. We put them to flight, well enough!”
Stephen found that he could not return Jack’s cheer. Instead he gave him a quick smile and returned to his book, deliberately running a finger along the lines as if he were following the text.
Jack grumbled and swayed forwards with the heave of the ship, coming to rest with his arms positioned in the hammock atop Stephen’s thighs. He snatched the book and stared hard at the open pages.
“This is your damned bird. A cormorant.” He held up the book to a better angle and squinted hopefully. “What’s so special about the one you saw today?”
Stephen cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of Jack’s weight on his body. “It’s flightless.”
“Flightless, eh?” Jack seemed to recover his wits and realise where he was, and with whom. His lips slid into a lascivious smile. “Flightless. I like the sound of that…”