C7 Chapter 1-7

Salt sweetened the air, floating atop the sultry air and filling Tristram’s nostrils. His shoulder-length braids swayed against the cool sea breeze as he stepped onto the weathered boards of the dock. His breath left his lips in a drawn out exhale as he admired the delicate features of the city. It was good to be on land.

“Sir, when will we be arriving in Damascus?” an older gentleman asked through labored breaths. He had launched himself over the ship’s plank and was bounding down the dock as quick as his stubby legs would let him.

“Return?” Tristram chuckled, continuing his waltz down the path. “We just pulled in! Relax, mate. It’s not often men of the sea get to sink their toes in soil. Get yourself a hearty meal. Find yourself a nice lady friend. And you mate…” Tristram trailed off as he glanced his anxious companion over. He was a mess of a man: his silken clothes half buttoned and crooked; his usual waxed hair, matted and in knots; even his complexion was marred with a green tinge of uneasiness. “You could use some comfort in the arms of a gal.”

“But sir…”

“Or a not so nice one,” Tristram laughed, slapping the gentleman across the back. “Whatever fits your fancy, mate. A few coin could get you any gal you desired in these parts. And we both know you have some coin to your pocket.”

“But sir!” the gentleman exploded, shaking off the notion and pulling Tristram to turn and face him. “I don’t think you understand the urgency of the situation. We must get to Damascus as soon as possible.”

“Aye,” Tristram nodded. “And I told you I would get you there. But first we unload. We refill our supplies. And my men rest their feet on land. It has been a long voyage. I will not deny them their right to a night of rest. It would be in your best interest if you didn’t either.” The captain turned, stepping off the deck and onto the sandy dunes of the beach. His lungs breathing in a deep breath of the stale sea air. He exhaled slowly, admiring the bustling city before him. “Land ho, friend. Land ho.”