Where had that brat gone?
The curse on his lips, he swept his gaze across the deck—from bow to stern—but failed to find his target.
Oliver instinctively thought he would find that figure by the rail or the mooring posts, until his gaze inadvertently left the deck and turned toward the boundless waves.
Gray-white swells churned, leaving no trace behind.
In seas like these, there was little difference between a large ship and a small dinghy, let alone a person.
The ocean had passed judgment on the wrongful act in the captain's stead. No appeal allowed.
The current shoved the hull along as it lurched through its final turn, settling parallel to the direction of the strangely advancing waves. A fresh crest struck the stern, part of its force traveling up the transom before being forced apart, like fascia sliced open by a blunt knife.
The white line broke behind the stern. Foam roiled and stretched into two symmetrical arcs, rushing past along the port and starboard sides before gradually closing again beyond the ship, leaving behind fleeting whirlpools.
The deck dropped with it. The sideways violence temporarily subsided, replaced by a fore-and-aft heaving.
Down, up, then down again—a heavy rhythm like breathing. It was still difficult to keep one's footing, but at least they had escaped the fate of capsizing.
The cracking overhead rose to one final shriek before cutting off abruptly. The sail could no longer withstand the wind's pull and tore free completely.
One ripped-off corner hung from the yardarm with its ropes, while the main body had fully furled.
That was a good thing. Like a lizard shedding its tail, the price was steep, but it had broken free of the wind's interference. The sideways rocking eased further, and the mast was spared damage as well.