A Tall Ship Tale #11: Yours, Mine and Hours

By that punster Paul De Anguera.

Spindrift creamed from the bow; wind sang through the rigging. His Majesty’s Ship Legume was crossing the Black Sea on a starboard tack. Several sailors were lowering buckets from the bow to get cream for breakfast. Emma the Transylvanian had climbed into the rigging to join in the singing. Owen Anatu, the Boatswain, found the First Mate working grumpily at the star board. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s so windy that my stuff keeps blowing away,” he grumbled, snatching at a paper headed over the side.

“Just a minute,” Owen said. He pulled the star board tack out and pinned down the papers with it. One of them was a chart. “What’s our next stop?” he asked.

“One of the southern ports. The Captain can’t decide between Constantinople and Istanbul. Take a look at this watch bill.”

Owen shook his head. “For that amount you could have bought a new one instead. Is that the roster you’re working on?”

“Yes,” the First Mate sighed. “Now that the Brotherhood has gone, we’re short of crew and I have to revise the work assignments. What we really need is a good, strong topman on the night watch.”

“What about Emma?” They watched her flitting catlike through the spars.

“Don’t you think she’d object to working at night?” the First Mate asked.

“No problem,” Owen assured him… “Any fangs take night work!”

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