I wrote this for you
A week of steading sailing and progress
Hi friends. If you’re new here, this is The 200 Word Novel, where true to its name, I’ll be writing a novel roughly 200 words at a time. This week, Gruber and co get ambushed, and I barely dodge the siren’s call of “research”.
Week two, complete! I’m still here, you’re still here, and there’s another 1000ish words in the doc. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and this journey of a story now has 2000ish small steps in the right direction. Thanks for coming along on this road trip towards “a finished novel”.✨
You can find the start of this experiment here, and some thoughts and reflections on this week’s writing at the end of this post. Onto the story!
2.
The tang of copper filled the air as blood and viscera cascaded across the deck, the poor sailor’s head cracking open like an overripe mango as he hit the hardwood surface. Gruber barely caught sight of the crossbow bolt still protruding from the raven’s neck before the buzz of another zipped past his left earhole, embedding in the mast behind him with a dull thud. Gruber dove for the deck as two more bolts flew through where he had just stood, rolling to a crouch behind the starboard gunwale. In a blink, he reached a webbed hand back into his pouch, pulling a bone blowing horn to his lips.
A deep inhale. A loud, clarion note, ringing out above the spray of ocean waves. Gruber heard shouts and murmurs across the bow of the ship rise up, saw the light of a lantern or two flaring into view and supplementing the full moon’s light—even as the zip of more arrows punctuated the sound of his alarm. Some voices ended with surprised cries of pain as more steel points found their marks.
Gruber’s nose slits flared as he peered over the gunwale, bulging eyes scanning the horizon. He nearly missed it on his first pass, but there, still a handful of spans out, a dark ship barreled towards them, sharp bow cutting the waves with what could only be a magically silenced and accelerated alacrity. The black ship remained almost invisible against the backdrop of dark storm clouds gathering above—a storm that, given the feeling of crisp static on Gruber’s moist skin, he also suspected to be supernaturally conjured.
Sharpshooters with long range crossbows. Several nautical mages providing speed, stealth, and storm cover. Someone very powerful or very wealthy wanted on board this ship.
“What in the blazes is going on?”
Gruber’s gaze snapped towards the bridge, where the familiar gravelly rumble of Basil’s voice roared out above the chaos. The captain crouched, braced behind several barrels, an eye on her sailor still manning the wheel despite the metal bolt protruding from his arm.
“Dark ship approaches,” Gruber croaked out. “Port side, two span and closing. Archers, at least one mage. likely more.”
“Who are they?”
Gruber saw rather than heard Basil curse under her breath, then steel herself as she bellowed orders to her crew. Lanterns were extinguished as quickly as they were lit as sailors scrambled across the deck, some trading light sources for barrel lids held aloft as makeshift shields as they ran to attend the ropes and turn the ship, desperately coaxing more wind into the sails.
That’s when Gruber noticed him.
Orion stood near the main mast of the boat, fingers calmly dancing their familiar arcane pattern, ever so slowly vanishing the blood and brain matter still oozing across the deck from the sailor that fell from the crow’s nest above. Through the shouts and panicked cries, Gruber could hear him humming a little tune.
“Zennick! What are you doing?” It seemed the captain had also taken notice.
Orion gave a cheery little nod. “Tidying up,” he drawled. “The smell is awful.”
“Are you trying to get shot?”
As though on cue, the staccato sound of several bolts peppering the mast punctuated Basil’s clenched words, and Orion paused his magic just long enough to wave a dismissive hand. “They don’t have sights on me from here.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “I’m very strategic, you know.”
Basil let out a growl. “Then do something useful with your magic!”
“Making sure no one slips on this mess is useful,” Orion simpered.
“Something useful about that!” Basil pointed towards the black ship, now clearly in view as it looming alarmingly closer.
“Still too far,” Orion shrugged. “They’re smart to have brought crossbows. Do you all have crossbows?”
Basil gave an exasperated cry as she returned her attention to her crew. But Gruber knew the answer to the question. The Duskhawk was a merchant ship. While most of the sailors could swing a sword and the ship did have two light cannons to fend off would-be pirates and other dangers, the ship’s speed and nimbleness was its greatest defense on the water—a fast eroding defense given the assailant’s magic fueled advantages. He had only ever seen two crossbows across all the crew.
Which is why he brought his own.
Gruber gripped the stock of the weapon on his back, pulling it to bear. With a practiced gesture, he swung the massive crossbow forward, gears and mechanisms ticking with a satisfying whir as its limbs clicked into place. One webbed hand cranked the string back taut in one fluid motion, a bolt already sliding into the flight groove as he aimed down the sights of the behemoth made of wood and metal.
Through the scope, he got to see the panicked expression of Orion up close, the wolf’s nose crinkling in surprise then fear.
“Where in the Known Woods are you pointing that thing you absolute maniac—”
Twang!
The bolt streaked through the air, piercing its target with impressive force and accuracy—tearing a hole under Orion’s left armpit and knocking him back into the mast, pinning him to the polished redwood. He hit hard, and Gruber heard the air wheeze out of his lungs, breaking the ridiculous little spell he was casting.
At the same moment, a coruscating burst of lightning streaked across the bow of the ship, scorching the planks of the deck and smashing through the gunwale on both sides of the Duskhawk. Orion let out an undignified yelp as the smell of his singed fur cut through the tang of salt on the air, but Gruber was already mid reload of his crossbow, gaze finding the mage on the approaching ship that had peeked from behind a fortified steel plate to let loose the attack. A rabbit, nose trickling blood, hesitated for just a moment as they caught their breath, winded from the effort of manipulating the arcane.
Shame for him.
Gruber pulled the trigger, stock braced into his shoulder from the recoil, and a bolt emerged in the rabbit’s forehead, as though it sprouted like a spring flower there, the smallest burst of blood spraying from its sudden appearance. Gruber relished the shocked look on his face as fell back out of view.
“They’re close enough for magics now,” Gruber said to Orion.
For once, the wolf seemed genuinely speechless. Then—
“This robe is worth more than your entire village, you know.”
🐸
When I’m chipping away at a first draft, there’s always a million things that tempt me away from writing that feel very legitimate and reasonable to do. Most often, it takes the form of google searches and research that has me falling down wikipedia rabbit holes instead of just making progress on the story. (That, and Cleaning the Entire Kitchen are the surprising Top Two culprits.)
This week’s success story: spending only roughly 90 seconds to find this google image of “names of boat parts” to keep me from getting too distracted while also arming me with terms like “gunwale” instead of “that half-wall thing at the side of the ship???”
This week’s fail: falling down a 3 hour rabbit hole reading about how crossbows work. (I did eventually get back to my 200 words though!)
This next week is going to be the challenge; I’m headed on a trip to Austin, TX to visit and volunteer at one of my favorite improv theaters, The Hideout Theater. It’s so easy to say “I’m tired and busy” when on the road, but I’m hoping “it’s only 200 words” is even easier. Wish me luck!
Until next time, may your fancy wizard robes remain unscathed in all your high sea adventures. 🧙