Getting aboard the ship required some thinking. The only obvious approach was the ship’s anchor chains, though that might be too obvious. Either one might leave him visible to somebody on the deck of another ship.
It was an open question whether that hypothetical somebody would care about the sight of somebody creeping aboard another ship. Some folks were more neighborly than others.
He considered briefly making a big splash and calling for help. He was fairly sure that would get him a line thrown down, but of course, once on board it would be obvious he wasn’t part of the crew and the best he could hope for would be being put ashore.
In the end, the anchor chains were the only way. He’d have to trust to fate to ensure that his only avenue of approach would not lead to disaster. This would have been easier to do if the ship had only had one anchor. If he failed, he would always wonder if it was because he’d picked the wrong one.
He swam around the ship a few times while he considered it. The ship was anchored at both bow and stern. The stern anchor would leave him more exposed to those outside the ship as he climbed, while coming over the bow might let anybody on deck see him the moment he mounted the rail.
In the end he went with the bow. He figured it was far more likely anybody on board the ship would be watching the harbor than staring out to sea. Surely somebody would be on alert for trickery from the governor or signs of their employer making a hasty return.
The chain was easier to climb than he’d expected; the chain had large links and he had small fingers and limber limbs. He’d been afraid it would make some noise, but the heavy chain held taut.
The line terminated in a small circular port below the level of the deck, which was out of reach… it had looked much closer to the railing, from sea level. He looked around. The bow of the ship was graced with a large figurehead, a wooden cat-eared, bewhiskered woman holding a sword. She was posed mid-charge, with the sword held out wide to the side. That gave him an idea.
Jace clung to the chain with one hand and leaned out into space, straining to reach the statue. It was too far.
He considered. Could he survive a fall from near-deck-height into the water? Probably. Most sailors who died going overboard did so because they couldn’t swim or couldn’t handle the sudden cold. Jace didn’t have those problems.
He pulled his body back towards the chain, then swung outwards as hard as he could, letting go and allowing his momentum to take him towards the wooden maiden. His hands caught on her sword. He was safe!
There was an ear-and-wood-splintering crack. The tip of the sword dropped several inches.
“Whassat?” somebody said from up above. The voice didn’t sound particularly close, at least.
“What’s what?” somebody else asked.
“Heard a noise. Like something breaking.”
“Just the timbers creaking and groaning,” the second voice said. “Like they do.”
“Nah, this was different.”
“What was it, then?”
A pause.
“Dunno.”
The broken sword continued to droop by degrees. Jace hated to risk making even more noise, but that seemed likely to happen one way or the other. He climbed hand-over-hand up the length of the wooden blade, hoping it wouldn’t snap clean off, and then he was able to get his feet on the knee of an upraised leg and his hands around the carved wooden arm. It seemed a bit sturdier. It was not a great perch; the gentle rocking of the ship hardly seemed gentle at the moment. His arms were starting to ache from all the climbing and clinging, but he stayed where he was and waited, listening for further signs of life.
When there was no further conversation, he pulled himself up onto the arm and shoulder. It was an even worse footing than the one he’d just left, and he had to catch hold of the bowsprit at once to avoid tumbling down into the water.
He was able to pull himself up onto deck, however, and that was the key. The question was, could he do it without being seen?
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