Second section of Chapter 1 - WIP - 1057 words

[Handsome John]

Hi Everybody,

Thanks to all those who took a look and lent a hand with the first section of this WIP (which can be found here: http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/540500-first-section-of-chapter-1-of-my-wip.html).

Here's the second part. Once again, thanks in advance to all those who take the time to read it and especially to those who offer advice and critiques.

*******************************

Captain James Thorn sat listening to Callan talk, rubbing his temples forcefully as if this could make him wake from the bad dream he had found himself in.



“And why didn't you tell me?” he asked. He still hadn't looked up.


“You didn't need to know,” Callan replied. “This was supposed to be a normal run. I come along to sign the contract and you ship the goods back to Comrum. You said it yourself, the Mylani should be out protecting the shipping lanes not setting up checkpoints along our coast. This was supposed to go smoothly.”


“Running contraband never goes smoothly, boy,” Thorn sighed. Then he was back to rubbing his temples intently.


“What are you carrying, Cal?” asked Della. Callan had avoided looking at her since sitting down and from the tone of her voice he couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or break his nose. Probably both. He thought it best if he continued not looking at her. Callan simply shook his head. He knew better than to tell them. “But it's enough to get us hung, from the sounds of it?” she asked.


“Not hung, no.” Callan replied. “Probably not hung, I'd say.”


“So it's not religious, then,” Della mused. The import or sale of any foreign religious artefacts was banned in Carelon upon punishment of death and the Mylani were more than happy to enforce local laws as well as their own. They made a lot of hay. “Drugs, then, or cultural antiques. It's not a slave or the crew would have found it and dragged it up on deck to start taking turns.”


Callan shook his head again. He was not going to say anything. The room descended into silence. The captain rubbed his temples, still not having woken from his bad dream, and Callan continued to not look at Della. The only sound was that of the waves slapping against the hull of the Sea Spray.



The silence had started to become painfully long when Thorn finally spoke. “So what would you have me do, boy? Hold anchor in this cove until those ******* pack up and leave?” he asked. “And how long will that be? A week, maybe two? We could miss Congress sitting here waiting and if we do that then your uncle will have me hanging by my bootstraps from the Blessed Bridge. Ain't happening, boy. You need to dump whatever it is you're holding.”


“No,” Callan replied, with as much firmness as he could muster. Captain Thorn stopped rubbing his temples and looked up. Callan wished he hadn't. “It's too valuable,” he said, almost stuttering, the firmness having fled when faced with Thorn's notoriously steely grey gaze. The captain may have been a short man but those eyes could make him seem ten feet tall. He had to hold, though. He had to be in control here. Callan was only a clerk in his uncle's trading empire, and he was sitting across from one of his uncle's more favoured and influential captains, but he had to be the one in control or everything was lost. He fought the nervous urge to run his hands through his long hair and focused on remaining still. Calm.


Somehow he prevailed and the captain went back to rubbing his temples. “So you won't dump it but I can't sit around here playing with my ****. We're at an impasse, boy, and we don't have no time for one. You leave me no choice. We risk the search. End up on a Mylani galley, most like. **** me.”


That wouldn't work, Callan knew, but he had an idea what might. “I'll go overland,” he said.


Thorn didn't seem to see the merit in the idea, for he stopped rubbing his temples again and turned his hands to smashing the table, instead. “By the hairy ******* balls of Thoros!” he growled. “I'll be ******* damned if I'm going to tell Antony Wallace that I dumped his nephew ashore to avoid a Mylani search. Imagine that, Della! He'll cut my ******* **** off himself and shove them down my throat!” He turned that steely gaze back on to Callan. “You'll do no such thing, boy.”


“We have no choice,” Callan said, trying to force the firmness back into his voice. He knew he was right. “You can tell my uncle that I got food poisoning from some Thomari fare in Eastport, so bad that the Shepherds recommended I wait a week until sailing home.” Control. “I know where we are and I can make Stony Creek by nightfall, buy a fast horse and be at Roadsend by tomorrow night. The cliff road is safe so all I need to worry about is speed. I'll be back in Comrum in just over a week. I should make Congress.”


If James Thorn had any hair left he would have pulled it out. “Thoros **** me in the ****! Just dump your **** over the side, boy.”


Callan shook his head again. “It's too valuable,” he repeated. He wouldn't do it. “You need to put me ashore.”


Before the captain could protest again, or grab Callan's head and smash it into his table, Della came to the rescue. “He's right, Captain. I don't give a **** about his stash and I don't give a **** about the Mylani, really, but he's right. I've got my nameday in three days and I'm gonna need to be ****** hard all day, and this crew couldn't make a real man's **** between them. The way I see it, you either put Cal ashore or you get ready to **** me yourself, Captain, and then explain to your wife why I've got your *** all up inside me when we do make port.”


Callan didn't see the captain's reaction because he had finally turned to look at Della. Her cracked, sun-darkened face and salt-dried, brittle blonde hair were the most beautiful sights he had seen in a year. If there was one thing you could rely on it was Della's need for a hard ******* on her nameday. Even Captain Thorn knew not to stand in the way of that tradition.


The Bull bless that leathery woman and The Bull bless her insatiable ****. Callan left to get ready for shore.

 

[Bowler1]

Captain James Thorn sat listening to Callan talk, rubbing his temples forcefully as if this could make him wake from the bad dream he had found himself in. “And why didn't you tell me?” he asked. He still hadn't looked up. – Captain speaking, does not need a separate line, can have, but not needed I think.

“You didn't need to know,” Callan replied. “This was supposed to be a normal run. I come along to sign the contract and you ship the goods back to Comrum. You said it yourself, the Mylani should be out protecting the shipping lanes not setting up checkpoints along our coast. This was supposed to go smoothly.” – I would have an action with the character as well here, but not needed, but would have added more I felt.

“Running contraband never goes smoothly, boy,” Thorn sighed. Then he was back to rubbing his temples intently.

“What are you carrying, Cal?” asked Della. Break here as we moved to Callan.
Callan had avoided looking at her since sitting down and from the tone of her voice he couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or break his nose. Probably both. He thought it best if he continued not looking at her. Callan simply shook his head. He knew better than to tell them.

Break here again, as we’re back with Della. “But it's enough to get us hung, from the sounds of it?” she asked. – This is a problem, because we were on the POV from Captain Thorn and now we’ve jumped to Callan and he’s internal thoughts. This is a head hop and is confusing for the reader, it’s best to stick to one character. However, other authors do break this rule, Shogun is one such book. Also mixing characters dialogue/actions/thoughts – which is confusing.

“Not hung, no.” Callan replied. “Probably not hung, I'd say.”

“So it's not religious, then,” Della mused – mused is thinking I’d say, yet she was speaking?. The import or sale of any foreign religious artefacts was banned in Carelon upon punishment of death and the Mylani were more than happy to enforce local laws as well as their own. They made a lot of hay. “Drugs, then, or cultural antiques. It's not a slave or the crew would have found it and dragged it up on deck to start taking turns.” – There is a big author narration/info dump right in the middle there, and it’s as subtle as being hit by a brick.

Callan shook his head again. He was not going to say anything. The room descended into silence. The captain rubbed his temples, still not having woken from his bad dream, and Callan continued to not look at Della. The only sound was that of the waves slapping against the hull of the Sea Spray. - We have both Callan and the Captain’s thoughts here (dreams are thoughts, so two internal POV’s here).

The silence had started to become painfully long when Thorn finally spoke. “So what would you have me do, boy? Hold anchor in this cove until those ******* pack up and leave?” he asked. “And how long will that be? A week, maybe two? We could miss Congress sitting here waiting and if we do that then – then not needed your Uncle – capital as it’s a person I’d say will have me hanging by my bootstraps from the Blessed Bridge. Ain't happening, boy. You need to dump whatever it is you're holding.” No character actions again, just dialogue.

“No,” Callan replied, with as much firmness as he could muster. Captain Thorn stopped rubbing his temples and looked up. Callan wished he hadn't. “It's too valuable,” he said, almost stuttering, the firmness having fled when faced with Thorn's notoriously steely grey gaze. The Captain may have been a short man but those eyes could make him seem ten feet tall. He had to hold, though. He had to be in control here. Callan was only a clerk in his uncle's trading empire, and he was sitting across from one of his Uncle's more – more? favoured and influential captains, but he had to be the one in control or everything was lost. He fought the nervous urge to run his hands through his long hair and focused on remaining still. Calm. – Could have been a lot tighter and shorter.

Somehow he prevailed and the Captain went back to rubbing his temples – this temple action is annoying me now!
“So you won't dump it but I can't sit around here playing with my ****. We're at an impasse, boy, and we don't have no time for one. You leave me no choice. We risk the search. End up on a Mylani galley, most like. **** me.”

That wouldn't work, Callan knew, but he had an idea what might. “I'll go overland,” he said. – the final speech tag was not needed.

Thorn didn't seem to see the merit in the idea, for he stopped rubbing his temples again and turned his hands to smashing the table, - or Thorn smashed his fists on the table? Less words, similar impact? instead. “By the hairy ******* balls of Thoros!” he growled. “I'll be ******* damned if I'm going to tell Antony Wallace that I dumped his nephew ashore to avoid a Mylani search. Imagine that, Della! He'll cut my ******* **** off himself and shove them down my throat!” He turned that steely gaze back on to Callan. “You'll do no such thing, boy.”

“We have no choice,” Callan said, trying to force the firmness back into his voice. He knew he was right. “You can tell my Uncle that I got food poisoning from some Thomari fare in Eastport, so bad that the Shepherds recommended I wait a week until sailing home.” Control. “I know where we are and I can make Stony Creek by nightfall, buy a fast horse and be at Roadsend by tomorrow night. The cliff road is safe so all I need to worry about is speed. I'll be back in Comrum in just over a week. I should make Congress.”

If James Thorn had any hair left he would have pulled it out. “Thoros **** me in the ****! Just dump your **** over the side, boy.”

Callan shook his head again. “It's too valuable,” he repeated. He wouldn't do it. “You need to put me ashore.”

Before the Captain could protest again, or grab Callan's head and smash it into his table, Della came to the rescue. “He's right, Inconsistent use of capitals here Captain. I don't give a **** about his stash and I don't give a **** about the Mylani, really, but he's right. I've got my nameday in three days and I'm gonna need to be ****** hard all day, and this crew couldn't make a real man's **** between them. The way I see it, you either put Cal ashore or you get ready to **** me yourself, Captain, and then explain to your wife why I've got your *** all up inside me when we do make port.”

Callan didn't see the Captain's reaction because he had finally turned to look at Della. Her cracked, sun-darkened face and salt-dried, brittle blonde hair were the most beautiful sights he had seen in a year. If there was one thing you could rely on it was Della's need for a hard ******* on her nameday. Even Captain Thorn knew not to stand in the way of that tradition.

The Bull bless that leathery woman and The Bull bless her insatiable ****. Callan left to get ready for shore.

There were confusing POV shifts between the Captain and Callan, with possible head hops. I thought there were head hops in there and all this is confusing for the reader. There were sections with one character talking, another thinking and back to the talking character again. For clarity, start a new section when a new character does something.
Use of capitals, especially with ranks is a problem. For Captain, it can be a capital C, or a small c – you’ll see each used by different authors. Me, I say it’s a person so capitals. Regardless, pick what suits you and stick to it.
A little tighter in general, less is more I’d say, but not too bad. You don’t ramble on too much, unlike me right now!
No emotion from any character, hinted at near the end but never stated. Also, very little movement from the characters, but I’m assuming they were sitting for the meeting so for this section it may not matter. No background ever described, were was this meeting taking place etc.
To be fair, Handsome John, it’s a pretty good first(ish) posting showing a lot of promise. Try and work on sticking strictly to one character POV in a section, not a golden rule but good advice I’d say.

 

[sknox]

On capitalizing titles, here's a good general rule. If the title is associated with an individual, then capitalize. If you are referencing the office in the abstract, use lower case. For example:

The captains had assembled, and all eyes were on Admiral Fetzelfaffer.
No bishop had ever issued such a sweeping proclamation.
Colonel Fazio was a tyrant. No one ever said anything about it because with the Colonel it was best to keep your mouth shut.

That third example shows that you capitalize because it's functioning like a personal pronoun, referencing a specific individual. So, to conclude with one more example, if you had already identified General Gygax, then in your description of the army camp you would refer to the General's tent.

 

[sknox]

Oh, I guess you wanted a critique, too! Bowler1 has already noted some points; I'll try to add rather than duplicate.

Captain James Thorn sat listening to Callan talk, rubbing his temples forcefully as if this could make him wake from the bad dream he had found himself in.

Try: "... wake from this bad dream."
the "he had found himself in" is a bit wordy.

“You didn't need to know,” Callan replied. “This was supposed to be a normal run. I come along to sign the contract and you ship the goods back to Comrum. You said it yourself, the Mylani should be out protecting the shipping lanes not setting up checkpoints along our coast. This was supposed to go smoothly.”

I agree with bowler1 here. This is a good opportunity to have Callan stand up, maybe pace, and work in just a single bit of description. Is the room cold and clinical? Cluttered with boxes and barrels? Add something that helps characterize either the place, the people, or the circumstance.

“Running contraband never goes smoothly, boy,” Thorn sighed. Then he was back to rubbing his temples intently.

Adverbs. Kill 'em. Kill 'em all and let God sort them out. As with the dialog tags, once they're all gone, if one absolutely demands to be let back in, go ahead and do that. But leave them all out for at least one edit cycle. I think you will find your prose won't miss the little darlings. Here, Callan can rub his temples. We don't need 'intently'.

“What are you carrying, Cal?” asked Della. Callan had avoided looking at her since sitting down and from the tone of her voice he couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or break his nose. Probably both. He thought it best if he continued not looking at her. Callan simply shook his head. He knew better than to tell them. “But it's enough to get us hung, from the sounds of it?” she asked.

She didn't ask. That sentence is a statement, for all that you put a question mark at the end.

...

Callan shook his head again. He was not going to say anything. The room descended into silence. The captain rubbed his temples, still not having woken from his bad dream, and Callan continued to not look at Della. The only sound was that of the waves slapping against the hull of the Sea Spray.

I would remove the italicized sentence. This paragraph reads awkwardly. Maybe if you had positioned the people in the room--this one seated, that one standing, etc.--we could picture them. Then, when we get to this point, they can simply stare at one another. Or this one stares at the ground while that one shuffles papers or plays with a ring, anything to avoid confronting the issue at hand. I'm not sure, but the continuation bits didn't work for me.
...

“No,” Callan replied, with as much firmness as he could muster. Captain Thorn stopped rubbing his temples and looked up. Callan wished he hadn't. “It's too valuable,” he said, almost stuttering, the firmness having fled when faced with Thorn's notoriously steely grey gaze. The captain may have been a short man but those eyes could make him seem ten feet tall. He had to hold, though. He had to be in control here. Callan was only a clerk in his uncle's trading empire, and he was sitting across from one of his uncle's more favoured and influential captains, but he had to be the one in control or everything was lost. He fought the nervous urge to run his hands through his long hair and focused on remaining still. Calm.

Bowler1 says this could be tighter and I agree. Here are a couple of suggestions. You're trying to fit backstory into what should be a dramatic moment, so lose the steely gray gaze and especially lose 'notoriously'. No descriptions of height, clerks or trading empires. That information can come in elsewhere; just concentrate on emotions and action. You certainly can have the Captain and Callan lock eyes, try to stare each other down. Who blinks first will tell the reader something.

Somehow he prevailed and the captain went back to rubbing his temples.

There's way too much rubbing going on. By this point it makes the captain seem fretful and weak, which rather undercuts the steely-gaziness. Also, don't let it be "somehow" that Callan prevails. This is a perfect opportunity to show that he has a strong will. Let him outstare the Captain, or maybe the Captain comes to his senses and realizes that Callan has powerful connections. Anything but 'somehow'. I get how that happens: in the midst of writing, I don't want to think about how something happens so I put in a bit of vague filler. Then it sits there and my author-eyes stop seeing it. That's why the Devil gave us editors!


...

If James Thorn had any hair left he would have pulled it out. “Thoros **** me in the ****! Just dump your **** over the side, boy.”

Just a word about swearing. You've substituted asterisks and they help make my point. A sentence should make sense without the swearing. As the paragraph above illustrates, sometimes being 'colorful' can get in the way of communication. I have no problem with swearing--I adhere to General Patton's famous maxim--but not when it undercuts story telling.

Callan didn't see the captain's reaction because he had finally turned to look at Della. Her cracked, sun-darkened face and salt-dried, brittle blonde hair were the most beautiful sights he had seen in a year. If there was one thing you could rely on it was Della's need for a hard ******* on her nameday. Even Captain Thorn knew not to stand in the way of that tradition.

I didn't buy this at all. Callan only just now notices her? Nope. He needs to notice her the moment he sees her.

The Bull bless that leathery woman and The Bull bless her insatiable ****. Callan left to get ready for shore.

You just need a slight transition. The Captain decides to agree to Callan's plan. Have him say "oh alright, damnit" or some such. Otherwise, it's not quite clear how we get from a mudslide of cursing to getting ready for shore.


General comments
1. You used many dialog tags. My standard recommendation: turn everything into "said". Then, on another read, if you absolutely cannot avoid changing one, go ahead and change it.
2. Kill the adverbs.
3. Consider introducing the cursing a little at a time. It feels out of place to go straight for sexually graphic stuff without a prelude. Especially in a subordinate talking that way to a ship's captain. The captain of a ship is a god, in every navy I know about. Nobody would talk to a captain that way. And there's no need. He can decide to accept Callan's proposal for more practical reasons.

I like the basic premise. We have a lowly clerk--maybe with connections but still too young to be powerful himself--facing down a rough-and-tumble sea captain. And coming up with a clever if dangerous plan. What sort of fellow is this? And what's it got in its pocketses?

Write on!

 

[Brian G Turner]

I'm not really seeing any character experience in this - the first lines says there's a tension here, but no one reflects on it. The captain rubs his temples and we're told it's like a bad dream.

What is?

There's a lot of dialogue later, but really you need to have the character experience tell us what this tension is, rather than talk about it. If the dialogue tells us "what" the situation is, then you have to give us the POV character feelings on this.

IMO.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Captain James Thorn sat listening to Callan talk, rubbing his temples forcefully as if this could make him wake from the bad dream he had found himself in. a little distant and telling for me. Instead of sat listening, could you have an action, and then maybe something of his thoughts?


“And why didn't you tell me?” he asked. Hethe captain? still hadn't looked up.


“You didn't need to know,” Callan replied. “This was supposed to be a normal run. I come along to sign the contract and you ship the goods back to Comrum. You said it yourself, the Mylani should be out protecting the shipping lanes not setting up checkpoints along our coast. This was supposed to go smoothly.”So, they both know all this --- you're telling us that with the words. So why tell each other again? I know you're trying to impart information but it feels a little false.


“Running contraband never goes smoothly, boy,” Thorn sighed. Then he was back to rubbing his temples intently.why? And when did he stop?


“What are you carrying, Cal?” asked Della. CallanHere we head hop to Callan had avoided looking at her since sitting down and from the tone of her voice he couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or break his nose. Probably both. He thought it best if he continued not looking at her. Callan simply shook his head. He knew better than to tell them.But the voice is stronger here and you're closer - maybe the whole scene should be from Callan. Or if it already is, we need to hear this voice above. I'd take a new paragaph here, and I'm also a little confused why she says but when he hasn't responded to her question. “But it's enough to get us hung, from the sounds of it?” she asked.


“Not hung, no.” Callan replied.I think a little pause here might be quite effective. “Probably not hung, I'd say.”


“So it's not religious, then,” Della mused. The import or sale of any foreign religious artefacts was banned in Carelon upon punishment of death and the Mylani were more than happy to enforce local laws as well as their own.I think this whole sentence could go - her linking being hung with religion makes the point for you. They made a lot of hay. “Drugs, then, or cultural antiques. It's not a slave or the crew would have found it and dragged it up on deck to start taking turns.”


Callan shook his head again. He was not going to say anything. The room descended into silence. The captain rubbed his temples, still not having woken from his bad dreamback to the captain's head hereand Callan continued to not look at Della. The only sound was that of the waves slapping against the hull of the Sea Spray.


I have to go out now, sorry, but a quick read on leaves me a little unsure about who carries the balance of power and why. there seems to be a lot of dialogue here used simply to drop information as well and I'd like to see it being used to further the characters further, instead. But that's just me, and I'm a character reader.

 

[The Judge]

Just a relatively minor point, but it's a common mistake. Curtains are hung, people are hanged.** You've used it both times in speech, so if they're the kind to get this wrong, fine. Callan, though, seems more bookish than the others, so I think he ought to get it right.



** Mouse, do NOT go there...

 

[JoanDrake]

From what I've seen so far I really like the customs they have on Nameday.

Doesn't anyone think it might help to know what this ultramysterious MacGuffin IS?

And am I missing something? It seems this ship is just about to leave but this stuff needs to be there soon for some reason, so why is it being smuggled out?

 

[Mouse]

** Mouse, do NOT go there...

Oi! I have absolutely no idea what you mean.

 

[Cosmic Geoff]

*******************************

Captain James Thorn sat listening to Callan talk, rubbing his temples forcefully as if this could make him wake from the bad dream he had found himself in.



“And why didn't you tell me?” he asked. He still hadn't looked up.


“You didn't need to know,” Callan replied. “This was supposed to be a normal run. I come along to sign the contract and you ship the goods back to Comrum. You said it yourself, the Mylani should be out protecting the shipping lanes not setting up checkpoints along our coast. This was supposed to go smoothly.”


“Running contraband never goes smoothly, boy,” Thorn sighed. Then he was back to rubbing his temples intently.
The Captain seems to be lacking authority on board his own ship

“What are you carrying, Cal?” asked Della. Callan had avoided looking at her since sitting down and from the tone of her voice he couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or break his nose. Probably both. He thought it best if he continued not looking at her. Callan simply shook his head. He knew better than to tell them. “But it's enough to get us hung, Should that be "hanged"?from the sounds of it?” she asked.


“Not hung, no.” Callan replied. “Probably not hung, I'd say.”


“So it's not religious, then,” Della mused. The import or sale of any foreign religious artefacts was banned in Carelon upon punishment of death and the Mylani were more than happy to enforce local laws as well as their own. Sounds like a scenario invented for the convenience of the plot. The rationale for the stop-and-search is unclear. They made a lot of hay. “Drugs, then, or cultural antiques. It's not a slave or the crew would have found it and dragged it up on deck to start taking turns.” This implies that the crew are promiscuously bisexual among other things.


Callan shook his head again. He was not going to say anything. The room descended into silence. The captain rubbed his temples, still not having woken from his bad dream, and Callan continued to not look at Della. The only sound was that of the waves slapping against the hull of the Sea Spray.



The silence had started to become painfully long when Thorn finally spoke. “So what would you have me do, boy? Hold anchor in this cove until those ******* pack up and leave?” he asked. “And how long will that be? A week, maybe two? We could miss Congress sitting here waiting and if we do that then your uncle will have me hanging by my bootstraps from the Blessed Bridge. Ain't happening, boy. You need to dump whatever it is you're holding.”
The captain seems to be lacking authority here.

“No,” Callan replied, with as much firmness as he could muster. Captain Thorn stopped rubbing his temples and looked up. Callan wished he hadn't. Viewpoint has changed in mid-scene. “It's too valuable,” he said, almost stuttering, the firmness having fled when faced with Thorn's notoriously steely grey gaze. The captain may have been a short man but those eyes could make him seem ten feet tall. He had to hold, though. He had to be in control here. Callan was only a clerk in his uncle's trading empire, In that case the Captain could chuck him and his contraband item over the side? and he was sitting across from one of his uncle's more favoured and influential captains, but he had to be the one in control or everything was lost. He fought the nervous urge to run his hands through his long hair and focused on remaining still. Calm.


Somehow he prevailed and the captain went back to rubbing his temples. “So you won't dump it but I can't sit around here playing with my ****. We're at an impasse, boy, and we don't have no time for one. You leave me no choice. We risk the search. End up on a Mylani galley, most like. **** me.”
This seems to go against the proven methods of successful smuggling, which are that you send lots of well-concealed consignments in the expectation that enough of them will get through. Or, if it's one high-value item you either forge the paperwork or bribe officials.

That wouldn't work, Callan knew, but he had an idea what might. “I'll go overland,” he said.


Thorn didn't seem to see the merit in the idea, for he stopped rubbing his temples again and turned his hands to smashing the table, instead. “By the hairy ******* balls of Thoros!” he growled. “I'll be ******* damned if I'm going to tell Antony Wallace that I dumped his nephew ashore to avoid a Mylani search. Imagine that, Della! He'll cut my ******* **** off himself and shove them down my throat!” He turned that steely gaze back on to Callan. “You'll do no such thing, boy.”


“We have no choice,” Callan said, trying to force the firmness back into his voice. He knew he was right. “You can tell my uncle that I got food poisoning from some Thomari fare in Eastport, so bad that the Shepherds recommended I wait a week until sailing home.” Control. “I know where we are and I can make Stony Creek by nightfall, buy a fast horse and be at Roadsend by tomorrow night. The cliff road is safe so all I need to worry about is speed. I'll be back in Comrum in just over a week. I should make Congress.”


If James Thorn had any hair left he would have pulled it out. “Thoros **** me in the ****! Just dump your **** over the side, boy.”


Callan shook his head again. “It's too valuable,” he repeated. He wouldn't do it. “You need to put me ashore.”


Before the captain could protest again, or grab Callan's head and smash it into his table, Della came to the rescue. “He's right, Captain. I don't give a **** about his stash and I don't give a **** about the Mylani, really, but he's right. I've got my nameday in three days and I'm gonna need to be ****** hard all day, and this crew couldn't make a real man's **** between them. The way I see it, you either put Cal ashore or you get ready to **** me yourself, Captain, and then explain to your wife why I've got your *** all up inside me when we do make port.”
Not quite sure what this **** paragraph is about but it sounds like laddish sex fantasy.

Callan didn't see the captain's reaction because he had finally turned to look at Della. Her cracked, sun-darkened face and salt-dried, brittle blonde hair were the most beautiful sights he had seen in a year. Has he just noticed her or what? If there was one thing you could rely on it was Della's need for a hard ******* on her nameday. Even Captain Thorn knew not to stand in the way of that tradition.
Sounds like laddish sex fantasy.

The Bull bless that leathery woman and The Bull bless her insatiable ****. Callan left to get ready for shore.

Don't let me discourage you from writing a laddish sex fantasy if that's what you want to do . It's not a bad effort, but I found that the scenario and character motivations were not convincing, and there is an unseemly switch of viewpoint in the middle of the scene.
And drop the adverbs - many writing critics can't abide them.
The captain should be exercising more authority on his own ship. Even if Callan is the owner's nephew, the owner would not want ship and cargo endangered by some laddish exploit.