Hi all,
I'm working on Waterlogged in tandem with my WIP.
Although it is set in the present day (a school geography trip to the Brecon Beacons that goes horribly wrong), it has a short prologue and epilogue. Edward appears in the main narrative as the protag, but this scene is his great grandmother as a child. As the prologue jumps to the present, I'm having a slight concern about POV; Granny is in POV in this excerpt as a child, but when it jumps to present, it goes a bit omni. Can I get a way with it?
Prologue below:
'Pull!” Hardwick screamed. 'Pull for your wretched lives. Pull for your wives, your sons and daughters. Pull, damn you, crusty dogs!'
Elspeth winced at the sight of all that beastly muscle as two-score men wrestled the stinking fishing net upwards. She’d seen most of these men competing at the Taroe Fayre every June; arranged in six-a-side teams of tug-o-war in a similar position. How could they be struggling so?
'She's on the bottom, captain,' a cracked voice yelled out. ‘We'll never break free!'
'Hard to port!' Hardwick said. 'We'll throw this snag!'
'We have to lose the net, Captain! She'll be pulled right down.'
With each moment her father's ship tipped further over to port - towards the snagged net; three men had already fallen in but managed to clamber back out. Their wet leathery skin glistened as they laughed and hauled themselves aboard. By the time they'd got back to the rest of the crew their hides glistened with salt, not water. Hardwick left his station on the quarterdeck deck and in a few strides he had reached the dissenting crewman.
'Captain—’ the sea dog started, but Hardwick pressed spade-like hands against the man's chest. Elspeth blinked and the man had disappeared over the side.
'Then you get down there and free it, you useless bag of flesh!'
Elspeth jumped with shock and clutched her doll close to her chest as the man tangled in the net. Even in her shock she thought it odd that he didn't scream as he was dragged under. He surfaced as the men played their tug-o-war with Nature. Three times she watched him rise and submerge, struggling to free himself, and on the fourth he was dead.
'Oh, no!' she cried out; by the fifth he was no longer in the net.
'Elspeth, you precocious fly! Get in the cabin!' Hardwick shouted. She opened her mouth to resist but he stirred in her the same fear as his men, and her protest died in the face of a bare look from him.
Below decks the men's cries and chants were muffled by the squealing wood of the hull and Elspeth thought of poor nana's twisted knuckles back in Bristol. She smoothed the natty wool hair of her knitted doll, 'Don't be silly, Dilly, I've told you Mr Hardwick's the best Captain on the ocean. Now hush.'
She struggled to stand, then tottered towards her father's generous living quarters at the back next to those of the captain, giggling and chastising Dilly in equal measure as the great ship leaned deeply to port. Sailing with Papa had never been so exciting before; they'd experienced nasty squalls but today was a blisteringly hot and still day, and the ocean a flashing mirror.
'Maybe the net isn't caught on the rocks, Dilly. Maybe we've caught a whale,' she told her doll, wide eyed.
Another lurch flung Elspeth and Dilly into the bulkhead. She spat and sputtered coarse tea from her lips as the crates holding the precious cargo splintered and spilled their load. She fretted that the black gold cargo on the lowest deck remained intact. Papa had told her of its importance, and that it was very heavy. She imagined crates full of amazing glittering black ingots, lashed under cords of rope as thick as the crew's muscles. Papa would be furious if the expensive cargo was ruined; she often heard the crew shouting at each other down there in their seamen's slang as they moved things around to keep the ship stable, so she knew how precious it was.
'Papa's too busy to check on the cargo, Dilly. I think we should go below and have a look. If there's something wrong, we can go back up and tell Captain Hardwick.' She gave Dilly a squeeze and said, 'You're a crafty one! But the captain can't shout at us for being on deck if we have a reason.'
With her arms outstretched to each side, she wobbled her way towards the stairs. There was a clatter above and her father came tumbling down the stairs. He landed at her feet and rolled off to port side as another tug pulled the vessel over.
'Elspeth! Quick, with me!' he panted.
Before she could ask where, her father had grasped her by the wrist and yanked her towards the stairs.
'Papa! Dilly!' She cried, leaning away and trying to pick up her dropped doll.
He ignored her, and dragged her onwards.
'Dilly!' she cried, in loss and pain.
In a moment they were back on deck and squinting into the bright sun.
'Quick. To the rafts.' Her father was now whispering.
Something in the way he spoke to her stopped her crying and she sniffed herself into composure. The crewmen were leaning over the net chopping and slashing with knives and hatchets so that only a small portion of the net remained attached to the rest. Drying and mackerel and small dogfish lay on the deck; shrivelled dead eyes staring upwards, and whitening. No one made any effort to collect the fish as they curled and desiccated further in the bleaching sun.
'Mr Shawcross! Here!' A familiar voice shouted from below. Elspeth looked down to see Captain Hardwick and three other men in a skiff. Their arms were raised. She screamed as - in a flash - her father lifted her and threw her into the water next to the raft. Strong arms took hold of her and brought her into the relative safety of the small boat and a moment later she saw her father's red coat streak past, landing over Captain Hardwick, stupidly. A plume of water erupted next to her like mother's ostrich feathers, and her father surfaced a short way from the boat, minus his coat.
When he was aboard, her father hugged her and draped the coat over her. The world went dark and Elspeth could only hear the slap and splash of the oars.
'Papa! What are you doing? Why are we leaving the ship?' she said.
'Just rest and do not look, my precious angel. Soon we will be away from this place,’ he replied.
But she did look. The front of Papa's coat opened a little, and through the gap she saw two things that silenced her. Some way off, the gilded figurehead of a beautiful woman slid under the waves; the Katherine was no more; there were no survivors other than those on the little boat with Elspeth.
Elspeth Shawcross was so traumatised by the sight that she spoke only once of the other thing she witnessed - and that was to her great grandson as she herself lay on her deathbed.
'The ocean is home to terrible gods,’ the ninety-year old wheezed.
'Try to rest, Nana Shawcross. You need to save your sprirts, save your energy,’ Edward Shawcross replied.
'There's nothing to save, dear Edward,’ Elspeth said, tapping a feeble knuckle on her chest. 'God has little jurisdiction in the seas, and I shall soon be going where he has no jurisdiction at all.'
'Nana Shawcross, that’s—‘
She held him with twisted hands; arthritic but strong, and fixed him with fading cornflower eyes. 'A spine. It was the spine of a giant. No whale.'
'What?'
'As my mother's namesake sank, something else rose. Something massive. I told myself it was a whale but I always knew I was being dishonest; whale skin is very different.' She dropped her head.
'Nana, what’s this all about?'
'A terrible legacy, that's what; a curse.' She looked up at him again. 'Sins of the fathers,’ she said, and was gone.
I'm working on Waterlogged in tandem with my WIP.
Although it is set in the present day (a school geography trip to the Brecon Beacons that goes horribly wrong), it has a short prologue and epilogue. Edward appears in the main narrative as the protag, but this scene is his great grandmother as a child. As the prologue jumps to the present, I'm having a slight concern about POV; Granny is in POV in this excerpt as a child, but when it jumps to present, it goes a bit omni. Can I get a way with it?
Prologue below:
'Pull!” Hardwick screamed. 'Pull for your wretched lives. Pull for your wives, your sons and daughters. Pull, damn you, crusty dogs!'
Elspeth winced at the sight of all that beastly muscle as two-score men wrestled the stinking fishing net upwards. She’d seen most of these men competing at the Taroe Fayre every June; arranged in six-a-side teams of tug-o-war in a similar position. How could they be struggling so?
'She's on the bottom, captain,' a cracked voice yelled out. ‘We'll never break free!'
'Hard to port!' Hardwick said. 'We'll throw this snag!'
'We have to lose the net, Captain! She'll be pulled right down.'
With each moment her father's ship tipped further over to port - towards the snagged net; three men had already fallen in but managed to clamber back out. Their wet leathery skin glistened as they laughed and hauled themselves aboard. By the time they'd got back to the rest of the crew their hides glistened with salt, not water. Hardwick left his station on the quarterdeck deck and in a few strides he had reached the dissenting crewman.
'Captain—’ the sea dog started, but Hardwick pressed spade-like hands against the man's chest. Elspeth blinked and the man had disappeared over the side.
'Then you get down there and free it, you useless bag of flesh!'
Elspeth jumped with shock and clutched her doll close to her chest as the man tangled in the net. Even in her shock she thought it odd that he didn't scream as he was dragged under. He surfaced as the men played their tug-o-war with Nature. Three times she watched him rise and submerge, struggling to free himself, and on the fourth he was dead.
'Oh, no!' she cried out; by the fifth he was no longer in the net.
'Elspeth, you precocious fly! Get in the cabin!' Hardwick shouted. She opened her mouth to resist but he stirred in her the same fear as his men, and her protest died in the face of a bare look from him.
Below decks the men's cries and chants were muffled by the squealing wood of the hull and Elspeth thought of poor nana's twisted knuckles back in Bristol. She smoothed the natty wool hair of her knitted doll, 'Don't be silly, Dilly, I've told you Mr Hardwick's the best Captain on the ocean. Now hush.'
She struggled to stand, then tottered towards her father's generous living quarters at the back next to those of the captain, giggling and chastising Dilly in equal measure as the great ship leaned deeply to port. Sailing with Papa had never been so exciting before; they'd experienced nasty squalls but today was a blisteringly hot and still day, and the ocean a flashing mirror.
'Maybe the net isn't caught on the rocks, Dilly. Maybe we've caught a whale,' she told her doll, wide eyed.
Another lurch flung Elspeth and Dilly into the bulkhead. She spat and sputtered coarse tea from her lips as the crates holding the precious cargo splintered and spilled their load. She fretted that the black gold cargo on the lowest deck remained intact. Papa had told her of its importance, and that it was very heavy. She imagined crates full of amazing glittering black ingots, lashed under cords of rope as thick as the crew's muscles. Papa would be furious if the expensive cargo was ruined; she often heard the crew shouting at each other down there in their seamen's slang as they moved things around to keep the ship stable, so she knew how precious it was.
'Papa's too busy to check on the cargo, Dilly. I think we should go below and have a look. If there's something wrong, we can go back up and tell Captain Hardwick.' She gave Dilly a squeeze and said, 'You're a crafty one! But the captain can't shout at us for being on deck if we have a reason.'
With her arms outstretched to each side, she wobbled her way towards the stairs. There was a clatter above and her father came tumbling down the stairs. He landed at her feet and rolled off to port side as another tug pulled the vessel over.
'Elspeth! Quick, with me!' he panted.
Before she could ask where, her father had grasped her by the wrist and yanked her towards the stairs.
'Papa! Dilly!' She cried, leaning away and trying to pick up her dropped doll.
He ignored her, and dragged her onwards.
'Dilly!' she cried, in loss and pain.
In a moment they were back on deck and squinting into the bright sun.
'Quick. To the rafts.' Her father was now whispering.
Something in the way he spoke to her stopped her crying and she sniffed herself into composure. The crewmen were leaning over the net chopping and slashing with knives and hatchets so that only a small portion of the net remained attached to the rest. Drying and mackerel and small dogfish lay on the deck; shrivelled dead eyes staring upwards, and whitening. No one made any effort to collect the fish as they curled and desiccated further in the bleaching sun.
'Mr Shawcross! Here!' A familiar voice shouted from below. Elspeth looked down to see Captain Hardwick and three other men in a skiff. Their arms were raised. She screamed as - in a flash - her father lifted her and threw her into the water next to the raft. Strong arms took hold of her and brought her into the relative safety of the small boat and a moment later she saw her father's red coat streak past, landing over Captain Hardwick, stupidly. A plume of water erupted next to her like mother's ostrich feathers, and her father surfaced a short way from the boat, minus his coat.
When he was aboard, her father hugged her and draped the coat over her. The world went dark and Elspeth could only hear the slap and splash of the oars.
'Papa! What are you doing? Why are we leaving the ship?' she said.
'Just rest and do not look, my precious angel. Soon we will be away from this place,’ he replied.
But she did look. The front of Papa's coat opened a little, and through the gap she saw two things that silenced her. Some way off, the gilded figurehead of a beautiful woman slid under the waves; the Katherine was no more; there were no survivors other than those on the little boat with Elspeth.
Elspeth Shawcross was so traumatised by the sight that she spoke only once of the other thing she witnessed - and that was to her great grandson as she herself lay on her deathbed.
'The ocean is home to terrible gods,’ the ninety-year old wheezed.
'Try to rest, Nana Shawcross. You need to save your sprirts, save your energy,’ Edward Shawcross replied.
'There's nothing to save, dear Edward,’ Elspeth said, tapping a feeble knuckle on her chest. 'God has little jurisdiction in the seas, and I shall soon be going where he has no jurisdiction at all.'
'Nana Shawcross, that’s—‘
She held him with twisted hands; arthritic but strong, and fixed him with fading cornflower eyes. 'A spine. It was the spine of a giant. No whale.'
'What?'
'As my mother's namesake sank, something else rose. Something massive. I told myself it was a whale but I always knew I was being dishonest; whale skin is very different.' She dropped her head.
'Nana, what’s this all about?'
'A terrible legacy, that's what; a curse.' She looked up at him again. 'Sins of the fathers,’ she said, and was gone.
