The Double-Cross In Paradise; Preparing For A Storm, Episode 9

 This is episode nine in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross InmParadise: paperback, Kindle.  

Preparing For A Storm 

    There is always a feeling of complete detachment from the world when the last sighting of land sinks below the sea’s horizon. It is as if suddenly the vessel you are on is the only thing in existence other than the seas. Then it becomes a battle, you and the sea and the weather. 

The sea and weather are not governed or adjusted by intellect or a sense of conscience. Its will is expressed through natural physical occurrences that had their beginning ages ago.

At times, Trace wondered if one of those forces might not manifest itself in one of those once-in-a-thousand-year displays. A perfect storm. A perfect rogue wave of never-before-seen proportions. However, he was mostly aware of the real danger at sea: complacency. He had heard of sailors merely standing at the rail, looking at the sea. And suddenly fall into it. He heard of captains steering forward and crashing into the rocks they had been fixed on for an hour. The sea can make you forget what you are looking at.

That is the reason for training Paul and Tom. Fresh eyes are needed at the helm. And trained eyes and skills. To some, time at the helm can be a torturous exercise. Trace needed to find out who he could depend upon to take the helm in times of torture. 

He looked forward to training Paul and Tom. They were eager and fresh. They didn’t have a couple of years of bad habits to break.

Thus, the time Trace spent training Paul and Tom was good. They both learned quickly and asked compelling questions. They took initiative, but only on things Trace trained them to do. 

The passengers livened the deck with playful antics. Trace reminded them once about being very careful near the rail. “Always have an eye on the sea. This boat is one hundred and five feet long to us, but to the sea it’s not even a matchbox, it is a matchstick.”

They appeared appreciative of the advice; however viewed it as only hyperbole. 

On the second night out to sea, Sage manned the helm. The night started clear. The sky was salted with stars. 

Sage stepped out the aft door of the pilothouse and looked into the sky. “Where did the stars go. I know they’re still there,” he muttered.

He stepped back into the pilothouse and looked at the barometer. He picked up the ship’s phone and punched Trace’s cabin.

Trace struggled to the phone hanging on the inner wall of the cabin. He picked up the phone. “The checks in the mail. What’s up?”

“Thought I’d let you know, clouds have come in and the barometric pressure is dropping quickly.”

Trace stretched and yawned. “What kind of winds?”

“They’ve picked up a little. Nothing that concerned me but the barometer dropping, I thought I’d give ya a call.”

“Right thing to do. I’ll be up as soon as I get dressed.”

By the time Trace climbed to the pilothouse, Sage had already heard a weather report.

“We’re heading into fifty knot winds,” Sage said and asked, “Should we reef now?”

“Let’s not play around,” Trace said. “Let’s drop the sails and batten down the hatches.”

Sage called Makani’s, Paul’s, and Tom’s cabins. Minutes later,  Sage flipped on all the deck lights. 

Trace grabbed the mic, and called out over the deck speaker, “Safety, safety, safety!”  

Paul and Tom unloosened the halyards and eased the sails down. By the time they were fastening the sails down, the wind blew at a steady thirty knots. 

Trace started the engine.

After securing the deck, Sage rushed out and double-checked everything. He turned back to the pilothouse and heaved a thumbs-up. 

Paul and Tom entered the pilothouse from the aft door, dripping wet. They teetered and steadied themselves, latching hold of the ceiling's grab rails.  

“Good job,” Trace commended. 

“Thanks,” Paul and Tom said.

“Part of our duty,” Trace instructed as his eyes danced from the bow to the instrument panel, “is to keep the passengers calm. There are almost as many of them as there are of us. We don’t need four crazy people crying and screaming. Expect them to be scared. You can’t slap the fear out of them, you have to show them by example there’s nothing to fear—even if your own drawers are full of crap.”

“Are you scared?” Tom asked.

“I’m at a heightened state of awareness defined as ‘holy crap,’” Trace grinned, and his face changed to a serious calm. “I can’t allow fear to crowd my abilities to control the boat in times like these. Fear can be a roadblock to good decisions. No one wants trembling hands on the wheel.”

“Have you been in storms like this before?” Paul asked.

“Worse,” Trace said, “but that doesn’t make this any less dangerous.”  

“How long will it go on like this?” Tom asked.

“Just so you know,” Trace said, scanning forward from side to side, “it’s going to get worse for the next six to twelve hours, then it will calm down to what we have now.”

Sage slammed to aft door to the pilot house as he stumbled in, dripping wet. “Holy moly, I feel a toad strangler coming on.”

“What’s that?” Tom asked.

Trace flicked water off his arms, “The scientific term is gullywasher. Oh, right, we’re at sea. That’s a gale or squall. Back home, that’s a girl’s name and a common Indian name for women. Don’t you two get all correctional with me, I’m making a joke.”

“We’ve been around you long enough,” Paul said. “Hasn’t Trace told you yet, you can’t crap while laughing. It’s impossible. You should try it sometime.” 

A mixture of male and female panicked voices reached the pilothouse. Everyone looked at each other as if that was expected.

“Paul, Tom,” Trace said, “do you think you can quell the fears?” 

Paul and Tom held tight to the railings and swayed uncontrollably. 

“I’ll put some music on,” Tom said and swayed to the companionway.

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 8, Goodbye Fiji

 This is episode eight in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross InmParadise: paperback, Kindle.  

Goodbye Fiji

Trace woke naturally. Not from anxiety, but a contentment that lay deep inside him for the love of what the day might bring. He remembered as a boy, his granddad and dad in the kitchen long before anyone else had awoken. Over a cup of coffee, with no words spoken, they imagined and planned the day. There were no intrusions or distractions. Decisions and discussions were reduced to a minimum of words. A simple “yes” or “no” might be all that was needed to proceed.

Trace slipped on his clothing. He stepped out of his cabin. He looked down the hallway. A light came from beneath Makani’s cabin. Trace opened the door of the head and stepped in. He splashed water on his face. He looked in the mirror and rubbed the three days of stubble on his face. “Tomorrow,” he mumbled.

He plodded up the companionway and into the pilothouse. He walked out the aft door and inspected the deck. As he did that, he loosened The Tramp Islander’s aft and bow lines and tossed them on deck.

Sage met him on deck as he jumped back on board.

“That’s a deckhand's job,” Sage said.

“I was up and decided to do it myself,” Trace said.

“What kind of shape were the passengers in when they returned?” Sage asked.

“They were happy,” Trace said. “They should be. I’ll have another heart-to-heart with them about safety. I want them to have a good time. Maybe what they’re doing is not too different than what we are doing at the age.”

“Ah, you’re gotten’ soft and sentimental,” Sage said. “And I was thinking the same thing.”

They walked back to the pilothouse.

Makani came up the companionway with three cups of coffee on a tray.

“Just in time,” Trace said, lifting a cup from the tray. He sat in the captain’s chair. 

Sage grabbed his cup and sat in the chair at the chart desk. Makani sat on the bench with his coffee. No words were spoken in the pilothouse, lit only by the instrument lights and a small night light above the chart desk. 

Each man sipped their coffee in the silence of early morning. Their heads turned at the sound of steps coming up the companionway. Paul and Tom slogged up the steps, each with a coffee.

“Is this a private meeting?” Tom asked.

“Not anymore,” Trace squeezed a tired grin. “Have a seat.”

They sat on the bench with Makani.

“Just kidding,” Trace said. “Just a quiet coffee.”  

Trace looked at the clock on the panel. It was 4:00 AM. “I know why I’m up, and Sage is just like me. And Makani, well, he’s Makani, but why are you two up?”

“We heard you were shoving off at four,” Paul said. “And we wanted to be on duty—do our job, toss the lines.”

“Sage and I handled that,” Trace said. 

“That’s a deck hand’s job,” Tom said. 

Trace glanced at Sage. They exchanged a telepathy cultivated over years of friendship. ‘This is exactly what we want to hear.’

Paul and Tom noticed the looks on Trace’s and Sage’s faces. They were not sure what it meant. To them, it appeared not to be negative, so they both raised their eyebrows slightly to signal satisfaction. 

“I was going to move slowly out of the harbor and wake you guys around five,” Trace said. “In Suva, Sage usually mans the pulpit and makes sure there’s nothing in the way. The harbor is full of wrecks. There’s nothing for you two to do.”

“One of us could be with Sage and the other in the pilothouse with you,” Paul said. “We could be learning something.”

Trace looked at Sage once again. The telepathy between them said, ‘Why didn’t we think of that?’

“So who wants to do where?” Trace said.

“I’ll take Tom,” Sage said. “I hear he was a crack guard back on the island. He’s a trained observer.”

Paul and Tom agreed with a look at each other and a nod.

“Let’s finish our coffee,” Trace said. “Then you two head to the pulpit,” he said to Sage and Tom. 

They finished their coffee. Makani climbed below. Sage and Tom headed for the pulpit. Trace and Paul remained in the pilothouse.

Trace sat in the captain’s chair, and Paul stood at his right. 

“This button,” Trace said, pointing at a chrome metal button. “It’s the starter.” Trace depressed it with his thumb. “Do you hear the engine?”

“Yes,” Paul said.

“That’s all there is to that,” Trace said. “This here gauge is the oil pressure. It should be at forty. Is it forty?”

“Yes,” Paul said.

“Here’s the throttle,” Trace said. “It’s in neutral. Push forward, you go forward. Pull back, it goes back. The further from neutral, the more RPMs the propeller spins.”

Trace moved the throttle slightly forward. He pointed to a digital gauge. That’s the speed in knots. A knot is 1.15 miles. We only want to do about three knots.”

And they were on their way. An hour later, the sails were hoisted. They sailed two miles off the southern coast of Fiji.  

By the time Makani had the evening meal on the table, Fiji lay serenely off the starboard aft.

The Double-Cross In Paradise: Episode 7, A Good Job

  This is episode seven in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle.  

A Good Job

They stowed their luggage, comprising of backpacks and canvas bags. 

Trace sat on the cabin roof as they filed from the forward companionway. “Hey,” Trace mocked a doting parent’s voice, “now you kids be careful. Don’t stay out too late.”

They smirked and glanced at each other.

“Oh, by the way,” Trace said, “tonight's bingo night aboard the boat. Can I play your cards until you get back?”

They rolled their eyes and left the boat. 

Sage came up the companionway and sat next to Trace. They watched the passengers walk away.

“Kind of rubbing it in a little, weren’t you?” Sage said.

“It’s been a while since we can have a little fun,” Trace said. “The last few months, this has all been like a pressure cooker for me and the crew.”

“Allie give you any idea how long we’ll be away from Suva?” Trace said.

“She mentioned at least a couple of months,” Trace said. “It sounds like a lot of island hopping. That’s kinda what I thought we’d be doing. Are you gettin’ antsy to get back home?”

“Nah,” Sage said, “just like to know what’s over the horizon.  How long do you think Paul and Tom will last?”

“I think they’ll stick around until we get back to Suva,” Trace said. “Those guys have degrees, and they have them in nothing having anything to do with being a deckhand.”

“You remember D. Dalton Dillingham, don’t you?” Sage said.

“Best dern lawyer in San Antonio,” Trace said.

“He and my dad were, friends,” Sage said. “How they became friends is a long story. But, anyway, that guy is sitting on top of the world, cushioned by a stack of money. He came to our ranch to do some hunting. I saddled up two horses, and we went huntin’. Made a little campfire one night, sat and talked. I wasn’t yet out of high school, but he talked to me like we was equals. I remember he told me the best job he ever had was working at a counter in a corner grocery store. He said there were times in the middle of a trial he wished he was back there.”

“Are you saying when those guys reach the top of their chosen fields, they might say this may have been the best job they ever had?” Trace said.

“Who knows?” Sage said. “But this is a good job.”

New Novel; The Double-Cross In Paradise Available In Paperback and Kindle

   I'm pleased to inform everyone that my newest novel is complete and available on Amazon. It is the sixth novel in the Trace Troy Adventures in Paradise Series. It is currently serialized on this site. 

  The backdrop of all books in this series centers around Trace Troy. He is the son of Adam Troy, the fictional character from the early 60s television series, Adventures in Paradise. 

  This adventure takes Trace and his cargo schooner, The Tramp Islander, to the Vanautua Islands. It is there he comes in contact with a ring of drug traffickers. However, what is the double-cross? That would be giving it away.

  Here are the links to The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle.  

  Hope you enjoy.

  Byron Lehman

The Double Cross In Paradise; Episode 6, Introductions

This is episode six of my latest novel in The Trace Troy Adventure series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. It is not yet available in paperback or digital format. 

  The first title for this book was The Deception in Paradise. There are a couple of other books bearing that same title. Double-Cross really fits the book's theme better. 

   As soon as it is available on Amazon, I'll let everyone know. In the meantime, it will be serialized and scheduled for 50 episodes. I'm sure you'll enjoy.

Introductions

At mid-afternoon, Trace pulled the sextant from the drawer of the chart desk. He hadn’t used it in a couple of months. He applied Brasso and polished it off. He thought about mounting it somewhere handy so he could occasionally use it. He never wanted to allow that skill to skid away. It made him feel more in touch with the craft of seamanship. He read about many of the last arts of navigation and admired them. ‘This is the way a craftsman should start any craft. A carpenter should at least be familiar with a handsaw and a hand drill. It builds appreciation for the masters and the work before him. A shipbuilder should know the craft of his predecessors. Dad made me cowboy like his great-grandfather did. You love it more. And you are a part of a guild, a brotherhood.’

Trace glanced up from polishing at the sound of laughter coming from the deck. He stood. Two young men and two young ladies laughed and moved around playfully on the foredeck. 

Trace laid down the sextant and made his way through the aft door of the pilothouse. He stepped easily forward, and stood next to the roof of the cabins. 

They noticed Trace, stopped, and brought the giggles and laughter to mild tittering. They shuffled around as if embarrassed.

Trace stared, unamused. “Get off my boat.”

“We’re your passengers,” a tall man with fluffy blonde hair said.

“Not until I say you’re my passengers. Now off my boat.”

“I’m sorry it seems we’ve got off on the wrong foot,” the fluffy-haired man said. 

The rest were unable to restrain their smiles.

“We get back on the right foot by getting off my boat and asking permission to come aboard. It’s sailors’ etiquette. Would you enter a home without knocking?”

They dawdled from the boat. 

The fluffy-haired man stood at attention and rendered an open-palmed salute. “Permission to come aboard, sir!”

“This appears like all fun and games to you, but it’s not to me,” Trace said. “Now, I want you to ask me to come aboard like an educated, civilized man. Not begging but understanding the tradition and respect due. Think it through, and ask.”

The fluffy-haired man glared at Trace.

“Go get your refund from Allie,” Trace said and turned toward the pilothouse.

“Sir,” the fluffy-haired man called out in a clear voice.

Trace turned to face him.

“May me and my friends come aboard?”

“You have my permission to come aboard,” Trace said flatly yet firmly, and when each one stepped onto the deck, he politely said, “Welcome aboard,” to each one.

Trace opened the door to the forward companionway. He leaned into it and called down, “All hands on deck!”

Everyone filed out from the companionway. They lined up on the opposite side of the deck, next to the railing. 

“I’d like to introduce myself and the crew to The Tramp Islander, Trace said. “I’m Trace Troy, Captain and owner.”

“I’m Sage Wingate, first mate.”

“Me Makani, cook.”

“Paul Parnell, deckhand.”

“Tom Bevins, deckhand.”

Trace nodded at the passengers. They had no arrangement.

“I’m Patterson Beushon,” said the tall one with the fluffy blond hair.

“Erin Hemley,” said the other male, s bit shorter with short back hair.

“Margot Boekells,” said a female with long red hair.

“Zoey Conccelo,” said a short female with long black hair.

“We’re all pleased to meet you and have you aboard,” Trace said. “This is not a passenger voyage. This is a working cargo vessel. We take on passengers who want to go cheap, go to where a lot of passenger ships don’t go, or who want to have a unique and challenging experience.”

“The crew is not your waiters, porters, or cabin boys. You will not treat them as underlings. The crew eats first, and the passengers eat second. For passengers, breakfast is from 7:00 AM to 7:30 AM. Lunch is from 12:00 to 12:30. Evening meal is from 6:00 PM to 6:30 PM. Snacks are always available on the counter to the galley. No one is allowed in the galley, the engine room, or the holds. Each room has a TV and a video player, and we have a library of movies. We don’t have Xanadu.” Trace paused. “That’s a joke.”

“Okay,” Trace said, “I can cross comedian off my career path. Each passenger can have one beer a day. You can’t give your beer to anyone else. This is not a drunken pleasure cruise. We don’t want anybody staggering overboard. When we are out to sea, we will be days from help. Don’t try to be cute or clever.”

Patterson leaned toward Erin and whispered something.

“What is it, Patterson?”

Patterson smirked. “I said you’re a regular Captain Bleigh.”

“Actually,” Trace said, “I consider myself more of a Wolf Larson type. Right crew?”

“A cross between Wolfe Larson and Captain Ahab,” Sage said.

“And the jokes just keep on rolling,” Patterson said sarcastically.

“That they do,” Trace said. “Go grab your baggage.” 

Trace gestured like an usher toward the forward companionway. “Below the steps are six cabins. Men, you will be in cabins 1 and 3, and ladies, you are in 2 and 4. If you wish to eat aboard tonight, let us know now.”

They mumbled among themselves. 

“We’ll eat at a restaurant tonight,” Patterson said.

“It would be best if you’re on board before 10:00 PM,” Trace said. “That way, I’ll know for sure we will be ready to go tomorrow morning. If you come back to the ship drunk, you will not be permitted aboard. Again, it is a safety issue. Drunks hurt themselves. Is that understood?”

“Aye aye,” Patterson smirked.

The others shook their heads agreeably. 

“Very well,” Trace said. “We will be shoving off around 4:00 AM. I try to get out of the harbor before it starts to get busy. Don’t be alarmed at the movement on deck or if the boat starts to rock. If you sleep through it, by the time you are up, we’ll be well out to sea. Another thing, Port Vila is six hundred and seventy-five miles of open sea. It may take four days to get there. This is a sailing vessel. We depend on the winds, currents, and weather; they are not always cooperative. It’s going to be a long four days. I just want to prepare you.”