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OF GODS AND MEN
Chapter 12: Tom is Inappropriate

           There was no sleeping the night of the storm.  Deck hands, oarsmen, the navigator, and even Amelia all worked to get the ship put back together.  Debris was scattered everywhere, and sailors worked feverishly plugging up some holes below deck that leaked onto the ship; but all in all, the Defiance had come through the storm in tact. 
            Tarsus did not allow himself to linger in self-loathing now.  In this situation, it was very easy to determine the useful work that needed doing.  Tarsus noticed a few of the deck hands cleaning debris off of the deck.  There weren’t many of them.  He guessed it was because this was the job that no one wanted to do.  So he rolled up his sleeves, and began to help them.
               They collected spared bits of wood, wire, cloth, old food: anything that had been damaged in the storm and had not flown overboard.  Items were separated according to what they were, and every few hours they brought whatever they had collected to a foreman to see if it could be salvaged.     
               Every now and then, Tarsus looked around to see what Cassius was doing to help the ship.  The half-god could always be found on the quarterdeck, looking down on the sailors who worked so hard to put the Defiance back together. 
          On one of these stolen glances, Cassius caught Tarsus’s eye.  He flashed the sunsword a wry grin.
          “Finally,” the half-god declared in a booming voice for all to hear.  “My chosen finds something useful to do.
          “Just trying to help,” Tarsus called out in response. 
          Tarsus was struggling with one side of a heavy piece of driftwood.  Try as he might, he couldn’t lift it all by himself. 
          “By lifting,” Cassius mocked.  “Though it seems you’re not very good at that either.  Imagine the stories they’ll tell of you.  The chosen of Cassius, Tarsus Cole the sunsword, charged with finding the legendary sword Malthir for the son of Malthus.  Did he do it, they’ll ask.  No, the minstrels will sing, he couldn’t even lift a piece of driftwood.  I wonder if that girl is interested in being my chosen.” 
          Some of the other sailors laughed at this jeer.  Most kept working without paying Cassius any attention.  One deckhand, Tom, approached the other end of the driftwood and bent down to help. 
          Tarsus let his head fall for only a moment.  Tom was a nice enough fellow, but everyone onboard agreed that he was odd.  He liked to talk, in great detail, about many things that didn’t concern him.    
          Still, Tarsus raised his head and offered Tom a quick smile as thanks for the help.  Together, the two of them grit their teeth and did what Cassius was eager to mock them for: lift. 
          “Tell me Tom.  What does Cassius do on the ship?” Tarsus asked. 
          “Nothin,” Tom answered simply.  “He stands up there, watches.  When he gets bored, he’ll take a nap.” 
          “It’s his ship, I suppose,” Tarsus mused. 
          “It’s not,” Tom said as they let the driftwood fall in front of the foreman.            
          “Useless.  Throw it overboard,” the foreman commanded. 
           Tarsus and Tom bent at the knees to lift the heavy, rotted thing.  With raised wood, they moved toward the ship railing. 
          “Defiance belongs to Captain Amelia,” Tom went on.  “Only reason this god is on it is because she likes him.” 
          “Likes him?” Tarsus asked, bewildered. 
          “Yeah.  Likes him,” Tom gave an awkward wink and a sloppy grin that Tarsus understood, even if it unsettled the sunsword’s stomach.  “Really likes him.  Like, they sleep in the same bed kind of likes him.  And they don’t wear clothes, if you catch my meaning.  No sir, no clothes." 
          “I understand,” Tarsus said, trying to convey that he had heard enough. 
         “We hear screams in the night sometimes,” Tom continued.  “And not screams of pain, mind ye.  No sirrey.  Screams of ecstasy, if you catch my drift.” 
          “I do,” Tarsus firmly posited as they threw the driftwood overboard.  “You’re being explicitly clear.” 
          “I stood guard outside the captain’s quarters once or twice, when it was goin on,” Tom gave Tarsus a nudge of the elbow.  “Peeked my head in.  Quite a show.  And not a stage show, mind.  Not some lute player or juggler, though there were acrobatics involved.  Plenty o’balls bein thrown…” 
          “TOM,” Tarsus turned to the good-natured sailor and grabbed his shoulders to stop him.  “I understand.  They’re lovers.” 
           Tom’s smile grew even wider.  “Don’t think love’s got anything to do with it, if you pick up what I’m trying to put down.” 
           Tarsus smiled, despite himself.  He did indeed pick up what Tom was trying to put down.  

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