Wulfric Wulfricson was a seasonal whaler. So was his farther Wulfric Wulfricson. And his grandfather and his father before that. All the way back to Ulfric Ulfricson who came from the north as a conquering settler. Back when our ancestors from frozen Ashland were driven out by the other conquers, the Æsc’s. His family had worked the traditional occupation of seasonal whaler for generations. When the whaling season was over, he took up that other hereditary tradition, piracy. Nobody talked about that and I certainly was not in the know. What I did know was that every other captain I had met turned me down on account of my age. I also knew that Wulfric had two ships and was popular for his generosity. He innumerate, illiterate, and burnt through his earnings every year. He did not so much as make money but subsist off his occupation.

I had spent an entire afternoon visiting dockside drink houses looking for work. I was downright incensed by the time I got to Captain Wulfric. The embarrassment of disappointment and chronic dismissal had given me a boldness bordering impertinence. When I found my man, he was alone at his table looking a few pitchers past sober. I dragged a barstool across the flagstones to him and made my proposition.

“You need me.”

“I, I err what?”

“Your financial situation is abysmal. But not unsalvageable.”

“Who are you?”

“My guess is that you are losing money in places you don’t need to.”

“What about my money?”

“I can straighten your ledgers and bring in more gold.”

“Gold? Are you the leprechaun?”

That threw me off. His glazed eyes took on a feverish light as he mistook me for a mythical creature from the western archipelago. The man was obviously well past insensible, and I got the sinking feeling that this was a pointless endeavour.

“Your drunk Captain Wulfric, go home.”

I sighed as I got off my stool. It had been a long day and whatever your age, a litany of rejections was hard on the ego. I hadn’t the heart to dismissed by a drunk.

“Wait, you are a leprechaun?”

“No Captain Wulfric I am not. Goodbye.”

“I said wait!”

That was on order and it made me stop. Through the fug of alcohol, the Captain had put iron in his voice. That feverish light in his eyes had a flinty resolve behind it. For a moment I saw the high sea captain and knew as a dangerous man. The drink house grew silent and I sat back down on. I waited.

“I had a dream… a dream of a leprechaun…”

“And?”

“You boy, you said gold. You see?”

“I see…” I did not, but I did see an opportunity.

“It is wyrd!”

My new employer Wulfric Wulfricson was a traditionalist. You didn’t give your children the same name for centuries if you weren’t. He was a firm believer of the old superstitions. I once saw him cast rune etched bones into a fire to read his wyrd. He refused to put his left boot on before his right or sharpen a blade in his shadow. Fate and dreams were of paramount importance to him. I guess it was blind luck that he dreamed of a mythical creature that held a pot of gold. Our meeting was fate, or wyrd as he called it. For all the scepticism I initially felt for Wulfric’s superstitions, I would learn to pay heed to his omens.

At our evening meal I told my father I had found employment as a scribe to a highly successful sea captain. He didn’t take me nor my story seriously, he was in for a surprise the next day. During the morning hours a sober and well turned out Wulfric entered our store. The drunk I saw yesterday was replaced by a towering sea captain. He positively clinked as his arm rings shook whenever he moved. The rings were an anachronism from days when men still wore them as symbols of wealth and prestige. The Æsc’s still wore them, but the tradition had largely died out in the Isles.

“Apothecary Saker, I have come to request permission to take on your sons services this whaling season.”

My father drew a blank as he wondered what was going on. He was an insular man and as much aware of the Captains reputation as I had been. I was working in the backroom noting prescription, I emerged when I heard that rumbling voice. My father met my eye and it took a long moment for him to remember last night’s conversation.

“Ah yes… My son had told me he found employment with a sea captain. What exactly will he be doing?”

Wulfric paused for a moment as he too tried to remember yesterday’s conversation. He had been drunk at that time and that didn’t help matters. All he knew was that I was good luck. I quietly held up my father’s ledgers so that Wulfric could see. I hoped the hint would help.

“He will hold my papers.”

I wanted to palm my face at his answer. Perhaps it was the general strangeness Wulfric exuded, thankfully my father interpreted it as “he will be my secretary”.

“I see. Well when will he start? What are his hours? Where are your offices?”

“He will start tomorrow. In two weeks’ time we will go to sea and be back in a few months once the season ends.”

Now it was my turn to be surprised. I was going to sea! I had thought I would be locked in some dockside office. My excitement was matched by my father’s concern, he did not approve of this arrangement. I tried to get a foot in before he could phrase his refusal.

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“You told me I should get a job dad, so I did. Captain Wulfric said that the pay will be generous!”

He had promised no such thing. Outside of agreeing to hire me and to get my father’s permission, there was no further negotiations. It would have been a rare thing too if you could work out a contract with an insensible drunk.

“It is not the money that concerns me son, it is your wellbeing.”

“I swear on my honour that your boy will be returned unharmed.”

Wulfric’s oath flew overhead as my father looked down at me. I could see that he was set on refusing his permission. I was thinking fast, I needed a way to make him change his mind.

“What if somebody came with me, somebody we know.”

“Who?”

“Winston.”

Everybody like Winston, and my father had grown fond of him. He trusted him to look after me. But I could see that it wasn’t enough. My thoughts raced as I tried to come up with something else. I looked into his eyes and in a moment of clarity I knew just what to say. I saw fear and concern, a fear of losing me. I was going into a world he didn’t know, and that lack of knowledge scared him.

“Dad, I want to go.”

And he understood my words. In the face of that realisation he relented.

“Alright, but only if Winston and his father agrees as well.”

Just like that my wyrd had changed.

Winston was ecstatic. His father was less difficult to convince than mine. Wulfric had been initially unenthusiastic to take on a deadweight, but when he saw the boy his mind had changed. He was good cooper and carpenter. Larger than most lads his age; Winston was a hard worker with a mild temperament.

Hilda had thrown a fit that night when she got back home. I was too young to be doing what I was hired for. Besides, it was dangerous and backbreaking work. I pointed out that I was only a secretary and that boys younger than me were already sailors. I should have kept my mouth shut. She lay into me with such vitriol, I swear if she were a magus, she would have flayed my soul. Feeling not a little miffed, I comforted her when she cried after her tirade. I decided I should warn Winston to not come around for a while. She had almost burst a blood vessel when she heard he agreed to the whole idea without so much as a complaint.

Things at home were strained for the next few days. Whilst my family came to terms of what just happened, I was occupied by what was to come. There is not much a child, no matter how precocious, can do as an accountant. My knowledge of handling expenses and running the Rusalka came with age and experience. She was not my first ship though, my first two were Wulfric’s Red Smile and the Bright Lance. They were both single deck long ships, fast and light they were ideal hunters. I knew little of sailing and even less of how to keep a boat afloat. The Captain however knew his trade well and did not expect me to do much. I was his lucky charm, he only expected me to stay nearby. One thing I did do was make an account of his finances. He was a man who did not know how much money he had and cared less on how much he used. In essence he was a flagrant spender.

His lack of awareness was a key factor in his financial habits. When I presented his basic monetary situation on paper he balked. Wulfric was a superstitious wild man not an idiot. From then onwards he had me sit in for every financial exchange. I recorded everything and he had me break it all down for him. It wasn’t anything complicated, but it was a step up from nothing. I soon learnt that Wulfric was a shrewd businessman, he could haggle like fishmonger’s wife and knew when to back down. He was however inclined to spending money for the littlest things. Supplies from here wares from there, a team of porters for every different shop. The friend of a cousin who wove good sails but charged for quality. He was a tactician not a strategist.

We set a budget and for the next two weeks and went about outfitting the ships. Winston followed along not really understanding, but just happy to be there. I received a firsthand education on maritime logistics. There were details to the craft that I could have never had guessed as an outsider. What do you think are the most important provisions to keep a ship at sea? There is food and water for sustenance, salt for the preservation of the catch, rope for just about everything, seasoned wood for repairs, tar, extra canvas for sails. There were thousands of little details to the life of adventure one rarely sees nor hears about. Fortune plays a significant role in the degree of success one may enjoy, but survival was determined by preparation. And who better learn of preparation than a veteran survivor?

After the initial flurry of work, I was left to my own devices. Wulfric had a crew of trusted old hands. They had all left his services and returned to their families as they waited out the year. It was the beginning of fall and the whales would return to the western islands. He insisted he would negotiate their cut of the profits, that was a contract he held sacred. Most of his veterans had slowly trickled into town in the next few days. A few didn’t turn up and he had to find replacements for them. Both the Red Smile and Bright Lance were light ships. They had twenty and twenty-two rowing benches, respectively. You could pack near fifty men in each boat, but Wulfric chose not to overcrowd his benches.

The first of his men to arrive were his officers. It was quiet day and Winston was at home helping his father. Wulfric and I were going over ways he could reduce his expenses. We were in the same tavern that we had hired me in. I was in the middle of explaining something when the Captain abruptly rose and roared.

“Oskar you dog! When did you get back?”

I looked up in alarm to see a tall wiry man at our table. I had been engrossed by my work, but he had approached us without a sound.

“Just right now as it happens Captain. I see you’ve picked up a new hand.” He gave me a glance.

“He’s our lucky break Oskar, he’s my leprechaun.”

“I see…”

He clearly did not. But he was familiar enough with Wulfric, so he nodded along.

“Guess who I found on my way here.”

Oskar tilted his head to the bar. There stood short fleshy man waiting for his drink.

“Stan? By the ancestors this is an omen!”

Did I tell you that the Captain was superstitious? He saw signs in everything, I made things worse by being there. Every coincidence and stroke of good fortune was an omen in his eyes. I believe the philosophers of the Old Empire called that a confirmation bias. See Marcus, I do know my classics.

Stan and Oskar were Wulfric’s lieutenants; Oskar was the skipper of the Red Smile and Stan the crew cook. Now a cook in any body of men is an important job, on a whaler ship doubly so. Once a kill had been made it needed to be processed for its useful parts, the flesh, scrimshaw, and blubber. Blubber was the most profitable commodity. The oil extracted from the fat lit our lamps, made soap, blued our steel, and proofed our cloaks. It had countless other functions and suffice to say we weren’t the only people to use the stuff. Continental trade had made a boom market and the demand bought a pretty penny to those who could supply.

What I’m trying to say is that there was a lot of money to be made in whaling. Blubber took up a lot of cargo space compared to the oil that could be extracted. Stan kept us fed and rendered the whale oil. A poor cook would make dirty oil, it would go rancid and tacky. Stan however was a man who knew his trade, he could make the lightest clear grease I had ever seen. How he did that was a mystery, but most craftsmen had their trade secrets.

Wulfric’s two companions was a study in contrast. Oskar was like a whip, all muscle and sinew wrapped around a lanky frame. Smooth shaven and completely bald his face was almost skeletal in features. It was as if the skin was tightly stretched over his bones. Cool, quiet, and undoubtably dangerous the man was intimidating. Stan was the opposite of the skipper, he was large, loud, and jovial. Bearded and bloated, the man had a balding pate. Myopia caused him to squint, giving him beady quality that bordered on piggish. What both men shared with their Captain was their underlying nature, they were all predators.