Thomas leapt upward into the tangle of the shroud. His hands gripped and pulled, his back strained, and his legs thrust him skyward in an orchestrated dance of muscle. The warm Caribbean wind pulled at him as he rose, tugging like a taunting hand, threatening to pull him free of the hemp rope upon which he propelled himself.

Below, Thomas could hear the hoots, hollers, and cheers of the crew. Even above the sound of the fluttering sails, the beating of his heart, and the gush of air in his lungs, he could make out the spiced voice of Antonia cheering him on. A smile came to his face as the exhilaration of the contest, and the adrenaline that filled his veins coalesced into a slurry of joy. Captain Thomas Lightfoot let out a wild hoot as he made the mid-point of the main mast.

He had no idea where Jax was. Thomas did not dare look away from his next handhold, but he knew that the sea-artist could not be far behind, if he was behind at all. Even amidst the exertion, the open mouthed smile remained on Thomas’ face. This contest for Thomas was no mere feat of physical prowess, it was a venture of fun, of friendship, and of camaraderie. No matter who made the top first, Thomas would view himself the victor. It took a certain kind of man to challenge a ship’s captain to a chase up the main mast, and Thomas loved Jax for his nonchalant courage.

By the time he made the level of the skysail, Thomas’ legs burned, and he could no longer feel his fingers upon the rope. Above, he could see the crow’s nest plainly, with the youngster Barlow looking down over the railing at him. At this height, the two shrouds closed with one another as they neared the apex of the main sail. Though he could not see clearly, Thomas could make out the swift blur of Jax out of his periphery, and as best he could judge, the two men were neck and neck.

“Damn your eyes,” Thomas muttered to himself between gritted teeth. “Climb!”

With a last burst of speed, Thomas hauled himself upward, grunting with a final effort. His hand slapped hard upon the railing of the crow’s nest.

Huffing like a bawdy woman in a port brothel, Thomas affixed Barlow with a serious gaze.

“Well?” He yelled between breaths. “By God’s wounds, who the hell won?”

Thomas could not see Jax now, as both men were on either side of the square crow’s nest. Barlow looked nervous, glancing about, and stammering wordlessly. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Thomas hauled himself over the railing, and immediately caught site of Jax leaned over the opposite side. Barlow looked to his captain, an anxious and apologetic expression upon his young face. Seeing this, Thomas let out a long sigh, and began to chuckle. He made the short distance to Jax, and helped to heave the helmsman the rest of the way over the railing.

“Well, you wily bastard,” Thomas said with a sideways smile, the perspiration gleaming upon his forehead in the dwindling light. “What do you want to know?”

Before Jax replied, Thomas held up his hand and turned to Barlow, who was standing silently behind them. The boy looked uncertain, and stood pretending that he wasn’t paying attention to what the captain and the helmsman might be saying.

“Get your ass below, Barlow, and inform the crew of the result of the race.” Thomas said sharply. 

Barlow gulped hard. “Yes, Captain. Right away, Captain.”

As the boy began to scramble over the railing, Thomas stopped him by placing a firm hand upon his arm. Barlow froze, and looked very near to wetting himself. 

“And Barlow,” Thomas leaned close to the boy before finally cracking a smile. “Tell the crew that they are free to drink their fill tonight. Though, do politely advise them that come the morrow, I will grant no quarter for those who are suffering from Irish fever.”

At that, even the nervous and uncertain Barlow grinned before slipping away down the main mast. Thomas turned back to Jax. 

“Well, that should make things interesting. Congratulations on the victory, and damn it all, you had better have remembered the rum.” Thomas laughed. “God knows I’ll need to be drunk when I have to face Antonia.”