《The Song of Seafarers》


 Monsters

    -- by the frost in my blood and the chill in my bones


    down, down, down, down, a northerly wind blows.


    The old maps never lie. Here there be monsters. In the lands far to the north where the sky meets the ice, I saw them. I was hardly old enough to shave then, tying knots and scrubbing the decks of the Skybound Jenny under the watchful eye of Captain Searly. Not that I was much good at it; how could I be, when the water froze in the instant it touched the deck? I learned fair early that my fingers were of more use to the captain and myself if they weren¡¯t black with cold, and kept them in my pockets when they weren¡¯t strictly necessary.


    I wondered with some frequency why the captain should sail us so far north. The cold bit like a savage, and on the worst days I thought my eyelashes would freeze together. There¡¯s not a place on the globe quite so hostile. Oh, but the north called to Captain Searly like a siren in the rocks, and was just as deadly. He flourished out there. Strange, it was. Uncanny.


    He was an iceberg of a man, the captain. I thought it every day as we navigated around the frozen behemoths, shearing deadly close to their jagged ribs. He would storm about the decks, looking every bit as colossal and every bit as mighty. The bergs can put a hole in a ship like nothing else, and the captain could, too. He was quick with a gun and quicker with a word. He snuck up on you when you daydreamed, scaring the wits out of you when he was suddenly towering over you. He had little patience for tomfoolery. If ever a man had eyes like the ice, it was him. Naturally, I wanted to be exactly like him.


    The rest of the men were a different tangle of rigging altogether. Not a soft soul among them, but on the days where it wasn¡¯t too cold to speak, they¡¯d throw tales across the deck. Sometimes I¡¯d get so caught in the stories that the captain would come up beside me and kick over my bucket, a none-too-subtle reminder to get back to work. Oh, the stories they told! They spoke of sirens in the southeast, and selkies in the west.


    ¡°What about the north?¡± I asked once. That afternoon, we were caught between a pair of ice floes; it had been hours since we¡¯d moved an inch. Mother Nature gave us the grace of fair weather that day, and weak sunlight was straining its way through the clouds. The captain was hopeful that we¡¯d be moving before morning.


    McCrea winked at me. He thought he was a charming devil, although he wasn¡¯t quite a packet of brains, and not many years older than myself. ¡°You¡¯d like to know, wouldn¡¯t you, trog?¡±


    Old Frankie waved his hand absently. He was in his sixties already, which made him the oldest person I had ever met. This was to be his last voyage. ¡°Never ye mind, lad,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s nothing can survive this frost.¡±


    McCrea winked at Marlowe and then started whistling. You couldn¡¯t accuse him of being good for much, but he could whistle fit to summon the selkies. Marlowe grinned, comically tugging his pipe out of his tobacco-stained teeth to pick up the melody. Others joined in, and soon their strange, throaty chanting echoed off the icebergs. Their words, if they were words at all, weren¡¯t in any language I knew; I could make no heads or tales of them. Eventually, they raked to a halt with a cacophony of laughter.


    ¡°What does it mean?¡± I asked, loud enough to be heard over their lively chatter.


    Still chortling in that ungainly way of his, Marlowe held a half-blackened finger before his lips. ¡°Shh-hhh,¡± he sputtered at me. ¡°Don¡¯t want to wake the gil¡¯he-moahr.¡±


    ¡°The what?¡± I asked, already halfway enraptured.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Old Frankie dismissed them with a wave of his hand. ¡°The gil¡¯he-moahr,¡± he repeated. ¡°It¡¯s a fairy story, lad. Never ye mind, I says.¡±


    McCrea swooped down on us with his coat stretched open like wings. He was hardly wider than a rope underneath it. Paired with his inability to wear his clothes properly, it was a mighty wonder that he hadn¡¯t yet frozen to death. ¡°They sleep in the bergs most of times,¡± he said, a wicked grin on his face. ¡°But when a ship comes through and the winds come down from the north, they can sniff out skinny little trogs like yourself and it gets their appetites a-running. The air¡¯ll go so cold, and they¡¯ll swoop in and snatch you right off the deck. Don¡¯t even care about smashing the ship.¡±


    ¡°Smithereens,¡± Marlowe added enthusiastically.


    ¡°If it¡¯s trogs they¡¯re after, they¡¯ll take the lot of you,¡± the captain bellowed. The men all scrambled to look busy, but the captain paid them no mind. He was looking right at me. I could feel his eyes on me as I fixed mine on my bucket, waiting for the captain¡¯s boot to topple it. I couldn¡¯t quite move; the air seemed a thousand times colder than it was before. My sodden rag twisted into a tight ball in my fists, mimicking the knot of terror in my belly.


    Captain Searly tapped my bucket with his toe, his shadow crashing over me like ill omens. A little scoff trailed out of him, and he popped his knuckles. ¡°Get up, lad,¡± he boomed. I did.


    He waved me over to his cabin, and I followed, tripping over my own feet like a trog. The cabin was barely warmer than the rest of the ship, but he shed his great oiled coat and tossed it over the back of his chair. ¡°The gil¡¯he-moahr isn''t a myth,¡± he said bluntly, hauling a wide volume off the shelf and flipping it open on his desk. The paper was oiled to proof it against the sea spray, and it was translucent as a result. He turned the book toward me and tapped the page with a thick forefinger. ¡°See that?¡±


    I squinted at the writing on the page. I couldn¡¯t even begin to make out what it said. ¡°I can¡¯t read,¡± I confessed.


    Captain Searly snorted. ¡°Some catch you are,¡± he muttered. ¡°Give me the book.¡± He didn¡¯t wait for me to comply, turning it back toward himself. He skimmed the page briefly, then snapped the book shut. ¡°They aren¡¯t after trogs,¡± he concluded. ¡°When they wake, the wind blows from the north and the gil¡¯he-moahr can smell out the damned.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± I asked, awestruck.


    ¡°Beats me,¡± the captain said shortly. ¡°I¡¯ve filled my ship with the best of men I could find. They¡¯re trogs, right enough, but they¡¯re harmless trogs. With any luck we can pass by without the attention of the gil¡¯he-moahr.¡±


    Another question flared up on my tongue, but I can¡¯t remember what it would have been now, because I never got to saying it. Trailing his coat in his haste, the captain flung the door open and gestured for me to leave. I complied, of course. What else could I do?


    The second my boots hit the deck, the Jenny lurched and shuddered, and she was moving again. A great, rousing cheer rose from the men, and the captain started barking orders. Night was reaching down, at which we would normally lay anchor and wait out until we could see by natural light, but the captain was strangely animated. ¡°We¡¯re close,¡± I heard him say. ¡°We¡¯re so close.¡±


    The floes crunched under her keel as the Jenny rolled forward. We were moving again, moving toward the northwest. The air went thick with excitement, so heavy I could taste it. Well into the night, we navigated the channels between the hulking masses of ice that rose and fell in the dark like a bad ghost story. My washing bucket had long since frozen over, but I jogged about the deck, trying not to slip and spill the precious coffee I was handing out by order of our cook. It was a night to rejoice, Pat had told me. If the captain thought we were close, we must be, and that was a thing to celebrate.


    I was delivering a small cup of the precious liquid warmth to Old Frankie at the stern of the ship when Marlowe let out a startled yelp from the rigging. ¡°Captain!¡± he warbled, his words oddly strangled. ¡°Bow starboard!¡±


    I whirled around, squinting in hopes of seeing what Marlowe was squawking about, but I hardly had need to. Directly ahead of the Jenny¡¯s starboard rigging, reaching out of the dark like a skeletal hand, there lay a half-splintered mast from some ship lost to the bergs.


    The captain¡¯s head whipped toward the port side of the ship, where we were barely scraping past the rough edge of an iceberg whose spine was nearly of a height with the Jenny¡¯s mast. There wasn¡¯t enough room to steer clear of the mast without falling prey to the bergs, and not time to throw anchor. Before the Captain could reach a decision, there was a deafening crunch as the crippled mast struck the forward mast of the Jenny. She ground to a staggering halt. Low, agonizing groans rose again from her depths, followed by a sound that convinced shivers out over my skin. The grinding, creaking cacophony of splitting wood, and the Jenny¡¯s forward mast crashed through the railing and into the berg on our port side, effectively wedging us between the ruined ship and the wall of ice.


    I had never heard such profanity as the chain of words that spilled from Captain Searly¡¯s mouth.

 Marked

    Since my visit to the captain¡¯s cabin, I had begun to see him as a man. But now he again became an iceberg, as towering and frigid as the one we were wedged against. He seethed about the deck, howling his rage. I thought that if the cold didn¡¯t puncture my eardrums, the captain¡¯s bellowing surely would.


    Morning light seeped over the tattered, ruined rigging where it lay heaped on the deck. Over the course of the night, the men had dragged Marlowe out from underneath it and he now lay whimpering in the middle of the deck with several jagged splinters of wood protruding from his right leg. It was a gruesome sight, and shortly after setting my eyes on it I turned to the railing and emptied my stomach. From where he crouched at Marlowe¡¯s side, McCrea scowled at me.


    ¡°What?¡± I snapped.


    His scowl turned into a bitter smirk. ¡°You¡¯re pathetic, trog.¡± Periodically, he upended a flask of soured rum, alternating between Marlowe¡¯s mouth and his own.


    ¡°Ye¡¯d be best to get ¡®im below decks,¡± Old Frankie advised, squinting at Marlowe¡¯s mangled leg. ¡°The frost¡¯ll take it, else.¡±


    ¡°Hell, I can¡¯t carry him,¡± McCrea spat, and I had next to no doubt that it was true. Marlowe was a short, sturdy lad, and while McCrea was taller by a number of inches, he was hardly half as wide. ¡°Trog¡¯ll have to do it.¡±


    ¡°His name¡¯s¡­¡± Old Frankie began.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t give a piss what his name is,¡± McCrea interrupted. ¡°He responds well enough to trog.¡±


    A pox on McCrea and his every endeavor. He was right, I supposed. Every time I heard the nickname barked across the decks, I assumed I was being addressed. Well, I wouldn¡¯t. Not anymore, and certainly not to McCrea.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the captain?¡± Jute was gasping like a speared whale as he careened to a slippery halt near us. He was whippish and wheezy and had exceptionally large teeth. At four years McCrea¡¯s elder, he acted like the opposite. He¡¯d a mind like a fishnet, and while he tried his hardest, names didn¡¯t stick. Not once had he called Captain Searly by name, and Old Frankie was commonly referred to as ¡°sir¡± and ¡°sir¡± alone. At least he¡¯d never called me ¡°trog.¡± Even if he had called me a number of other improbable names.


    ¡°Cabin,¡± Marlowe croaked. He licked his ice-colored lips, and McCrea tipped a large swig of rum into his mouth, causing a burst of spluttering and gagging on Marlowe¡¯s part.


    ¡°Hellfire, Marlowe, hold your damn liquor,¡± McCrea cursed. ¡°Liquid warmth, it is. You¡¯re gonna need it, I ain¡¯t sharing your bunk.¡±


    ¡°Captain won¡¯t see no ¡®un,¡± Old Frankie said gently. ¡°What¡¯s the worry, lad?¡±


    ¡°Can see the whole wreck, caught on a berg,¡± Jute wheezed, a cloud of frozen breath billowing around his head as he pointed starboard. ¡°Captain¡¯ll want to be seeing it.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t we wildly sure of things,¡± McCrea muttered.


    ¡°But it¡¯s got big marks on it!¡± Jute insisted.


    McCrea¡¯s eyes rolled in his head like he couldn¡¯t have stopped them if he wanted to. ¡°It¡¯s a wreck, Jute. It ain¡¯t gonna look like a shiny brig fresh outta harbor.¡±


    Jute turned wide, watery eyes on me. ¡°Gil-he¡¯moahr,¡± he breathed.


    A great sigh heaved out of me. ¡°Go on, then,¡± I said, exasperated. ¡°Show me the wreck.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    I followed Jute¡¯s slippering steps across the deck. The wind was picking up, hurling fine spray off the surface of the water. The salty spray hardened in the air, stinging as it struck my face. When it froze like that, you couldn¡¯t taste it quite so well as you could when we left home. I craved it, though, the way the salt crusted in my hair and my lips and lived in the crevices of my skin. It had a high hand on the cold. Damn this expedition. I wondered, not for the first time nor the last, why I was here.


    ¡°D¡¯you see?¡± Jute rasped, pointing.


    The wreck protruded in several pieces from a smaller berg, putting me in mind of a skeleton. She¡¯d been an old lady already at the time of her demise, which I noted aloud. Old Frankie, who had strolled up behind us, grunted affirmatively.


    ¡°But d¡¯you see the claws?¡± Jute repeated, and I was tempted to slap him for his insistence. But I had no call for dishonesty; sure as the tides, there were several deep gouges in the beams of the wreck that looked odd, undeniably similar to large scratches. I squinted at them for a time, as an attempt to convince myself that my eyes were pranksters after all. I hoped, desperately, but in the end I had to admit that they were ominously claw-like.


    ¡°Well,¡± I began carefully, ¡°It could be¡­¡± But it couldn¡¯t be, it couldn¡¯t be anything.


    ¡°We ought to tell the captain,¡± Jute said, sounding entirely too proud of himself. ¡°He¡¯ll want t¡¯know, won¡¯t he, sir?¡±


    A war of interests played out like a theatre drama on Old Frankie¡¯s face. While Captain Searly was in no manner to be disturbed, surely it would be best for him to know that the monster of his expectations was looming in the icebergs. But what was the cause in adding to his wrath, if we were all harmless trogs? We would pass by the gil¡¯he-moahr unnoticed, wouldn¡¯t we?


    Oh, but we wouldn¡¯t be passing by anything. Not until the bergs shifted. And even then, we had lost the foresail. The possibility billowed over our heads; we might never see land again. We would die, one by one, stranded in the frozen waters of the northerly seas. Each of us had fallen hopelessly in love with our captain¡¯s vision, and it would be the death of us all.


    Starting, I thought, with Marlowe. I made my way back toward him and McCrea. There was an alarming amount of blood, despite the cold that congealed it on the tattered edges of his breeches, and the skin was angry red. Whether from the injury or the cold, I could not tell.


    ¡°Well, who¡¯s gonna tell the captain?¡± Jute persisted, and it dawned on me then that until the issue was resolved, he would not say a word on any other matter. ¡°He ought to know.¡±


    ¡°He sure does, Jute,¡± McCrea said from where he knelt. He upended the flask into his mouth again, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ¡°So why don¡¯t you go tell him?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be cruel,¡± Marlowe croaked. His eyes were caught on the snarling grays of the sky above, but they didn¡¯t seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation, and his mouth made little gasping motions like a fish caught out of water. He appeared like a man stricken to the soul. I wondered briefly if his eyes would ever regain their vitality, or his mouth its reckless grins. Or would Marlowe be the first of us to fade into ice and memory?


    Without warning, the Jenny tilted steeply to port, sending us all sliding across her ice-glazed decks. Marlowe let out a wail of pain, and Jute let out a shriek of unadulterated terror. I collided with the railing with enough force to spin my head. Then, as suddenly as she had tipped, the Jenny righted herself and stood stagnant once more.


    Captain Searly was on the deck in a moment, demanding an explanation. All equally dazed by the sudden movement, none of us responded to his bellowing. I staggered to what I thought was my feet, but soon discovered it was only my knees. McCrea disengaged his mile-long limbs from the confounding tangle of himself and Marlowe, scowling as he did. It seemed that all of his good charm had vanished when we stopped moving.


    ¡°You,¡± the Captain barked, pointing at me. ¡°What happened?¡±


    I shook my fogged head, finally making it to my feet. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Captain,¡± I said. ¡°The Jenny tipped.¡±


    He snorted, as if I were the greatest disappointment in his life, and stormed away, Old Frankie trailing behind him. As he did, the wind rose from behind me and blew my over-long hair into my face.


    My heart dropped into my boots.


    ¡°McCrea,¡± I said, sharp in my panic. ¡°D¡¯you have a compass? I need a compass.¡±


    ¡°Can you read a compass?¡± he sneered.


    ¡°D¡¯you have one or not?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said, throwing up his hands. ¡°No one¡¯s got a compass, less the Captain. I reckon he¡¯s got a fair dozen.¡±


    ¡°Which way is north?¡± I pressed urgently. The wind persisted behind me.


    McCrea¡¯s face went stale with annoyance. ¡°Well, now, that¡¯s a mighty difficult thing for me to know. Me not having a compass, and all. What¡¯s important about it?¡±


    Marlowe made a low creaking noise, pointing limply past me. The action was packed with effort. ¡°North,¡± he grunted.


    Marlowe was renowned on the Jenny  for his impeccable sense of direction. My knees met the deck again. ¡°No,¡± I gasped.


    Realization was a slow delivery on McCrea¡¯s face, but when it came to a close, he scoffed. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re cute, trog,¡± he said. ¡°Thinking the gil¡¯he-moahr are coming for us because the wind is blowing from the north? They¡¯re not real, trog. Use your head.¡±


    The Jenny¡¯s timbers shuddered beneath us, and I felt a deep vibration in my very bones. Startled chirps rose from the crew. Even McCrea¡¯s smug confidence faltered for a moment. For half a moment, the only sound was Marlowe¡¯s strained, raspy breath. I think the rest of us were holding ours. Then, even in the dim gray light, a shadow fell over us. Looking up, my jaw dropped.


    Good God, save us.

 Maidens and Memoirs

    Come on, then, young sailor men, listen to me


    I''ll tell you a tale of the beasts of the sea


    And it''s windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys


    The gil¡¯he-moahr wakes, we''re all together, boys


    Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow


    Heartless nor¡¯wester, boys, down she goes


    Up wakes the beast with his heart all of ice


    Up on the ship and he won¡¯t take her nice


    And it''s windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys


    The gil¡¯he-moahr wakes, we''re all together, boys


    Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow


    Heartless nor¡¯wester, boys, down she goes


    And then up jumps the beast with his ten eyes awake


    Saying, "There¡¯s enough trogs here to last for the week!¡±


    And it''s windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys


    The gil¡¯he-moahr wakes, we''re all together, boys


    Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow


    Heartless nor¡¯wester, boys, down she goes


    Up jumps the beast, a thousand feet tall


    Take ye then cover, else he¡¯ll take ye all


    And it''s windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys


    The gil¡¯he-moahr wakes, we''re all together, boys


    Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow


    Heartless nor¡¯wester, boys, down she goes


    And it''s windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys


    The gil¡¯he-moahr wakes, we''re all together, boys


    Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow


    Heartless nor¡¯wester, boys, down she goes


    The festival of Merdagh had ended the night previous. I had been rightly stupid to get caught up in it. My head throbbed with the forgotten oblivion brought upon me by too much wine. The song being caterwauled in the streets below did me no favors, either. And what a song to sing! It was lacking, I thought, in a language I could understand and without the thready, animated whistling I had first heard it with. What, six years past, already? I scrubbed my grubby palms over my face, grimacing at the heavy bristles on my jaw and lip. I needed a shave, and a good clobbering to get my head in place.


    Scratch that. I rolled out of the narrow inn bed feeling near seventy, and the little looking glass on the wall by the door told me that the clobbering had been properly delivered the evening prior. Damn me and my pitiful life to the depths.


    Oh, yes. That was my intent.


    I nicked my cheek with the razor in my haste, and was still pressing a finger to the wound as I gathered my few belongings and staggered down the stairs. I flagged the innkeeper for my breakfast. This was familiar, like a well practiced dance. He had it all ready for me, a bowl of gray, watery porridge and a cup of watered wine. I turned down the latter, wolfing down the porridge and trying not to show my disgust.


    ¡°So,¡± I said, to stop myself gagging on a bite with a particularly snotty consistency, ¡°did you see him?¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°No,¡± the innkeeper said, pointlessly swiping a cloth over the counter between us.


    I slammed my spoon into the near-empty bowl, producing a satisfying clatter. ¡°Damn,¡± I snapped. ¡°No, he wouldn¡¯t miss the Festival of Merdagh.¡±


    A pensiveness strolled across the innkeeper¡¯s ruddy face. ¡°Ye told me yer friend ¡®ad a history with the sea, did ye not?¡±


    That was one word for it. I nodded with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.


    ¡°How¡¯re you certain it¡¯s a history he¡¯d care to think on?¡±


    Oh, no, I knew it wasn¡¯t. Who would want to dwell on the memories of what we witnessed in the north? But he wouldn¡¯t be able to resist the festival, I knew that well and true. Any excuse for an excess of frivolity would bring him right to the edges of the sea.


    ¡°Hm,¡± I grunted. I slurped back the last of the porridge and dropped a coin on the bar. The innkeeper nodded his thanks and raised no objection as I gathered my small bundle of belongings from under my chair and gusted out the door. The taste of salt was on my tongue the moment I was on the street, highly favorable after the porridge.


    ¡°What now?¡± I murmured, following my feet toward the unabating call of the sea. Beautiful vessels crowded the harbor, their masts proud and their rigging strong. My chest ached to think on the Jenny. Not a ship here could hold a flame to her.


    ¡°Lookin¡¯ for summat, lad?¡±


    The grizzled old sailor peered up at me from under a hat that must have seen as many days at sea as the man himself. He held a pipe in his teeth. I frowned for a second, trying to decide what was the truth, and he took a lopsided step toward me. His right leg led the step, followed by the scrape-thump of the wooden peg attached to his left knee.


    The pipe. The leg.


    Damn it. I hadn¡¯t even thought that I might be looking for the wrong sailor.


    ¡°No,¡± I said quickly, starting a purposeful march toward the town. I paused only a few steps down the jetty, turning back to the sailor. ¡°You¡¯ve not met a Thomas Marlowe, have you?¡±


    The sailor tilted his ear toward me. ¡°Eh?¡±


    Heaving a sigh, I waved my hand dismissively and resumed my determined march. I repeated the question to every person I came across.


    ¡°Thomas Marlowe?¡± one woman repeated. ¡°Shortish fella? Never seen without that other man?¡±


    My heart leapt. ¡°Other man?¡±


    The girl gave me a suggestive smile. ¡°Well, almost never seen without each other.¡±


    ¡°Merdagh¡¯s blessed bosom,¡± I cursed. ¡°D¡¯you know where they are?¡±


    She glanced down, no doubt attempting to entice me to explore her own blessed bosom. Seeing that I was uninterested, she sighed pointedly and pointed over my shoulder. ¡°Last I saw, they was drinking theirselves silly at the Lady¡¯s Corset.¡±


    ¡°I''m grateful,¡± I said, attempting to tear away and find the Lady¡¯s Corset, but she caught my hand and glanced at me through heavy lashes.


    ¡°Are you?¡± she asked breathily, sending a jolt of mixed annoyance and intrigue through me.


    Ah, what harm could it do? I used her grip on my wrist to tug her closer, and planted an enthusiastic, if passionless kiss on her lips. ¡°I am,¡± I said, twirling out of her grasp and taking off down the street, with the warmth of her mouth still making my lips tingle.


    The Lady¡¯s Corset was a slumping pub on the harborside, and I entered it with some hesitancy. The smell of it wafted out onto the streets, a raw stench of sweaty drunkards and vomit, and the external walls rotted in the sea spray. The inside was doubly hideous, and packed to the gills with the expected drunkards. Grimacing, I picked my way between them until I reached the bar. The barmaid looked at me with some interest, her gaze hovering a moment too long at my waist. Tugging my coat around myself, I leaned across the counter and tapped a coin in front of me.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for¡­¡± I paused, trying to decide which name to seek. ¡°I¡¯m looking for Thomas Marlowe, and I heard tell he¡¯s here.¡±


    She glanced at the coin, then at me, and leaned across the counter directly opposite me. ¡°That¡¯s not hardly enough incentive to tell you much,¡± she said, her tongue tracing her upper lip.


    I stifled a sigh. How many girls was I going to have to kiss before I found Marlowe? Not that I minded over much; the last one was none too bad at it. Only, this one¡¯s lips were slathered with rouge.


    Damn it. I donated another kiss to my cause, pulling away before her enthusiastic tongue breached the tight lock of my lips and slapping the coin on the counter. ¡°Thomas Marlowe,¡± I repeated.


    She pouted and waved a hand toward the door. ¡°Right over yonder,¡± she sulked.


    In the darkest corner of the grotty pub, I found a sturdy sailor with a mop of pale hair and a pipe clamped between his teeth. He had aged a remarkable amount over the last six years, though I supposed that was easy to excuse, what with the wooden leg he had stretched out under the table.


    ¡°Marlowe,¡± I said, extending my hand. ¡°Owen Peige.¡±


    He eyed me for a moment, his half-sunken eyes remarkably clear for someone who¡¯d been said to be drinking himself silly. He ignored my hand.


    ¡°I remember you,¡± he said.


    A dry chuckle rose from the shadows. My heart performed a backflip.


    ¡°Oh, I think I do, too,¡± said the owner of that particular chuckle. His voice had dropped significantly, but it was still unmistakable. He leaned forward so the light of the lantern by the door caught the edges of his features. Oh, he looked halfway dead.


    ¡°Mm, yes.¡± He laughed again. ¡°You¡¯ve got something on your lips, trog.¡±

 Misleading Madmen

    I could hardly believe my own great, damnable luck. After a year and a half of searching, I had stopped looking for him, and I had found him the very same day.


    I hooked a chair with my foot and sank into it, pretending I was in full control of my knees. ¡°Rafe McCrea,¡± I acknowledged.


    His smile, I think, was meant to be pleasant, but it came across rather acrid. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d live to see you again, trog. Here for the festival, I suppose?¡±


    He made it so easy for me. I grinned, leaning across my folded forearms over the table. ¡°Here for you,¡± I corrected. Then, glancing at Marlowe, I added, ¡°Both of you. I have a proposition for you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, joy of dolphins,¡± McCrea muttered, his drink-fogged eyes making brief contact with the ceiling. He turned comically to Marlowe. ¡°Shall we listen to the trog¡¯s proposal, Tommy?¡±


    My jaw dropped. ¡°Tommy?¡± I repeated incredulously.


    Two pairs of eyes fell on me, and I snapped my mouth closed. For a long, laden moment, nobody said anything. Then, in a low and vaguely threatening voice, Marlowe said, ¡°If you call me Tommy again, I¡¯ll have your lungs for bagpipes.¡±


    I swallowed. ¡°Understood,¡± I said. In a sudden burst of bravery, I pressed. ¡°So, what do you call McCrea, then?¡±


    ¡°¡®Darling,¡¯¡± McCrea said smugly.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Marlowe recommended, and I couldn¡¯t quite tell if he was talking to me or McCrea. He looked me up and down, and I returned the gaze. He had always been a sturdy, fair youth, full of vivacity and tobacco. The man in front of me, however, rolled his pipe stem in his teeth while he considered me with keen, assessing eyes. Nothing vivacious lived in him now. He was a businessman. And that meant he could be reasoned with.


    ¡°What is the nature of the endeavor you wish to propose?¡±


    McCrea stood up very suddenly, swayed on the spot for a moment and then patted Marlowe¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I need to be thoroughly drunk before you force me to listen to this.¡±


    ¡°You are thoroughly drunk,¡± Marlowe said, ¡°but I¡¯ll allow it. Be quick.¡±


    ¡°As if you have any say in what I¡¯m allowed to do,¡± McCrea said, hauling himself out from behind the table with far more dignity than I would have expected. If he was thin before, it was astonishing that he was not now dead. His ribs showed starkly in his half exposed chest, and his eyes were sunken deep into his skull.


    I grabbed his sleeve as he walked past. This question was imperative to our success. McCrea stopped walking and pulled up his lip like he might bite, and I wouldn¡¯t have been the slightest inch surprised if he did.


    ¡°Do either of you have a vessel?¡± I asked.


    The air between me and Marlowe went tight as a full-bellied sail. McCrea, however, was either too smug to fall prey to the implications of my question, or too drunk to understand it. He tugged his cuff out of my grip. ¡°I ain¡¯t had a mast to my name in a long time,¡± he said.


    A smirk tugged my lips. ¡°Is that so,¡± I murmured, glancing pointedly south of his waistband, my eyebrows raised. I suppose I deserved the slap he delivered to the back of my head as he marched away.


    ¡°What happened to him?¡± I mused, watching him swagger over to the bar.


    ¡°He¡¯s a high-functioning drunk,¡± Marlowe said stiffly. ¡°And you don¡¯t know him, not at all.¡±


    ¡°So help me to,¡± I replied doggedly. ¡°I need him, Marlowe.¡±


    Marlowe took a long draught from his cup and set it down, running his pitted fingertips around the rim. ¡°What are you after, Owen?¡±


    I paused. Assessed. Marlowe was smart, and he would see through a lie like shallow water. But if I told him the truth, he would shut down my proposal before I even laid it out. I needed him, too. I needed them both. Merdagh, I had not thought that Marlowe would be the hardest catch!


    ¡°Something that neither of you will like,¡± I confessed, all in a rush.


    Marlowe huffed out a breath. ¡°Don¡¯t tell McCrea what it is, then,¡± he warned. ¡°It¡¯ll be fool¡¯s errand enough, trying to coax him back to the sea.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s possible,¡± I persisted.


    Scratching his jaw, Marlowe glanced toward the bar where McCrea was chatting up the barmaid I had, unfortunately, kissed. ¡°With the right spur, possibly.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°So you¡¯ll help me, then?¡±


    He laughed sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t get your head over the keel. All I¡¯m saying is, you¡¯ll need a good lie.¡± He inclined his head toward the bar, where McCrea was attempting to cram two pints of ale into one hand. ¡°Quickly.¡±


    "Don''t you want to know the truth before you ask me for a lie?"


    "Not particularly."


    McCrea arrived like a winter squall and offered a pint to Marlowe, who waved his dismissal. ¡°Got one, thanks,¡± he said. ¡°But perhaps Owen would like one?¡±


    McCrea eyed me suspiciously, then placed both cups on the table in front of his seat. ¡°Mine,¡± he declared, flopping into his chair. Spine of an eel, that one. Brains of one, too. He propped his boots on the table and fixed his gaze on the ceiling.


    ¡°Mm,¡± Marlowe murmured, and then turned his gaze on me. ¡°Well, well, Mr Peige. I¡¯m listening.¡±


    I gathered my thoughts and tented my fingers on the table. ¡°I had a dream,¡± I began. ¡°I was on a cliff high above the sea. The waves lapped the rocks below, and the sun was high overhead, shining on the waves like liquid gold. And far over the horizon, so faintly, I could hear singing.¡±


    ¡°Sirens,¡± McCrea said, not tearing his eyes away from the incredibly fascinating tiles overhead. ¡°The sirens sing in your sleep. You really are touched in the head, trog.¡±


    ¡°McCrea,¡± Marlowe warned. ¡°Go on, Owen.¡±


    ¡°When I awoke, I was filled with purpose. The sea calls me.¡±


    ¡°And you think we''ll follow you and your frankly ridiculous dreams to the depths of Merdagh''s heart, is that it?" McCrea spat, finally looking at me. "I never cared for you, trog. Why should I drown for you?"


    I glanced at Marlowe, who simply lifted an eyebrow. "I''m hungry for the sea," I floundered. "But I''ve no wish to die upon it. I''ve heard tell of a treasure to the southeast."


    McCrea''s eyes returned to the ceiling. "Ah. And you think treasure is going to tickle my fancy enough to board a rickety old vessel?"


    "She won''t be rickety," I said immediately. "She''ll be the finest lady on the sea. She''ll put the late Jenny to shame."


    "Let''s suppose for a moment that we''ve agreed to your venture," Marlowe interjected. "What cause would you have to hire us, specifically?"


    "You would be my navigator," I said, "And McCrea would captain my ship."


    McCrea''s half reclined body stiffened so extremely that I thought he had stopped breathing. Marlowe challenged my sanity with his eyes.


    "I''ve seen you do it," I pressed. "The Skybound Jenny, after Captain Searly was snatched off the deck. After the gil''he-moahr baited him out onto the deck and tore him apart. After the Captain''s blood rained down on us and the beasts crushed the Jenny''s bow between them."


    "Shut up," McCrea mouthed.


    I am a terrible listener. "After Marlowe lost his leg to cold and Jute shot Old Frankie and himself in a fit of panic¡­"


    Marlowe shook his head, ever so slightly.


    "...it was Rafe McCrea who gathered the rest of us, used the scraps of the wreck and rebuilt the Jenny so we could sail home."


    "And that," McCrea murmured, deadly quiet, "is why Rafe McCrea is a drunk."


    "Calm southern seas," I said. "A simple, straightforward voyage to get your sea legs about you, and you''ll see that it''s not so bad."


    He heaved a sigh, gathering one of his mugs of ale and taking a long drink. "You know what else is not so bad, trog? Solid land."


    Marlowe held up a hand to stall our bickering. "And if we were to accept, what recompense can we expect?¡±


    A fair enough question. Any sailor worth his salt would make sure that question was satisfactorily answered before he set foot in a deal. I, of course, had not been worth my salt when I boarded the Skybound Jenny, but I recall Old Frankie and the young lads talking about the Captain¡¯s dream far more than they had talked of any payment. This, of course, would not be the case aboard my own vessel. A fabricated dream about a siren''s song was hardly a vision of being the first men to find the edge of the world.


    ¡°The treasure will be split fairly between my crew,¡± I said.


    ¡°If we find it,¡± McCrea muttered.


    ¡°If we don¡¯t, the ship is yours to sell or do with as you please.¡± That earned a slight nod of approval from Marlowe, and I tipped my head in return. ¡°As for you, Marlowe, and any other crew we may have, I will cover any costs for you out of pocket.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating how well you¡¯ve planned this,¡± McCrea drawled. ¡°Or how well you can make things up when you¡¯re put on the spot.¡±


    ¡°Both excellent qualities in a sailor,¡± I said, rather boldly, I thought.


    ¡°Do you have a vessel in mind?¡± Marlowe asked. His face had taken on a new light, almost anticipatory.


    ¡°None yet,¡± I said. ¡°But I think something small. The smaller the crew, the greater the profit, right?¡±


    ¡°At last, a sensible thought. And what would be your role aboard the ship? Cabin boy?¡± McCrea gibed.


    I hadn¡¯t thought of that. Damn, he was right; I was getting far too good at making things up. ¡°You might consider me your benefactor,¡± I said, as smoothly as I could manage.


    Marlowe nodded his head slowly, gazing past me as if weighing everything I had said. Then, he took the full cup of ale from in front of McCrea and slid it across the table to me. An eerie smile carved out his face. ¡°Drink up, Owen Peige,¡± he told me. ¡°It seems we have a deal.¡±

 Mutiny

    "So? What do you think?"


    Marlowe eyed Flux Levity with an unfair measure of apprehension. She was the most beautiful thing I had clapped eyes on since¡­ Merdagh knew when. Her three masts rose high into the blue above us, and her decks shone in the sun. Excepting, of course, the few spots where the damp had eaten into the wood and rotted small holes in it. But her keel was strong, her gunnels wide and her sails despairingly empty.


    "She looks¡­.tired, Owen," Marlowe said carefully, delegating his weight to the cane he walked with.


    "She''s strong," I insisted. I thought it extremely unfair of Marlowe to judge her so quickly, before he''d even set foot on her. The second I had planted my foot on her decks, I had felt the sea beneath her and knew that she would carry me over oceans and ports, through squall and doldrums. She was stout and beautiful and she made my heart sing like sirens. I loved her with my entire soul. I wondered if every captain felt like this about his ship. Because while I had officially labeled an extremely reluctant McCrea her captain, she was mine. I felt it all the way down to my toes.


    Marlowe glanced at me, his expression bordering on sympathetic. "Tell me you didn''t pay too much for her, Owen."


    "Half my savings," I mumbled. Resolution straightened out my spine. I would not be made ashamed of her. "C''mon. Step aboard. You''ll see."


    He tapped his cane on the end of the gangplank. "She doesn''t inspire much. You''ll have a shabby time trying to get McCrea on her."


    I stepped onto the gangplank and paused halfway across, extending a hand in invitation. "You''re not seeing her clearly," I insisted. What other reason could there be for him to judge her so? A gentle breeze gusted over the water, rifling through my hair. So light. So real. I could scarce recall a time where I had ever felt so alive.


    Marlowe wrinkled his nose and took an awkward, shuffling step onto the plank. "I hate the in-betweens," he muttered. "I''m happy enough on land and happy enough at sea, but¡­" he trailed off, biting his lip in concentration. I backed off the plank to give him space, and the second my boots hit the deck, I felt it again: the inexplicable feeling of home.


    "I fear I might put my stick through the deck," Marlowe said, prodding the planks with his cane. Then, stepping at last onto my ship, he shook his head. "She''s not pretty. She''s not hardly sturdy."


    "Just give her a chance," I interrupted.


    Marlowe snapped his fingers, presumably to shut me up. "I''m sure she''ll prove me wrong. Women usually do. Only I''m not set on seeing Merdagh¡¯s heart before I see where we¡¯re going, and McCrea¡­¡± he huffed a strange little laugh. ¡°McCrea is even less likely to board her.¡±


    I set my jaw, looking around at the ship. If I was being all kinds of honest, I could understand Marlowe¡¯s hesitancy. The rot spots on the deck would need to be patched, and she would need a crew to liven her up. But I was convinced. Flux Levity would carry us.


    ¡°You ought have asked me before you bought it,¡± Marlowe lamented, but his steps had gained confidence. ¡°I¡¯d have helped you haggle the price down.¡±


    She¡¯d done it again. Without me even saying a word, I could hear her weaseling her way into Marlowe¡¯s heart like she¡¯d done to mine. I¡¯d no doubt that she¡¯d do the same to McCrea.


    Well. I had a few doubts.


    ¡°Where is McCrea, anyways?¡±


    Marlowe snorted, picking his way toward the bow of Flux Levity. ¡°He¡¯s sulking,¡± he said, awfully matter-of-fact. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like it when people make up his mind for him.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°So why did you, then? I thought you two got along.¡±


    A strange look froze Marlowe¡¯s face. ¡°Oh, yes,¡± he murmured. ¡°We get along, alright. But half of times, he¡¯s too drunk to make up his own mind, so I am¡­inclined to do it for him.¡±


    That was going to have to change. My captain could not spend the majority of his time slobbering drunk. I needed clarity. I needed stability. McCrea had neither. But then, I needed pliability, someone I could fool. McCrea wasn¡¯t smart, but if he was sober he would be able to tell the difference between southeast and northeast.


    Which brought me to Marlowe. A ripple of doubt struck me. Why was I so set on having a smart navigator, and one that had been on the Jenny to boot?


    ¡°What¡¯s playing at your mind?¡± Marlowe asked, snagging me from my thoughts. What a terrible time for it, too. I had been so deep in my deliberation that the interruption left me nearly incapable of forming an answer. It couldn¡¯t be the truth, but how could I lie? He¡¯d find out. He was going to find out one way or another. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­thinking,¡± I said, internally wincing at how much like an idiot I sounded.


    ¡°I can see that,¡± Marlowe chuckled, granting me a window into a time where his laugh had been the ugliest and most frivolous sound I had ever heard. It had aged with him, unfortunately. Things had changed ever so much. ¡°What about?¡±


    The truth clouded my throat, but I couldn¡¯t quite force it out, so I lied around it. ¡°We need a crew. And a cat.¡±


    ¡°A cat?¡±


    ¡°Remember the rats on the Jenny?¡±


    Marlowe shuddered. ¡°Vividly.¡±


    He would have. I did, too. I remembered throwing sacks of meal overboard because rats had chewed their way into it. I remembered McCrea leaving a dead rat in my boot while I slept, the bastard. I remembered shooing them away from Marlowe¡¯s festering leg and trying to boil their vile little carcasses so we didn¡¯t starve while we repaired the Jenny. I also remembered spending a night being violently ill over the railings as my body refused the sad attempts at nutrition.


    ¡°Cat,¡± I repeated.


    Marlowe nodded. ¡°Cat.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll patch the deck,¡± I said. ¡°D¡¯you think she needs a coat of paint?¡±


    Marlowe raised a fair eyebrow in my direction. ¡°I don¡¯t think a coat of paint is going to convince anyone that she¡¯s more than an old whaling ship, but you could try.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll outlast the end of worlds,¡± I said stubbornly.


    ¡°But will she outlast your endeavor?¡±


    I froze. That was a very direct question, and one that implied Marlowe suspected my motives. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±


    He waved me over, leaning on the railing overlooking the harbor. I joined him, my heart drumming erratic beats against my breastbone. Marlowe was quiet for an unjustly long moment, and then he turned to face me. ¡°You¡¯ve been all manner of secretive with this venture. I agreed to it because I thought perhaps I could¡­ but I need to have the truth, Owen. I have a hunch, but I need to be sure. What are we really after?¡±


    I swallowed. The tides rocked Flux Levity beneath me, and I weighed the decision before me. Marlowe would discover the truth. From my mouth? It was that, or my silence would equate with betrayal and I''d have a full mutiny on my hands.


    "Gil''he-moahr," I admitted.


    Marlowe closed his eyes very slowly, as if he had been desperately hoping I''d say something sensible and had been bitterly disappointed. "I suspected as much," he said finally.


    I cleared my throat. It did not remove the feeling of guilt that had begun to build there.


    There was something raw and broken in Marlowe''s voice when he asked me why.


    "I want to return to the north," I said. "Face the past." Or whatever drivel people did to come to grips with their failed childhoods. I was not going to give myself to the history I had with the gil¡¯he-moahr. At least, that was the story I would tell.


    Marlowe tapped his palm on Flux Levity''s railing, still fixing his gaze far away over the harbor. "It''s been years since the Jenny," he noted. "Things have changed. McCrea and me aren''t good people anymore, and the second we enter the territory of the ''moahr, they will waken."


    "I need no help beckoning them," I said. My brain reeled through every fashion in which I was not an angel. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. "I need help killing them."


    Shit. My idiotic mouth. I''d had no intention of telling anyone that before it was too late to turn back. Marlowe''s stunned stare was more than an adequate reminder why not.


    "You''re mad," he hissed. "Stark raving mad."


    I could have pitched myself into the sea and drowned. My stupid, stupid mouth had run away again. Now what? The breeze suddenly felt less like being alive. "I suppose you''ll want to back out of the deal, then."


    Marlowe slid his palm over the railing, which was worn smooth by winds and the salt of the sea. There was a spot right under Marlowe''s hand that was worn a little darker and a little smoother than the rest, as though some great captain had stood before where he stood now, performing the same mindless, near-loving gesture.


    "Marlowe?"


    He took a sharp, sudden inhale and turned away from the sea. "Excuse me," he said abruptly, and I listened to the tik, scrape-thump of his footstep as he walked away.


    Merdagh''s tit. That had gone poorly. I had spent more than I had admitted on Flux Levity, and now I had lost the entire foundation of my endeavor. Because without Marlowe I had no McCrea, and without the pair of them I had no one with experience to take on the northern seas. Seafarers were a superstitious lot, and nobody would willingly sign onto a northerly expedition with a captain like me.


    I cursed sourly under my breath and stormed toward the ship''s cabin. I had moved my few belongings here immediately after purchasing her. At least, if I had nothing else, I had a place to stay. The bunk was narrow and hard and did its very worst to cradle me as I flopped onto it. Furious, defeated tears blazed their trails towards my mouth, and I scrubbed them away.


    Yes, the bunk was wicked heartless, but Flux Levity rocked me sweetly until I was asleep.

 Manned

    The external cabin was dim when I awoke, but I sat up regardless, cursing the wooden shelf that served as my bunk. Fighting stiff and aching limbs, I staggered across the cabin to where my bag was tucked under the desk. It wasn¡¯t a particularly large chamber, but it was enough to house me comfortably enough. The roof was an inch shorter than I, but accustomed as I was to renting inn rooms, the size was only a minor issue and the welcome quiet more than made up for it. Besides which, the reality of my failure collapsed over me with enough force to buckle my spine. Even if I had a favorable living situation and a vessel to call my own, I had no venture, no prospects, and no friends. Worst of all, it was my own damn fault. Couldn¡¯t even maintain my deception for a full day, and Marlowe had walked away. Without a word. Walked away.


    My hands found it instinctively, frantic in their clutching as I drew the strange totem from my bag. The tip of my thumb made comforting, familiar circles over the smooth, round surface. I had threaded a leather cord through a hole in the center, and I looped it around my neck, staring at it for a while longer before tucking it into my shirt. It felt strangely cold against my chest, and I spared a brief thought for the frigid north where I had obtained it. Sailors were a superstitious lot, and I wondered if a disc cut from the tooth of a gil¡¯he-moahr had any meaning.


    Bad luck, probably.


    I snorted to myself, dragging a journal out of my bag as well. It had once detailed every element of my quest, and now I wanted nothing more than to pitch it into the sea. Only, something within me forbade the notion of throwing away six years of learning to read and write and think so I could gather legend and truth and¡­


    A sigh fluttered the pages as I flipped the journal open.


    In the year 1604, Captain Rogan DuParlie of the vessel Aurora Silver colided with a small iland. He and his crew climbed out of the rekage and took shelter on the iland. By the end of the therd day, nine of the therteen men had vaneshed. Servivor Pollux DuParlie (the captain¡¯s young nefew) recals heering things moving in the night and seeing blood on the ice.


    I had written Pollux DuParlie in large letters underneath, and later crossed it out upon finding him a madman. Quite a common situation, I had discovered, in survivors. Not that I had found many of those.


    On the next page I had sketched a hideous, spined beast towering over an iceberg. It was a poor likeness, but a thrill of mixed terror and excitement danced over my spine. I could almost see it now. The thing¡¯s colossal skull on the deck of Flux Levity, and belief in the eyes of all who saw it.


    But no. Marlowe had to walk away.


    The door of my cabin slammed open, making me jump half out of my skin like a startled selkie. The staggering light of middle-day flooded the cabin, and I lifted my hand to shield my eyes, all the while madly trying to hide the book. I made out McCrea¡¯s smug-but-sour face looming forever high above me. His switch-thin body barely cast a shadow over me, and I was somewhat irritated to see him. Where McCrea was, I had no doubt Marlowe would be, too. And I had no particular desire to see either of them.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I snapped.


    ¡°To be somewhere else,¡± was McCrea¡¯s wry response. ¡°But Marlowe wants you on deck.¡±


    A pox on Marlowe. And one on McCrea too, if I was handing out poxes. A pox on Captain Searly and¡­ I stopped myself there. It was bad luck, never mind bad taste, to curse the dead.


    ¡°You can tell Marlowe¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t,¡± McCrea interrupted. He seemed frighteningly sober, which I was prepared to blame Marlowe for. My preceding anger at Marlowe made him an easy scapegoat. ¡°Get your little trog ass off the floor and make yourself presentable.¡±


    I took my leisurely time about being obedient. McCrea urged my pace by whipping me with the shirt I removed and discarded in favor of a clean one. A hard taskmaster indeed. After a number of weak lashes, I caught the shirt mid-swing and wrenched it out of his grip. He stuck his tongue out at me and I praised his vast maturity. The toe of his boot caught very deliberately on my ribs as he waltzed out of the cabin, leaving the door open behind him.


    I scowled after him, picking myself off the floor and running my fingers through my unruly mop of hair. Presentable for whom? If it was only Marlowe and McCrea, I had no great desire to pretty myself up for them. But if it was the workers Marlowe had undoubtedly wrangled up to drag me off to the madhouse¡ªI huffed out a sour little laugh¡ªfor them, I would put on a fair show.


    I tucked the journal back into my bag and the tooth into my shirt before I stepped onto the deck. I counted my lucky stars that McCrea hadn¡¯t noticed when I had changed my shirt. He had watched me pry the tooth out of the Jenny¡¯s second mast and saw a disc off of its end. What little intuition I possessed told me his reaction to seeing the thing again would be less than pleasant.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Captain on deck,¡± McCrea said loudly and sardonically as I stepped, blinking, into the light.


    There were no men in fancy clothing and grim expressions with gloves and nets. It appeared I was not bound for the madhouse after all. What I was bound for, I could not have determined. For there were no doctors, but there was a small crowd gathered on the forecastle of Flux Levity. I caught myself walking toward them, and stopped just shy of the forecastle. Halfway gaping, I made a quick count. Nineteen, including Marlowe, who stood in the front of the crowd and eyed me with a cool, neutral gaze. What had he told these people, that they were now gathered on the deck of my ship with¡­was that a murderous glitter in their eyes?


    ¡°What is this?" I asked, hesitant to hear the answer.


    Lacking a generous measure of his regular inflection, Marlowe said, ¡°Your crew.¡±


    My. What.


    ¡°I would like to make it clear,¡± McCrea said, loud enough to wake the starfish on the seafloor, ¡°that I had nothing to do with this.¡±


    A trace of amusement tickled the corners of Marlowe''s lips. "Nothing at all," he repeated.


    I barely heard them. ¡°My¡­my crew?¡± I repeated stupidly.


    McCrea leaned conspiratorially toward Marlowe. ¡°Isn¡¯t he cute when he¡¯s speechless?¡±


    Marlowe shrugged his shoulder so it bumped against McCrea''s upper arm, but he didn''t reply, thank Merdagh. Instead, he gestured toward me. "Gentlemen," he said, "Captain Owen Peige."


    ¡°He¡¯s been expecting you,¡± McCrea said, giving me a pointed look that told me to shut my gaping mouth and look the part. I did my best, drawing myself up to my full height and offering what I hoped was a dashing smile.


    McCrea threw an arm around my shoulders, situating his mouth uncomfortably close to my ear. ¡°I thought I told you presentable,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°I am,¡± I muttered back through my gritted teeth.


    He huffed out a breath, like that was the least believable thing he had ever heard. ¡°Your smile is crooked,¡± he told me, and stole his arm back to his own side.


    ¡°A few words for the crew, Captain?¡± Marlowe prompted. His eyes were still chilly, but his lips were limned with pride. He was pleased with this crew he had gathered. They ranged in age and size, but not one of them was more than a few inches taller than Marlowe. But, I supposed, between McCrea being a lanky idiot and me being slightly on the taller end of average, we had enough height. What we needed were sturdy, stalwart men with hearts of gold and nerves like fishing line. With the knowledge Marlowe had, I could only hope he had found me what I needed.


    ¡°Welcome aboard Flux Levity,¡± I said. Then, after a moment of consideration, I added, ¡°I expect we will do great things together. As you were.¡±


    The men all nodded their heads and dispersed. I dithered for a moment, then made directly for Marlowe. He greeted me with a stiff smile.


    ¡°Can we talk,¡± I said, not quite a question.


    ¡°Will it involve an apology?¡± he asked, falsely pleasant.


    I eyed the men gathered in little clusters on the deck. We would crew Levity with twenty-one men, which seemed a reasonable number given her size. They looked a probable lot, strong and capable and full of bizarre optimism. Marlowe had outdone himself.


    ¡°Possibly,¡± I said.


    Marlowe finally broke into a real grin. That seemed good enough for him. ¡°Lead the way, captain.¡±


    Once in my cabin, I sat on my bunk and gestured for Marlowe to sit in the chair. He eyed it dubiously, then perched himself on the edge of the desk. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    Oh, where to begin? Words gathered on my tongue and I didn¡¯t know which to spit out first. I considered it for a moment, and then decided. ¡°Why am I captain? I thought McCrea was going to be captain.¡±


    Marlowe chuckled. ¡°I went to him first. He told me he wouldn¡¯t captain a ship again. I, ah, tempted him with the title of first mate. That leaves you as captain. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll do great.¡±


    ¡°And the others? How¡¯d you snag them?¡±


    ¡°Tales of grandeur,¡± he said dismissively.


    I eyed him up and down. One more question bit at the edges of my tongue, but I wasn¡¯t sure I had the guts to ask it. He stared back at me, challenging me to ask it with his vivid blue eyes. We sat in silence for a moment, and I glanced around the cabin to fill the silence in my skull.


    ¡°Nice setup you¡¯ve got here,¡± he said dubiously, mimicking my wandering gaze.


    ¡°How much do they know?¡± I blurted.


    Marlowe nodded slowly, his expression nearly impressed at how little time it took me to ask. ¡°Varying degrees,¡± he said. ¡°Everyone but McCrea know we¡¯re headed north. He''ll figure it out soon enough, but it''ll be too late by then. I didn¡¯t tell Kiran--cabin boy--about the gil¡¯he-moahr, but everyone else knows that we aim to kill one. They¡¯re ambitious and stupid, but they¡¯re salt of the sea, Owen. You¡¯ll like them.¡±


    Watching his eyes light up brought a smile to my lips. ¡°Why did you do this for me?¡± As far as I could tell the day before, he had been ready to give up on me. What had changed his mind?


    A strange earnestness came over him. ¡°Owen,¡± he began. ¡°McCrea is never going to feel like he is alive until the past is in front of him. And neither am I. Nothing is going to put us right unless we can conquer the nightmares. I had to think about it, first. But you¡¯re not wrong.


    "Now. Shall we meet your crew?¡±

 Meetings

    My father taught me well


    To sail my way to hell


    No fish of mine to sell


    So I sail


    So off to see the world


    Oh I sail, oh I sail


    So off to take the seas


    Oh I sail


    Most wickedly I sail


    Oh I sail


    I buried the caterwauling in a mug of ale.  A right mess I had gotten myself into.  The crew Marlowe had picked up had seemed keen enough while I had set them to work readying Levity for the sea, but the moment they had a drop of ale in them?  Madmen.  Their gods-awful howling set my teeth on edge.  I was sore tempted to dismiss them all on the spot and sail out on my own in the morning.


    ¡°Nervous?¡± Marlowe asked, dropping into the seat beside me.  Even in the dim light of the Lady¡¯s Corset, I could see the exhilarated flush in his cheeks.  He swigged his own mug of ale and thumped it on the bar.


    ¡°No,¡± I said stubbornly.  ¡°But I am regretting many, many things.  Specifically, letting you hire my crew.¡±


    He laughed, a little too carefree for my tastes.  It almost put me in mind of a much younger version of him, and I resented that.  ¡°You¡¯ve hardly met them, Owen.  Do you even remember any of their names?¡±


    I scowled at my ale.


    ¡°You¡¯ve not so much as looked at them this week past,¡± he prompted.  ¡°You¡¯ve had McCrea giving orders and you¡¯ve been poring over that book of yours.  The men don¡¯t know you yet, and they ought to.¡±


    That was because Marlowe had kindly selected men who were mostly older and larger than myself.  I wasn¡¯t short, but I was hardly beyond average, and a bit gangly, if I was honest.  I wasn¡¯t Captain Searly.  I was not an iceberg, and this was not a conversation I wanted to have.  ¡°Where is McCrea?¡± I deflected.


    Marlowe gave me a look that said he was aware of my redirection.  ¡°Sleeping, I hope.  Now, will you please meet your crew?¡±


    ¡°I have met them,¡± I protested.  Having spoken, I found myself unable to stop.  ¡°You paraded me around my own ship and rattled off a list of eighteen names that I cannot recall half of, never mind which belongs to who.  They listen to McCrea way better than they will ever listen to me because I¡¯m nobody, Marlowe, and I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m¡­¡± I screeched to a halt, glancing behind me at this frivolous, rambunctious crew.  My voice dropped to a murmur.  ¡°I haven¡¯t got a clue what I¡¯m doing.¡±


    Marlowe eyed me for a moment, as though I had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard and he was considering the risks of calling me out on it.  ¡°Owen,¡± he said, his voice tinted with¡­was that really an attempt at humor?  I could barely believe the gall of this man, even when I saw a flash of teeth.  ¡°I know that.  I know that very, very well.¡±


    I dropped my head onto the bar, hitting it a few times before leaving it to rest.  Marlowe slapped between my shoulderblades.


    ¡°You¡¯ll live,¡± he told me, ¡°once you get to know them.  They¡¯re canny lads, Owen.  Smart enough to spit.¡±


    I didn¡¯t look up.  ¡°When they¡¯re sober,¡± I muttered.  The singing had stopped at long last, only to be replaced by raucous chatter and laughter.  At least they got along with each other, I supposed.  Irksome as they were when they were getting along.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    Lifting my head off the bar, I said, ¡°If we¡¯re measuring intelligence by the ability to spit, the world truly is coming apart at its seams.¡±


    ¡°Mighty words,¡± Marlowe remarked, in easy humor.  ¡°I remember a skinny little greenhand by the name of Owen Peige who couldn¡¯t read but loved the stories told when we were frozen in the ice with nothing else to do.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I fixed him with my most withering gaze.  He had an uncanny knack for finding all the conversations I did not want to have and trying to start them.


    ¡°You know,¡± he continued, pointedly ignoring my silent plea to shut up, ¡°I do wonder sometimes what happened to him.¡±


    I looked behind me.  The pub was filled with the exuberance of the lively and the ignorant, and all at once I was trying to shut out the memories of a time when I was both.  I could scarce remember my life before I was gripped by a splatter of blood and thrown headlong into a six-year obsession that was only now becoming a reality.  I looked at the frivolous gathering over my shoulder and a throb of guilt clutched my throat.  How many more splatters of blood?


    ¡°He died,¡± I said quietly.


    Marlowe met my eyes very solidly, and I was strangely grateful.  There was an understanding in his gaze.  I found myself relying on it to remain upright.


    ¡°Dixhe,¡± Marlowe said suddenly, waving a hand over his head.


    If McCrea tripled his rather inconsiderable body weight, aged ten years and lost an eye, he would have been a decent copy of the man who detached himself from the crowd in heed of Marlowe¡¯s beckoning.  His pointed chin cradled his charming grin quite well, in spite of a few missing teeth.  I remembered meeting him on Levity.  Dixhe.  Sal Dixhe.  He had a strong accent and stronger hands, I recalled as he shook mine.  Those hands made him perfect for his combined roles of medic and cook.


    ¡°Perhaps you can give Captain Peige a rundown of the galley inventory?  Just to put his mind at ease that we won¡¯t starve.¡±


    ¡°No worry of that,¡± Dixhe boomed.  ¡°Koshka will guard the food.¡±


    ¡°Koshka,¡± I repeated, glancing at Marlowe for help.  I couldn¡¯t remember an introduction involving the name.


    Marlowe¡¯s eyes glittered with mirth.  ¡°Cat,¡± he said.


    I laughed.  Of course.  Merdagh¡¯s blessing on Marlowe and Dixhe and the cat with a name I had already forgotten.  I prayed that it was a competent feline and that I wouldn¡¯t see a single rat on Levity.  She deserved better, and I wasn¡¯t sure my composure could bear the sight of the little beasts.  I nearly feared them more than I feared the gil¡¯he-moahr.  After all, a thousand small deaths were surely worse than one grand one, right?


    ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me, I think I¡¯ll retire for the night.¡±  Marlowe slid off his chair and paused beside me.  ¡°Gain their favor,¡± he murmured.  ¡°You¡¯ll thank me a week from now.¡±


    ¡°Alright?¡± I said, not entirely sure what he expected me to do overnight to garner love and adoration from men I had admittedly ignored thus far.


    He sighed.  ¡°You need help, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing,¡± I reminded him in an undertone.


    A wicked grin reshaped his face.  ¡°Drinks for the crew of Flux Levity!¡± he crowed.  ¡°On the Captain¡¯s tab.¡±


    --


    ¡°So,¡± Marlowe asked me the following morning as we stood on the decks of my beloved vessel, shielding our eyes from the early morning sun as our crew began trailing in from the port town, ¡°What have you learned?¡±


    I huffed.  Conversation was the last thing I could hold today, closely rivaled by my liquor and my money.  But Marlowe had been right, of course, and I was newly convinced that this crew would serve my purpose.


    ¡°Sal Dixhe is physically incapable of being unprepared.  Paul Ronan is the big one who doesn¡¯t talk much but he can kill you with a look and will keep my ship in working order.  Kiran Freyne is the greenhand, he can¡¯t hardly look in my eyes for more than a second and has the demeanor of a beaten cur.¡±


    ¡°Reminds me of someone,¡± Marlowe interjected.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I said.  Pointing, I continued, ¡°There¡¯s Clive Herriott and¡­ oh, what was his name?  Grady?¡±


    ¡°Good man,¡± Marlowe complimented.  ¡°See, I told you you¡¯d¡­¡±


    I cut him off there, aghast as an upright figure approached the gangplank of Flux Levity.  He wore a sturdy coat of oilskin and bore himself with incredible dignity.  Ghastly thin, still, but his hair was washed and his eyes clear, and I was incredibly astonished to see him looking so¡­ alive.


    ¡°Is that McCrea?¡±


    Marlowe¡¯s mouth turned up, but he wasn¡¯t looking at me.  His pride was directed entirely at McCrea.   ¡°I do believe so,¡± he said.


    ¡°How in the world did you manage it?¡±


    Maintaining his proud, stubborn smile, Marlowe lifted an eyebrow.  ¡°Groveling,¡± he told me out of the corner of his mouth.


    ¡°Captain on deck,¡± McCrea said in that sarcastic way of his, sweeping a dramatic bow.


    I eyed McCrea.  We had never been friends, and I had no delusions that that would change.  But I appreciated his effort, and in the long run it would be easier if we could respect each other.  I tilted my head to him, and he looked down his nose at me and greeted me with a customary, "Trog."


    The mutual respect would come, I was sure.


    I hoped.


    ¡°I do believe we are all here,¡± I said, taking a quick count.  Twenty-one stalwart, stubborn, stupid men who would see me to the edge of the world.  ¡°Shall we set sail?¡±

 Messes

    Marlowe¡¯s things were spread out across my desk.  I stared, aghast.


    ¡°Just what the hell do you think you''re doing?¡±


    He barely looked up from the charts and gadgets that made a limited measure of sense to me.  ¡°There¡¯s no tables anywhere else but the galley, and I¡¯m afraid Dixhe will cut off my fingers if I use his table.  Besides, the galley is rather out of the way for my work, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    I planted my palms on top of his map and leaned across the table toward him.  ¡°I will cut off more than your fingers,¡± I threatened.


    Heaving a sigh, Marlowe glanced up at me.  ¡°Ah, so the sea wakes the beast in you, too.  Tell me, Captain, do you want me to do my work, or not?¡±


    I took half a step backwards, a little surprised by how irritable he seemed.  ¡°You could have asked first,¡± I grumbled.  ¡°I would have said yes.¡±


    Marlowe slammed down his pencil and fixed me with a piercing glare.  ¡°Then why, pray tell, is it an issue?¡±


    His face was strangely drawn, and a tickle of regret brushed over me.  Perhaps I ought to have noticed it sooner. ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Fine.¡± He fluttered a dismissive hand.  ¡°Only that the sea does not wake the beast in me.¡±


    I frowned.  Marlowe had never been one to get seasick, but the grim set of his jaw said that was on the verge of changing.  I also knew he would skin me if I said anything about it.  ¡°Don¡¯t vomit in my cabin,¡± I told him.  ¡°Get some air if you get a chance.¡±


    His eyebrow strived to meet his hairline, even as he followed a column on his charts with a finger.  ¡°I said I¡¯m fine, Owen.  We¡¯ll be sailing west for now, but we¡¯ll turn¡­¡± he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, ¡°...north a few days from now when we can skirt the peninsula.¡±  He gestured to the protrusion of land on his map.


    I nodded, even though the charts still made no sense to me.  ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡±


    His glare could have stopped the turn of tides.  I lifted my hands in defense and backed to the door.  ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it,¡± I said.  I considered saying more, but his stiff dedication to his work bade me a very firm farewell and I decided it was best to leave, and shut the door behind me.


    The sea air greeted me with a cheery breeze.  For near three hours now there had been no land in sight, only a vast blue expanse as far as the eye could see.  In my years of education and following every lead I could find, I had forgotten the feeling of being indescribably small, and I realized now that I had missed it.


    But the breeze was not the only thing that greeted me.  A pair of humorless sailors were waiting for me.


    The first was Paul Ronan.  He was a man of great stature and made me feel even smaller than the sea did.  His dark, clean-shaven head shone in the sun, and he looked me up and down.  Marlowe had informed me that he was the best ship¡¯s mechanic on this side of the world.


    The second of the men was Clive Herriott, a man of middling age with years of whaling experience and a few extra pounds about his waist.  He¡¯d been nothing but helpful in the art of preparing Flux Levity for the sea, and I had appreciated him well enough from a distance.


    It would seem that the sentiment was not reciprocated.


    ¡°We been thinking,¡± Herriott said.  ¡°You¡¯re meant to be our Cap¡¯n.  Only we ain¡¯t seen much of you, have we?¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    My mouth made some idiotic gaping motions.  I wondered if there would ever be a time when my mouth would not betray me.  ¡°I¡­I¡¯ve been around,¡± I said feebly.


    Ronan grunted, which was the closest thing I had heard to a word from him.


    ¡°We¡¯ll you¡¯ve been around, alright,¡± Herriott said, ¡°but you¡¯ve been locked away in your cabin, haven¡¯t you?  Marlowe said we were hunting monsters, but we don¡¯t know a lick about the monsters, do we?  We¡¯d have thought you¡¯d be telling us more about it.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ no, I will,¡± I spluttered.  ¡°I just¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    My salvation in its most unlikely form.  Rafe McCrea strode across the decks, his oiled coat billowing behind him.  With the wind in his hair and his face stung ruddy by the salt in the spindrift, he looked like a young god.  He came to an attentive halt beside Ronan.  I was somewhat stunned to see that McCrea was a full two inches taller than Ronan, though only a fraction of his width.


    ¡°Is there a problem here?¡±


    ¡°Not a problem,¡± Herriott said, which I adamantly disagreed with.  I was cornered outside my own cabin being questioned on my motives by my crew.  I would certainly classify that as a problem.


    Oh, and there were so many more problems.  Not the least of them was figuring out how to tell my crew what we were up against without McCrea overhearing.  And turning north a few days from now without raising McCrea¡¯s suspicions.  Oh, yes, McCrea was one of my many problems.


    He looked down his nose at Herriott.  ¡°Well, then.  You¡¯ll pardon me to discuss matters with the Captain.  And any further concerns you may have may be brought to me.¡±


    My mouth at last did something right.  ¡°No, it¡¯s alright, McCrea,¡± it said, not even bothering to consult my head first.  ¡°Any of my crew may approach me to address concerns.¡±


    McCrea smiled sourly.  ¡°Very good, Captain.¡±  Then, turning to Herriott and Ronan, he added, ¡°Though your crew would do well to respect their captain.  I could hear the, ah, incivility from the foremast, and I should like to never hear it again.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Herriott mumbled.  Ronan grunted and the pair wandered off.


    I stared at McCrea for a moment as he watched them go.  He held himself very rigid, from his knees to his jaw.  He was striking in the sunlight.  In my years of study I had come across many an image of Merdagh, goddess of the sea with male consorts on her arm.  I could imagine McCrea as one of them, strangely enough.  Except that most legends referred to them as drowned sailors, and against all odds, McCrea was still here.


    Oh, yes.  He was a problem.


    He caught me staring and pulled up his lip, a gesture that still put me in mind of a dog about to bite.  ¡°What are you looking at, trog?¡±


    ¡°You,¡± I snorted.  ¡°Whatever happened to respecting the captain, hmm?¡±


    A wicked smile deepened the premature creases around his eyes.  ¡°You¡¯ll always be a skinny little trog, but you¡¯re not a captain until you prove it.¡±


    I frowned.  ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±


    McCrea¡¯s smile disappeared as he squinted toward the horizon.  It struck me, as it always did, that he looked older than his twenty-three years.  If I didn¡¯t know him, I would have been shocked by the lack of gray threading his dark hair.


    ¡°You can have a grand title,¡± he said at last.  ¡°You can have a fancy coat and a great hat, but a captain is made by his virtue.  He¡¯s nothing but an overlord until he puts his crew and his vessel before himself.  Respect them, and they¡¯ll respect the hell out of you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very philosophical,¡± I said, stunned.  McCrea had never struck me as an intellectual type.


    He took a swig from a flask he carried on his hip, and I caught a whiff of strong rum.  The bastard was still drinking.  I made a mental note to discuss it with Marlowe when he had his sea legs¡ªleg¡ªback beneath him.  Hopefully his mood would improve and I could utilize his apparent influence.  He would be instrumental in solving the many problems named McCrea.


    ¡°Strange things happen at sea,¡± McCrea said, and stalked away.


    What a peculiar man.  Demanding respect one moment, and then turning about and calling me names.  Drinking himself stupid and spewing philosophies about captaincy, which he had expressed a keen interest in never experiencing again.  But he was stronger, I thought, than he had been in Port Adonis only days ago.


    The sea wakes the beast in you, too.


    How many beasts did I plan on waking?

 Meals

    I wandered down to the galley, still pondering the incredible strangeness of Rafe McCrea.  I was greeted by a wall of steamy, pungent air.  Coughing, I made my way over to where Sal Dixhe was leaning over his stove.  I could understand why Marlowe didn¡¯t want to work down here.  It was cramped, humid and wretched.  A bony gray cat twined itself around my ankles, and I pushed it away with my foot.


    ¡°What¡­ what are you cooking?¡± I choked out, not truly convinced that I wanted the answer.


    ¡°Supper,¡± Dixie said simply.


    ¡°Mmm,¡± I murmured.  No shit.  ¡°What¡¯s¡­ that smell?¡±


    He pointed wordlessly to the stove.  I paused for a moment, trying to decide if my curiosity was worth my sense of smell.  Then, still apprehensive, I peered into the large pot.  Several slices of lemon floated in the broth, mixed with some greenish, feathery stalks of dill and something else.  Up close, the smell was overpowering.


    I retreated from the simmering brew.  ¡°Lemons,¡± I said, bemused.


    Dixhe grunted, but he was beaming.  Or perhaps he was just sweating.  In the dim lantern light, it was hard to tell.  ¡°Use while they are fresh,¡± he said brightly.


    ¡°Interesting addition,¡± I puzzled.  ¡°Where did you come up with that?¡±


    ¡°Motherland,¡± he said.  ¡°Lemon keep you strong.¡±


    I considered how to phrase my question without sounding too hopeful.  ¡°How¡­how many lemons do we have?¡±


    ¡°Fresh, enough for week.  Brined, enough for whole voyage.¡±


    Brined.  As if the strong, sour odor of fresh lemons was not repellent enough, they had to be brined.  I fought back an impending gag and nodded instead.  ¡°Interesting,¡± I said, hoping that he would not pick up on my lack of enthusiasm.  I had missed the salt in the air and the sight of the sun on the vast, glittering expanse of sea, but I had never once missed ship food.


    ¡°I¡¯d best be going,¡± I added, making for the door.  ¡°I expect the dinner bell will ring?¡±


    ¡°Da,¡± Dixhe said amiably, which I assumed meant yes.  ¡°Before go,¡± he continued, ¡°say hello to Koshka.¡±


    I glanced down at my ankles.  The beast was half-skeletal and missing a large chunk out of one of its ears.  One eye was yellow, and the other milky white as it stared up at me, begging to be picked up.  Repulsed, I did not pick it up.  I elected to give the cat what I hoped was a courteous nod and quickly backed out of the room.


    Merdagh, I had never been so grateful for fresh air.


    In my distracted relief, I nearly tripped over my greenhand, who was on his knees scrubbing the deck.  I barely dodged him, accidentally tipping his bucket of water in my clumsy dance.  ¡°Merdagh, Freyne,¡± I snapped without thinking.  ¡°Watch yourself.¡±


    He gaped at me for a moment, and I immediately felt guilty.  He had a strange, youthful face and wide blue eyes, which I had only seen in little glimpses.  Eye contact seemed to be the bane of his existence.  As usual, his gaze quickly returned to his knees.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, lad,¡± I said carefully.  ¡°You startled me, is all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir,¡± he squeaked, and cleared his throat.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I repeated.  Then, after a moment, I crouched beside him.  ¡°You know, we left Port Adonis this morning.  The decks aren¡¯t particularly dirty yet.¡±


    He swallowed, still staring at his hands as they twisted around his cloth.  Water seeped through the tight clutch of his fingers.  ¡°I¡­didn¡¯t know what else to do, sir.¡±


    Amusement tickled my lips.  His voice had a forced depth, as though he was trying to come across as a man.  Oh, I remembered the days when I had worried about such things.  ¡°This is your first voyage, yes?¡±


    His head bobbed a little.


    ¡°Got fair sea legs about you,¡± I commented.  ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you heaving over the side yet.¡±  That was impressive enough.  I vividly remembered spending my first few days aboard the Skybound Jenny with my head tipped over the rail.  It had taken near a week before I could function to Captain Searly¡¯s standards.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Kiran fiddled with the edge of the cloth, barely acknowledging my words.  In anyone else I would have considered it a sign of blatant disrespect, but the kid was so painfully timid.  His intentions were far from impure.


    ¡°You can look at me,¡± I told him.  ¡°I¡¯m not going to bite you.  You¡¯re safe aboard Flux Levity, do you understand?  No one here will hurt you, and no one will judge you..¡±


    At last, he met my gaze.  Such a strange collection of features, with his narrow chin and wide eyes.  Strange and youthful.


    ¡°You should be learning,¡± I said.  ¡°Learning from the men.  How to tie knots and¡­and read the winds.  Ask Grady if he¡¯ll show you how to climb the rigging.  Thorpe was a whaler before, he can tell you what they¡¯d do with a whale once they caught it.¡±


    ¡°Which one¡¯s Grady?¡± he asked.


    I pointed across the deck to where Grady was hanging out of the rigging.  He was halfway as thin as McCrea and I''d never met a man more adept at climbing.  Fear seemed absent from him, replaced by an excess measure of good humor. He vaguely reminded me of a younger Marlowe.  It had always been Marlowe midway to the crow''s perch before the Captain finished asking someone to take view of the horizon.  It had always been Marlowe hanging upside down off the rigging to scare Jute and Marlowe getting scolded as Old Frankie patched his torn eyebrow after he fell off.


    Oh, but Marlowe wouldn''t be climbing the riggings any time soon.  A wooden peg did not catch on a width of rope like a boot did.  He would remain firmly planted on the decks as long as he was under my watch.  Dixhe may have been a clever surgeon, but I had my doubts that he would have much luck repairing a shattered skull with his limited resources.


    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± Kiran murmured.  ¡°I¡¯ll see to that.¡±


    ¡°Bucket can be dumped over the side,¡± I said.  ¡°Pin the rag to the ropes and let it dry.¡±


    He grinned.  It was a strange look on his thin face.  At my nod, he scampered off with his bucket in hand, slopping water all the way.  A smile tugged my lips as I watched him go.  He had to have been older than I was when I had voyaged on the Jenny¡ªI guessed maybe sixteen¡ªbut his youthfulness was a breath of wind in the doldrums.


    ¡°You have a dimple,¡± McCrea noted loudly from halfway behind me.


    I jumped out of my skin.  ¡°Merdagh, you bastard,¡± I spat.  Then, collecting my wits, I added, ¡°Where the hell did you come from?¡±


    His ghoulish face became a mask of vicious humor.  ¡°Well, my mother¡­¡±


    ¡°Never mind,¡± I interrupted, standing up.  The wind blew my hair into my eyes.  ¡°What do you need, McCrea?¡±


    He eyed me for a moment, and I was fully prepared for him to make another snide comment on my appearance.  It was a talent of his to make me feel grubby and wanting and ultimately ugly, one that he had been exercising since the first day we had met.


    ¡°Is supper ready yet?¡±


    I snorted.  ¡°Not yet, thank Merdagh.¡±


    His eyebrow twitched.  ¡°I¡¯m hungry, Owen.¡±


    Shaking my head earnestly, I said, ¡°You won¡¯t be when you smell it.¡±


    --


    Later that night, I sat with the majority of my crew on Levity¡¯s decks as the vast wheel of stars freckled the darkness above us.  Such a display could not be seen from land, not on the clearest of nights.  But even so, it had nothing on the colors of the aurora in the north.  The thought of those set my heart dancing.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t so bad,¡± Thorpe commented timidly.


    His remark was greeted with a peal of dissenting groans.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell Dixhe,¡± Grady said, ¡°but I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve ever eaten sour soup before.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not sure I want to repeat the experience,¡± Herriott added.  That was met with murmurs of agreement.


    ¡°Turned my stomach,¡± Grady said.  ¡°Thought I would vomit it back into the bowl.¡±


    ¡°Looking in your bowl, I thought you had.¡±


    Marlowe joined the group as quietly as he could manage with a wooden leg, levering himself into a stiff seated position beside me.  His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and his brow was shiny with sweat.


    ¡°Alright?¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Sea doesn¡¯t agree with me anymore,¡± he muttered back.  ¡°And that sludge didn¡¯t help.¡±


    I glanced at him.  ¡°You, seasick?¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°Anything I can do?¡±


    ¡°You can shut up and stop worrying.  I¡¯ll sleep it off.¡±


    I glanced at McCrea, who was perched on the railing with his head tipped back so he could watch the stars overhead.  A slice of wonder carved his face with a kind of softness I had never expected.


    ¡°How are we going to tell McCrea that we¡¯re going north?¡± I murmured.


    Marlowe stared at me.  ¡°How are you going to tell McCrea?  I merely played along with your lie, Captain.  You have to support it.  You have four days before we turn.¡±


    Merdagh help me.  Four days was not long enough.


    ¡°You could give me a hand,¡± I muttered bitterly.  ¡°He trusts you.¡±


    ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t,¡± Marlowe replied.  ¡°And the truth is going to kill him if it comes from me.  Decide what you are going to do, and decide quickly.¡±