by J. P. Sheen
Eselder abandoned the cover of the bridge, the horde of beggars calling out after him.
Minutes later, his soles slapped the cobbles as he raced across the Crowne Bridge. The River Crowne sparkled beneath a crescent moon, not looking half as disgusting as it did during the day. Eselder staggered to a halt. The river! Oh no! That meant he was nearing the harbor front! He was on the entirely wrong side of Kingston!
Eselder had never exerted himself as much as he had tonight. Frigid air stabbed at his lungs, and he was sweating despite the cold. He wiped his face, and his spirits skyrocketed.
A redcoat!
The soldier was at the end of the Crowne Bridge, glancing fearfully about as he stripped himself of his bright coat. Eselder could guess why. He cried out, “Please help me, sir!”
The soldier started and grabbed his musket. His nervous expression vanished when he saw a grimy, barefoot urchin running at him with a face that revealed both exhaustion and hope. He was a gangly fellow with a bad case of acne, but Eselder had never seen a more welcome sight. He was afraid the man would have nothing to do him, but the soldier asked him kindly, “What might the trouble be, lad?”
Eselder wanted to sob at the sound of that compassionate voice. Everything was going to be all right now!
“I n-need to get back to the p-palace!” he said, “Please t-take me there! I’ve lost my w-way!”
The soldier looked amazed. “The palace? But why do you need—”
“I’m the prince,” Eselder interrupted wearily. He saw the soldier’s doubtful look and pleaded, “If you just take me to Kingston Palace, I will be recognized at once…well, perhaps after a bath.”
The redcoat frowned, clearly thinking hard. To Eselder’s relief, his face soon cleared. He resolutely nodded.
“Better to be safe than sorry. The whole city’s gone balmy! I wouldn’t want to be the unfortunate soul who left the prince at the mercy of these crazy Liberteers! I’d lose my commission, and possibly my head! This way, Your Highness.”
The soldier left his coat hanging off the Crowne Bridge. Eselder’s gratitude knew no limit as he followed his savior down the riverfront. He would make sure the man was properly rewarded once he was back safely at Kingston Court!
Both of them jumped when they heard the Liberteers wreaking havoc somewhere nearby.
“Oh, damn those vile creatures!” the soldier muttered, and Eselder liked him all the more. They hurried along. Soon Eselder was jogging along Kingston’s harbor front. Tall ships rose out of the darkness, and Eselder stared at them excitedly until a discomforting thought occurred to him. Why were they here? This wasn’t the quickest way to Kingston Court...was it? Was the soldier was taking Eselder to his commanding officer? Did he know a shorter way back to the palace?
They passed under the shadow of a gigantic man of war. To Eselder’s surprise, the redcoat halted beside its lowered gangplank. That should have been Eselder’s cue to flee, especially when the soldier called, “Anyone there?”
This is wrong.
He needed to get out of here. Luckily, the soldier was in front of him. Eselder was about to run when a pair of arms grabbed him from behind. A hand clapped itself over his mouth before he could cry out.
“Who’s there?” came a shout from the top deck.
“Me,” the redcoat said, “I’ve got another for you, if you want him.”
“Free or pressganged?”
“Pressganged,” answered the redcoat.
There was a short pause. Then, “It’s no concern of mine.”
Eselder’s captor began hauling him up the gangplank.
Pressganged! Pressganged!
“Quit yer thrashin’, boy, or you’ll find yerself at the bottom o’ the river!” growled the seaman. The unmistakable scent of alcohol hit Eselder’s nose.
“I’d hunker down if I was you,” advised the traitorous soldier, “The city’s gone balmy, soot-eaters running wild. I’m getting off the streets and into a safe place myself. Watch this one though. Might be a bit touched in a noggin. Either that, or he’s a grand liar.”
The seaman on deck chuckled. “He’ll fit right in then. Why don’t you bunk aboard our ship tonight?”
“Thank you kindly, but I’ll be declining that offer, generous as it is,” replied the soldier wryly.
The seaman snorted. “Suit yourself.”
Eselder’s abductor was having a more difficult time dragging him aboard than he had anticipated.
“I swear, boy, you’ll regret it if you don’t cut it out!”
Eselder didn’t care. He fought his abductor so ferociously that the large seaman had trouble keeping hold of him.
“Someone get over ‘ere and hit ‘im on the bleedin’ ‘ead!”
A moment later, something hard struck the back of Eselder’s skull. His head erupted in agony, and the horrible scene unfolding around him went black.
7
Lost At Sea
“Wake up, Blake!”
Jaimes shook his brother awake.
“It’s only a dream!” he whispered, “You’re all right! Look, you’re in bed!”
Blake blinked and sat up. He looked at his cot and then at his brother. Two fat teardrops welled up in his eyes.
“She went away,” he quavered, “She left me all alone.”
“I’m here!” Jaimes whispered back fiercely, “You are not alone!”
Six long months had passed, and the Lady in Blue had not returned. Drake Ransom was away at sea, but the brothers spoke softly so as not to wake their mother. It was still dark inside their pili grass hut, but an orange glow was stealthily creeping under the sackcloth window curtain.
“Put your clothes on, Blake,” Jaimes whispered, “We’re going fishing!”
Blake’s face brightened, but he dutifully pointed out, “But, Jaimes, you hate fishing.”
Jaimes smiled and glanced at the tears still lurking in the youngster’s eyes.
“It will be a nice surprise for Mother, don’t you think?”
Blake considered that. Then he leapt out of bed with a flippant, “I have another mother…and that mother loves me.”
“Get dressed, Blake.”
“I am dressed!”
Blake spread his arms wide. Jaimes looked dubiously at the wiry form clad only in worn breeches.
“I have a fabulous idea, Blake,” he announced brightly.
“What?” Blake’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Let’s be respectable today, shall we?” Jaimes suggested, grabbing Blake’s shirt.
“No, I don’t like it,” protested Blake, backing off like Jaimes had snatched up a cutlass instead.
“If you won’t be respectable, we can’t go fishing.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m trying to be respectable…and so I’m afraid I can’t associate with the likes of—”
“Naked people?”
“Exactly. Put your shirt on.”
Blake put his shirt on—inside out. Jaimes didn’t notice.
They plodded down the sandy path that led away from the pirates’ village. Jaimes lugged along their fishing tackle and a book while Blake ran in circles around him. They entered the forest, an exotic world of yellow-blossomed monkeyfoot trees, twisty-spined banyan trees, gushing waterfalls, and colorful, flapping wings. Blake plucked a crimson hibiscus only to toss it away a second later. Through a break in the trees, he could see Moanamiri’s emerald slopes basking in a rose-gold dawn.
His island home was beautiful.
They walked down the mountain to the sea. When Blake saw the frothy waves, he shrieked and ran to them with his arms outstretched. Then he stopped and pointed.
“Jaimes! What are they doing?”
Blue-billed albatrosses were descending on a cluster of black dots, which were waddling at a snail’s pace toward the ocean. Blake watched, horrified, as a bird scooped up a baby turtle and carried it off. He recovered from his shock, and his eyes flashed.
“Leave them
alone! I’ll beat you bloody if you don’t!”
Blake snatched up a stick, but when he charged them, the albatrosses merely cawed and flew off. The boy stared blankly around. There was not a single baby turtle left.
Blake dropped to the sand and hung his head. First the dream, and now this…it was all too much.
“Blake.” Jaimes tapped him on the shoulder.
“I’m not crying!” Blake snarled, smearing tears and snot across his sleeve, “Crying is for women! And babies.”
“Blake, look at me,” Jaimes sighed. Blake turned. A newborn turtle feebly wriggled in his brother’s cupped hands.
“I want to keep it!” Blake announced.
“No, Blake, it doesn’t want to be kept. Here, bring it safely to the sea.”
With uncharacteristic reverence, Blake received the tiny creature. He trod across the sand, whispering as he went, “...to the sea, to the sea…”
After he set the turtle free, he came back and picked up his stick with an air of determination.
“I’ll look for more turtles! I’ll protect them and lead them to the sea!”
Blake ran several paces before his sea longing overpowered him.
“To the sea, to the sea!” he cried wildly, casting away his stick and bolting into the water. Jaimes shouted his name exasperatedly. Then, seeing that Blake was too far-gone, he sighed and went to retrieve their fishing boat.
Blake shivered as something cold and wet slapped him upside the head.
“Oh, go ahead and kill me,” he muttered to whatever sea creature was attacking him. He hadn’t had such wonderful sleep in years.
The slimy thing slid off his face. It smelled fishy. Well, of course it did. The only things down here were fish.
Even with his eyes shut, the light was unbearably bright. Blake irritably shielded his face. He didn’t want to wake up and face the darkness. His dream had been a sword thrust to the heart, and he couldn’t bear to find himself back aboard the Polaris. He might kill himself.
Blake frowned. He had the distinct feeling he had already tried that. What had gone wrong? He angrily rubbed his eyes. The light was so damn bright.
Wait.
Blake’s brow furrowed. He remembered…
It can’t be true.
Blake touched his face, felt fish slime, and sharply inhaled. He went still and felt his boat beneath him, rocking gently to and fro. He heard waves and a seabird’s lonesome cry. The sound pierced his heart to its core. But did he dare open his eyes and see these things for himself? He didn’t think he dared.
Then something hot and wet hit his face.
Blake’s eyes shot open. Blinding sunlight scorched his retinas, and the pirate launched into a deluge of curses that would have scandalized a certain four-eyed pansy, had he been around to hear it. Squinting in pain, Blake wiped away tears and smeared the wetness all over his face. Abruptly, he stopped cursing and held out his hands. They were covered in what was unmistakably bird poo. Blake gazed on the white slime like it was liquid gold.
Something croaked at the bow and Blake looked up, shielding his streaming red eyes. A seagull was perched atop the dilapidated fishing net, a fish flopping at its webbed feet.
Blake shouted and sprang forward, waving aggressively at the seagull lest it fly off with its breakfast. The bird merely hopped back with an indignant caw. As Blake hugged the flapping fish to his chest, it spread its wings and took to the air.
“This was your doing, wasn’t it, you ugly bag of feathers?” Blake shouted, shaking a poo-splattered fist at it. Not that he was really angry. No…
Blake feasted his eyes on the ocean…not the haunted waters of the deep but blue-gray waves that tumbled and glittered pale gold.
“It’s morning,” he whispered. His spirit surged with inexpressible joy. He wanted to say it again, so he did. “It’s morning!”
Blake looked up at the sun and paid dearly for it. His eyes streamed and burned, but for a moment, he had gazed on the sun.
Then he got down to business skinning his pilfered breakfast. Today marked the first time he had ever swindled a seagull, Blake noted with amusement. Laying down his knife, he scarfed up the raw fish meat. After the last bland flake was consumed, he was still ravenously hungry, so he untangled the fishing net, only to stare dumbly at its gaping holes.
“Damn,” he muttered.
Blake’s mouth dripped as he fantasized about tables loaded high with food: cold meat pies and pitchers of creamy dark ale…with heads of velvety tan foam…and gourd bowls filled to the brim with that gooey, sugary sweet, coconut milk pudding from his boyhood that he’d never taste again…
As he daydreamed, he absently watched his avian friend hover overhead, spying out its meal. Suddenly, it dove for the water. Fish began flopping in and out of the water in a mad frenzy, trying to avoid its beak. Blake noticed and watched, his mouth watering and his arms held at the ready. To his delight, the seagull chased a fish out of the water and straight at his boat.
Blake pounced on it, nearly flinging himself into the water. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said the blasted thing was trying to help him.
“Much obliged!” he hollered to his feathery benefactor.
Soon the seagull had filled his belly and flown off. Meanwhile, Blake had painstakingly devoured every flaky morsel of fish. Only afterward did he acknowledge his dire situation. He was stranded in the middle of the ocean, in a flimsy hunk of wood, with no land in sight.
For over an hour, Blake waited, diligently scanning the horizon and resisting the temptation to fall back asleep. His persistence was rewarded. The next time he caught sight of a seagull, he took up an oar and began vigorously paddling in that direction.
To the sea, to the sea! The cry became Blake’s constant refrain.
Three years went by, but life on Moanamiri never changed. Blake happily spent day after day exploring the reefs that ringed the island. The undersea rainbow of coral and fish enchanted him. Blake cheerfully chased electric eels from their lairs, antagonized jellyfish and stingrays, and explored dark caves and crannies, all the while collecting a host of underwater treasures. In the evenings, he told Jaimes all about it, offering him a shell or some other bribe to distract him from the welts crisscrossing his chest and arms. It rarely worked, but luckily, Jaimes was oblivious to how perilous the coral reefs really were…and luckily for Blake, he was remarkably immune to many of its dangers.
Meanwhile, Jaimes helped the women with the village’s upkeep: mending fences, gathering pili grass, chopping wood, tending livestock, and a slew of other tasks. When Blake turned seven, Jaimes tried to assign him a few simple chores, but he had begun cultivating good habits in Blake too late. The unruly boy just laughed at him, left his chores undone, and scampered off to the seashore.
Whatever free time Jaimes had left he spent with his mother, who taught her son herself in lieu of a tutor. Still, he occasionally found time to go fishing with Blake, who hoarded these outings like buried treasure, though he’d never admit it. Unfortunately, his sea longing often got the better of him, and he would disappear underwater like a phantomfish, leaving a very annoyed Jaimes behind.
On one such occasion, Blake was searching for cone snails when he suddenly came to his senses. At first, he resisted the idea of surfacing. He liked it so much better down here! Then his feeble conscience caught up with him. After all, Jaimes had gone fishing for him.
Blake swam to their boat and pounded on its wooden belly. He heard Jaimes yell something and surfaced.
“Are you going to help or not?” Jaimes complained. Blake hesitated. The sea was calling him again.
“I’m about to go home, Blake!”
“Oh, all right,” grumbled Blake. He clambered into the boat, nearly dumping his brother out.
As they fished, Jaimes told his brother a myth he had recently read, about a sailor who sought the healing fountain of the gods. Along the way, the sailor saved two orphans who had been kidnapped by a sea witch.
/> “It looked like the wicked hag had them cornered, but then the boy—”
“Took his flintlock and blew out her brains!” Blake aimed with an imaginary pistol. “BAM! BAM! BAM!”
“That’s not what nice little boys would do, Blake. Just you.”
“It’s true,” Blake agreed modestly.
When the story ended, Blake unhooked a wriggling fish and commanded, “Tell me another story…but only about the sea!”
Jaimes sighed. The theme was getting tiresome.
“You know, Blake, if you’d let me teach you, you could read the old myths yourself—”
“I can’t.”
“You could if you wanted to.”
“I can’t!”
Blake cast his line, bellowing ‘Damn, Man, Thar She Blows!’ at the top of his lungs.
“You just haven’t tried!” Jaimes roared over the din, which was astonishingly loud considering it came from such a small pair of lungs. Piqued, Blake stopped singing.
“I have tried!” he snapped, “I’ve tried and tried, and I don’t want to try anymore! I’m stupid as a seaslug!”
“You’re not stupid!” Jaimes countered sharply, “If we but spent more time—”
“Stop!” Blake shouted, covering his ears, “It’s no use, Jaimes! I’ll never be like you! All those damn letters—”
“Don’t say damn!”
“—all those blasted letters look like scribbles! I’m an idiot! Mother knows it! That’s why she loves you more!”
“Blake…”
Whatever he was going to say, Jaimes thought the better of it. Instead, he insisted, “You have another gift, Blake. A wonderful gift. I’ve never heard of anyone who can do what you can. There’s a reason you are like this.”
“Stupid.”
“You’re not stupid! Perhaps, in time, we’ll both find out how to use our gifts.”
“Well, mine is more awesome.”
“Not in my book, mister.”
“I’d make you my first mate when I become a pirate captain, but you don’t like the sea.”
“It’s not that I don’t like the sea, it’s…Blake, you have a fish.”