by J. P. Sheen
Eselder made the mistake of looking down. Immediately, he felt seasick.
“What agility! What breathtaking speed! What—”
“Would you kindly shut up?” snarled Eselder.
Blake chortled. He shouted gleefully, “Whatever you say, Jaimes!”
Eselder nearly fell off the rigging.
“Whoa, steady on! Have you ever climbed anything in your life?”
Blake’s tactless remark reminded Eselder of that stupid oak tree. In his fury, he climbed farther in five seconds than he had in the last five minutes.
“Look up,” Blake suggested. Eselder did and took his outstretched hand. Blake pulled him onto the crosstrees, and Eselder steadied himself against the mizzenmast, panting. He must have misheard Blake. He must have. Still wheezing, he looked out across the water. That was a mistake.
Well, he had made it this far! Quite enough excitement for one day! Time to go back down!
“Ready to go farther up?” Blake asked, beaming.
Eselder groaned.
“That’s the spirit, lad!” Blake slapped Eselder hard on the back. “All the way to the top!”
Higher and higher, the lonely pair climbed. The sun rose alongside them, racing them aloft, but in the end, they won.
Blake patiently hoisted Eselder up onto the top-yard’s platform, and for the first time in his young life, Eselder looked down on the world.
He remained very quiet, gripping a line as he looked out across the sea. The wind gently whipped his hair, and Blake laughed out loud. Perhaps the wind was sharing some joke with him, no doubt about Eselder’s poor climbing ability. But for once, Eselder didn’t care what Blake, or anyone else, thought about him. He had done it. He hadn’t believed he could do it, but he’d done it, and the reward was worth the struggle.
Eselder was immersed in another world, one that hovered between sky and sea. He gazed out across the sea. The rising sun was a magnificent sight as it shot its white-gold rays across the swelling blue expanse. Eselder smiled, watching a dazzling path form on the water, straight toward the horizon…just how Blake had described in one of his tales. A powerful feeling awoke deep within him, though he couldn’t put it into words.
He became aware that Blake was watching him. He looked at the seaman.
“I understand now why you love the ocean so much. I didn’t before. But I do now.”
Blake blinked, looking astounded. Then he blurted out, “You don’t have to go back, you know.”
Eselder went rigid. That was the very last thing he had expected Blake to say.
“Even if you deserted,” Blake added quickly, “You could…”
He hesitated, and Eselder waited with bated breath. Blake gestured urgently out to sea.
“Don’t you see? You can’t go back to Kingston! Nothing but this will ever suffice. Nothing.”
His tone was soft, even reverent, and Eselder plainly saw his love for the sea. A fierce longing erupted within him. It hurt terribly, so much more than it ever had in Kingston. But he didn’t want to stifle it, no matter how much it hurt! If he returned to Kingston Court…would he be able to hold onto such a feeling? Or would his soft, comfortable life quash it out of him? He was terrified of that possibility. This was what he wanted! His father had never understood that…but Blake Ransom did.
Seeing that Eselder was listening to him, Blake continued eagerly, “Who’s to stop you? Who’s to stop us?”
Eselder felt a thrill at those words. He watched, awestruck, as Blake ambled down the yardarm, casually grabbing lines for support. He wanted to be able to do that!
“I’m deserting the Navy, soon as we make port!” announced Blake, “We…we could escape together, you and I! They’d never catch us! I could show you all the ocean’s wonders!”
Eselder was bedazzled. His heart pounded so fast he was surprised it didn’t bust right out of his ribcage.
“You became Kurzon’s enemy because of me. I won’t leave you to face him alone!” Blake said urgently, “If you come with me, Eselder, I’ll show you what it means to be truly free. I can teach you to read a compass, to interpret the tides, to navigate the sea by the moon and the stars! I can teach you everything!”
Blake’s words were a magic spell, reeling him in. There was no fighting its pull.
“Why should you spend your life trying to please a man who doesn’t even care about you? Didn’t you wish you could see the coasts of Nordinnland for yourself? Didn’t you want to explore the Giesting Sea? Come with me, and you can! We’ll have adventures the likes of which Lord Birkenbee could never dream of! I tell you, Eselder, you’ll never belong to the landlocked world again!”
The future Blake presented was beyond Eselder’s wildest dreams, and all he could ask was, “How will we escape?”
Blake’s eyes lit up. Eselder smiled shyly.
“Next time we make port, we’ll be long gone before they discover we’ve deserted!” declared Blake, folding his arms, “Trust me! I’ve escaped from far worse predicaments than this.”
He grinned and Eselder grinned back though his conscience whispered a warning. He was making a reckless decision.
Eselder’s countenance hardened. Well, why not? He wanted to be reckless. He wanted to be like Blake Ransom, fluent in the language of the sea! Why shouldn’t he be allowed to shape his future, choose his own destiny? Blake’s invitation was everything he’d ever dreamed about and more!
Together, the pair sat in silence on the mast top, watching the sun rise high into the sky. Then Blake broke the peaceful atmosphere.
“Now here comes the tricky part,” he casually observed, “Getting you down in one piece.”
It was time to leave Yaletown.
Aye, it was true that these deep, stormy waters ravished Blake, agitating his sea longing like the shallows of Moanamiri never had. The Giesting Sea hoarded its secrets jealously, and Blake spent countless hours uncovering them. All the while, he fought to ignore its incessant nagging. When would he belong wholly to the sea, and it to him?
“I can’t wait any longer,” he told Jaimes as their third winter in Yaletown approached. It was time to go searching for the remedy to his sea longing…and for a legendary crown.
Jaimes begged him to remain in Yaletown until spring. Then they would go their separate ways. Don’t leave me before I know what path I’m to take, he pleaded, so Blake unhappily agreed to stay in their cold, leaky attic through the winter.
Over the Candelwedde season, Mr. Simmons left his apprentice in charge of Simmons and Co.’s while he and his family visited Kingston. Enthused by his master’s trust, Jaimes threw himself into his new responsibilities. He was cheerful and energetic all winter long, acting like he was on top of the world. He even wheedled Blake into helping him in the evenings, cleaning the store and the backroom. Blake didn’t like the job but he liked the extra pennies, and spending time with a cheerful brother who rewarded his meager efforts at respectability with heartfelt beams and the occasional candy. He even wore the nicer, fitted breeches he usually shunned like the plague.
The long winter wore on. The Giesting Sea turned wild and gray, and Blake’s sea longing grew more intense. The longer he was landlocked, the more sullen he became, until Jaimes banished him to the backroom and then out of the store altogether.
One snowy December afternoon, Jaimes coaxed Blake into attending a political debate, promising to do whatever he wanted if he went. That rash promise had potential, so Blake agreed to come along. To his great irritation, Jaimes insisted on listening to the debate with his fellow apprentices. Blake scowled. His brother was a traitorous arse, having friends.
In fairness to Jaimes, he detached from the group every now and then to engage Blake, whose mind had drifted off to warm tropical islands and buried treasure. Whenever Jaimes asked his opinion on something, Blake replied fervently, “He should go to hell!”
“You just said Mr. Witherspoon should…go to hell. You aren’t paying attention at all, are you, Blake?”
“I think they should both go to hell, so we can go home,” Blake concluded grumpily, wrapping his threadbare coat even tighter across his chest.
Jaimes sighed and gave up. “Just a little while longer, Blake.”
What a bleeding lie.
An hour later, the gray sky had dimmed, the streetlamps were flickering, and Jaimes and his chums were debating the debate. Blake scowled. His fingers were swollen and his cheeks numb. Gray slush had seeped in through his soles, freezing his toes into ice cubes.
Then a peculiar sight distracted him from his suffering.
Beth Simmons, the eldest daughter of Jaimes’s master, hovered nearby with a gaggle of other wenches. She had chosen to remain with her aunt and uncle rather than travel to Kingston with her family. Blake didn’t blame her, but what interest did she have in the debate? If girls had brains, which Blake highly doubted, they weren’t supposed to use them.
But that wasn’t the odd part.
Miss Simmons, a very becoming young lady with glossy chestnut curls, was ogling Blake’s dolt of a brother. Now that Blake had started looking, he noticed something even more flabbergasting. As he paraded loudly about manly things like tax laws and fair wages, Jaimes was doing his fair share of eyeballing Miss Simmons too.
Blake looked back and forth between them, not knowing whether to feel outraged or amused. Miss Simmons was an attractive wench, no doubt about that…but what about Jaimes the Fathead? Why should Miss Simmons be goggle-eyeing him? Clearly, she was laboring under the delusion that Jaimes was good-looking.
Was he?
Blake cocked his head, at a loss. Though he was starting to realize why men found these wenches so pleasing to the eyes, he couldn’t imagine surrendering his heart to one of them.
Maybe that was because he had already done that, years ago.
Blake stared at the sweet, shy young couple. Then he scowled. The both of them made him sick! He glowered at Miss Simmons, feeling neither sweet nor shy.
Why’re you so eager, then, eh? Tired of being a maiden? I wouldn’t count on Jaimes. He’s too good for you.
Blake’s patience vanished. He wanted to leave. He didn’t give a damn about the lower class…or the other classes for that matter. In fact, he didn’t give a damn about his brother until he realized that all of the apprentices were rallying together against him. They were making fun of Jaimes, claiming that he was only interested in the rights of the “common folk” because he was one of them. Jaimes kept remarkably cool in the face of their taunts. Blake had no such restraint.
“He’s not common, and you’re a pile of crap! Go to hell!”
The apprentices looked startled. Then, spotting the fiery-eyed adolescent, they started laughing again.
“The most unabashed ad hominem attack ever spoken,” Jaimes muttered wearily, rubbing his eyes beneath his damp spectacles.
A cold trickle washed away Blake’s confidence. What was so stupid about what he had said? He wished he had a pistol on hand. Then he’d win this debate in a flurry of bullets and gun smoke! Unfortunately, his flintlock was back at the Carp and Mackerel.
Holding up a penny, a pockmarked apprentice made a witty remark about Jaimes’s face on a coin. Everybody laughed except for Blake and Beth Simmons. Blake scooped up a piece of coal and sent it flying. The shard smacked the apprentice’s hand with admirable precision. Everyone looked at Blake with surprise.
“Jaimes would make a great king!” shouted Blake, “He wants to make things fair for everybody…and, um…go to hell, you stinking turds!”
He liked yelling at the top of his lungs. Perhaps he should take up politics.
“Shall we fight now?” he inquired, getting excited, “We could have a duel if you’d prefer to be more genteel. Sword or pistol? Or fisticuffs?”
Jaimes steered him away from the livid apprentices, glancing at Beth Simmons as he went. The girl was hiding her mirth behind a gloved hand.
As soon as they were out of sight, Jaimes released Blake and started berating him.
“I defended you!” Blake cried indignantly, “And I won the debate!”
“You don’t win debates with violence; you win them with reason!”
“Oh. To hell with that then,” muttered Blake.
Seeing that there was no winning this debate, Jaimes shut his mouth but maintained an air of deep displeasure the entire walk home. They trudged down the snow-covered alley, listening to carolers belt out “The Good Smith and the Fir Tree.” Blake wrinkled his nose and stuck his fingers in his ears while his goody-two-shoes brother dropped a farthing in their basket. Later on, as they walked under pools of dusky orange light, he peeked at Jaimes. His brother didn’t look upset anymore, so Blake piped up sweetly as they turned down King Cod Row, a steep alley at the bottom of which teetered the Carp and Mackerel.
“And yes, Jaimes. I think Miss Simmons finds apprentices with barnacle eyes very appealing.”
“Shut up, Blake,” retorted Jaimes wryly, reaching out to shove him. Cackling like a goblin, Blake dodged him. He jumped and skidded nimbly down the icy hill, causing a stray dog to bark and chase excitedly after him. Outside the Carp and Mackerel, Blake stamped his feet and eagerly contemplated the foamy, steamy mugs of drinking chocolate that awaited them inside. Minutes later, Jaimes came tramping up, slower than a lumbering seal. He had taken out another farthing and was clearly lost in thought. Blake watched him turn it over and gaze at King James the First’s stern profile.
Then, to his bewilderment, Jaimes started to smile.
The HMS Swift was a floating pot of crème brûlée, currently being blowtorched. But Eselder would not be caramelized. Instead, he would melt into a puddle of sweat and evaporate.
Over the past week, the Swift had sailed even farther southward, and the sunshine was akin to a fiery furnace. Eselder was back to cleaning the ship’s heads, and in this heat, it was the most revolting task imaginable. At least he was near a latrine in case he needed to vomit.
His sweat splattered an area he had already cleaned. Eselder groaned and sat back, hoping to feel a breeze. There wasn’t one. There was nothing but this sticky, sultry, blistering heat. He licked his salty lips and went doggedly back to work.
“Here, thought you might want this.”
Eselder looked up to find Blake holding out a tin cup. He glanced quickly around, but there was nobody to spot them together on the foc’sle.
“Don’t worry; I’m just here to take a pee and leave,” Blake assured him, grinning, “After I save our hard-working cabin boy from heatstroke, that is.”
“Thank you!” Eselder gasped. He accepted the grog and gulped it down. The searing liquid wasn’t as satisfying as a cup of cool water would have been, but it was better than nothing.
“If we sail any farther south, we’ll fall off the world’s edge,” Blake observed, peering past the bowsprit into an eternity of blue.
“Isn’t the earth round?”
“So they say,” Blake replied scornfully, “If that’s true, I’d like one of them scholars to explain why this ship doesn’t flip upside down and off its bottom.”
Eselder fought to hold his tongue.
“Besides,” Blake went on impressively, “I’ve been to the edge of the world.”
“Really?” Eselder asked without thinking.
“Well, close to it, anyway,” Blake amended, “And I say that if there’s no edge to the world, there shouldn’t be a horizon line…and what, pray tell, are we sailing toward?”
Eselder knew that Blake didn’t really want him to “pray tell,” so he supplied another answer: “Port Cokerne.”
“Come again?”
Eselder eagerly spilled his news. “I overheard the midshipmen a little while ago. When they came out to take a pee.”
He snickered. Blake followed suit before inquiring, “They weren’t discussing this while they peed, surely?”
“No, they were talking as they came out,” Eselder admitted, grinning, “We should make port within a matter
of days, or so says Captain Thornhill.”
A wide smile spread across Blake’s brown face, which had come back to life after weeks in the sunlight and the shrouds.
“Finally,” he breathed, but Eselder looked nervously around and inquired, “Are we…are we still…escaping?”
He whispered the last word.
“Because…they’ll be watching me, you know. Last time we made port, I did try to escape, and Thug Kurzon told me if I ever tried to again…”
He shuddered.
“He’ll be watching me.”
“Hang Thug Kurzon!” Blake snapped, “I’ve dealt with far more fearsome characters than he!”
“Like whom?”
Blake propped himself against the bowsprit, and Eselder wished he hadn’t asked. He anxiously checked the railings above for Kurzon’s spies. How might he kindly request that Blake go away? Some might call it bravery and others foolishness, but sometimes Eselder felt that Blake forgot about his enemies…indeed, any danger whatsoever…whenever it suited him.
“The Royal Navy is one thing,” said Blake, folding his arms with a roguish sneer, “But imagine escaping from a pirate’s ship.”
“You’ve encountered pirates?” Eselder asked the question before he could stop himself. Blake looked pleased by his reaction. His chest swelled.
“Aye!” declared the seaman, putting his arms jauntily behind his head, “I’ve done a shitload more than that! I’ve fought them. I’ve sailed with them. Hell, I am a pirate!”
Blake stared out at the open sea, waiting for a gasp of amazement that never came.
After a long stretch of silence, he grew impatient and turned to find Eselder staring at him, not with admiration but horror. Like he was a giant, man-eating weevil. All of a sudden, Blake felt vile.
Well, what else had he expected? Blake didn’t know, for he hadn’t been thinking when he’d said it. It just seemed like everything he did roused the boy’s admiration, and so he’d gotten carried away and blurted out his last, big secret before he’d been able to bite down on his fat tongue…