Explorer of the Endless Sea

by Jack Campbell

  “What’s the problem, Ang?” Jules asked him. “We stopped while we could still see well. Isn’t that what everyone wanted?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But, you see, that gives everyone more time to worry about what will happen tomorrow.”

  “There’s no way to keep the crew happy, is there?” Jules said, exasperated.

  “There is a way,” Ang said. “Turn back east.”

  “The crew voted to go west,” Jules said. “They approved doing this.”

  Instead of answering her, Ang looked to the west. “That bad weather we’ve been fearing is finally moving in. It should reach us tonight.”

  Jules spared an angry glance at the clouds before going to the rail and looking down at the water. “I’m sure you’re all hoping it blows us east.”

  Ang didn’t say anything.

  She ate alone in her cabin, picking at the fish. Dor’s might have lacked in some things, but they had a lot of fish. Jules was already tired of it.

  About midnight Jules was awoken by the sound of rain pattering on the quarterdeck over her head. A few rumbles of thunder rolled through the sky, but the winds stayed moderate and the sea didn’t get rougher. She finally fell asleep, exhausted.

  When she blinked awake the next morning, it was still raining. Jules went on deck and found the crew was still below. From the look of the clouds it was well past dawn. She walked to the bow, where the anchor watch sat huddled against the rain. “Any problems?”

  “No, Captain.”

  Jules squinted ahead through the rain. Visibility was reduced, but she could still see three or four hundred lances ahead.

  Going below decks, she found the crew sitting about or lying in their hammocks. “Ang, Liv, let’s get going.”

  Ang stood up, stooping in the limited headroom on the second deck. “How much sail, Cap’n?”

  “We’ll need to limit our speed because of the lower visibility. Get us going and we’ll see if we need to add on.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  The crew moved more slowly than normally, Jules fighting herself to keep from yelling at them. It bothered her that neither Ang nor Liv had roused the crew earlier. Had that ever happened before?

  Some of the crew went up the masts. As furled sails dropped to fill with wind, other crew members pulled on the sheets to adjust the angle of the spars. Everyone else went to the windlass and began winding in the anchor, a slow and backbreaking job that couldn’t be hastened.

  Jules waited, thinking that the windlass was being turned slower than usual, but that might be just her mood.

  The crew was dragging its feet, though.

  What would Mak advise her to do? Get tough? No, this wasn’t the time for that. Go among them, reassure them, let them know she wasn’t being reckless and their fears were being listened to.

  It proved hard, though. Jules felt as if she were trying to push a rope, the rain dampening spirits as well as the outside of the ship and her crew. As she made the rounds, trying to cheer everyone up, Jules noticed that the Sun Queen was barely making way toward the west. She went up onto the quarterdeck, finding Liv there, and Kurt at the helm. “Why don’t we have more sail on?”

  Liv looked up at the sails rather than over at Jules. “You said put on enough for the visibility.”

  “We can see a good four hundred lances, Liv. At this speed that’s about how far we’ll get over the entire day.”

  “I’m not sure how much else to put on,” Liv said.

  Jules, by what she considered a heroic effort, managed not to yell at her. “Set the topsail.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Lunch and dinner were sodden affairs as the rain continued, working its way into every crevice of the ship and every opening in clothing. It wasn’t particularly cold or hot, nor particularly windy or rough, just an apparently unending drizzle that offered monotony and misery in equal measure.

  The bottom seemed deep here, with the sounding line not finding the bottom anywhere they tried, so as the grayish light grew darker the sails were reduced to just enough to allow the Sun Queen to slowly head north.

  They spent the rest of the night tacking first north and then south in equal measure, trying to hold their position until daylight. The crew had to be called up repeatedly to work the sails, which didn’t help anyone’s mood.

  “It’s still raining,” Jules said as she went out on deck the next morning, as tired as everyone else from the labors of the night. “What do you say the visibility is?”

  Ang stared off the bow, frowning. “Three hundred lances. Maybe less.”

  She thought it was farther than that, but didn’t want to get into a battle of wills with the crew sinking deeper and deeper into gloom. “Let’s see how it goes today. Ang, can I count on you?”

  He gave her a surprised look, then nodded. “I will do my job as well as I can, Cap’n.”

  “Thank you.”

  In her cabin, Jules gazed morosely at the chart that claimed to show these waters. She’d called in Liv and Gord for their impressions. “The coast came out along our course yesterday, didn’t it? Farther to the north.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Gord said.

  “But first thing this morning we seemed to round a headland and angled back south a little,” Jules continued.

  Liv nodded, her eyes on the chart. “It’s not a lot. The coast is still running mostly east/west as far as we can tell with the weather like this.”

  “That matches the chart, I guess.” Jules tapped the coastline. “But this shows reefs along this coast. Have you seen any?”

  “No,” Gord said as if reluctant to admit to it.

  “Have the lookouts report sighting reefs to the south?”

  Liv hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Not that it means all that much with the rain and the clouds making it hard to see far.”

  “If the reefs were coming out as far as this chart shows,” Jules said, “we should be seeing them.”

  “Unless they’re fully submerged,” Liv said in a low voice.

  Jules closed her eyes for a moment, trying to imagine what else she could do. “We haven’t seen any signs of danger ahead. Tell me truthfully, you two, why isn’t that making anyone feel better?”

  Gord made a face. “Captain, it’s the weather. That’s part of it. Like the sea herself doesn’t want us going this way and is trying to discourage us.”

  “I realize I’m not nearly as experienced as you, Gord, but from what I’ve seen, when the sea wants to make a point she’s neither subtle nor gentle.”

  “That’s so as far as it goes,” Liv said. “But the sea follows her own rules. Maybe she expects us to be smart enough not to keep going in the face of her hints.”

  “Thank you for your advice,” Jules said, hearing the edge in her voice.

  Going up on deck again, she unhappily gauged the speed of the ship, then once more ordered another sail set.

  She went up to the bow, one foot on the bowsprit as she stared out into the rain. Nothing but water, as far as the eye could see, which today like yesterday wasn’t nearly far enough.

  As light began fading and her crew began searching about them with growing anxiety, Jules gave in to the unspoken demand and began trying to find a place to anchor. Fortunately this night the bottom was shallower, enough so that the ship could drop anchor and let the crew rest well. Or as well as they could with rain dripping down over everything.

  They had sighted the occasional beach on shore, usually narrow but sometimes with a little rough terrain inland of it. That should have been cheering, to see some yielding of the southern cliffs, but each beach soon came to an end.

  After eating a cold meal, Jules went forward again, as far west as she could on the ship. She found Marta there as well, eyeing the waters gloomily.

  “The waters are getting choppy,” Marta said.

  Jules looked down, noticing the chop had increased a bit. “You’re right.”

  “That can be a sign of sho
als or reefs ahead,” Marta added, emphasizing her words.

  “We’ll stay at anchor here until the light is good enough to continue on in the morning,” Jules said. “We’ll keep on nice and slow and careful,” she added to reassure Marta.

  “Captain…” Marta looked about as if trying to avoid looking directly at Jules. “Maybe we should turn back.”

  “We haven’t run into anything yet,” Jules said.

  “Yeah, but…” Marta, frowning, headed below.

  As Jules went to her cabin, she saw Keli out on deck as well, the healer looking south to where cliffs still faced the waters of the sea. “Everyone will get a decent night’s sleep,” she told Keli.

  Keli twisted his mouth before replying. “That’s not always a good thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because men and women who’re working constantly have little time or energy to think. Give them time to think, time to lie in their hammocks and get rested, and they have time to think of those monsters their imaginations tell them are just ahead in this muck.”

  “Keli, what else should I do?”

  “You’re pushing them west,” Kelli said. “They’re going to be more and more discontented with every lance west we go from here.”

  “You’re telling me to turn around?” Jules asked. Herself tired and sick of the rain and sick of trying to raise the spirits of the crew, she felt the inner cold that wouldn’t yield to anyone or anything. “When we haven’t seen one danger?”

  “Haven’t seen is the word,” Keli said.

  “No! The crew voted to go west! We’re going west!”

  “You asked me for my advice,” Keli said, his gaze on the water. “I gave it.”

  “Thanks,” Jules said, walking to her cabin and barely stopping herself from slamming the door shut.

  * * *

  When Jules woke the next morning as the watch changed on the quarterdeck above her head, she noticed both that the rain had stopped and that the view out of her stern windows was of a whitish-gray mist. Uncertain whether to be relieved or upset at the change in weather, and worried by the silence that seemed to enshroud the ship even more closely than the fog, Jules went out on deck and barely avoided shouting an obscenity.

  The Sun Queen was wreathed in fog so heavy that from the quarterdeck the view of the mainmast and anyone near it was partly obscured. The water in the fog condensed on anything it touched. The wood of the ship and the yardarms. The lines of rigging. The faces of the men and women gazing into the fog with what seemed even more worry than they’d shown the night before.

  At least they were up on deck this morning, though their abnormal silence was unnerving. Jules kept her voice soft as she greeted those sailors nearest her, receiving only nods in response.

  No one looked directly at her. No one was working. In the midst of the thick fog the world seemed to be suspended in a moment, like someone standing on a cliff almost ready to jump but still hesitating.

  Disturbed by the fog and the behavior of the crew, Jules went up onto the quarterdeck, relieved to find Ang there. “How’s it look?”

  “You can see,” he said, gesturing around. “We can’t move in this.”

  “No, we can’t,” Jules said, walking toward the port side in a vain attempt to spot any sign of the land in that direction. “We’ll have to wait until it lifts a little.”

  “Perhaps it won’t lift until we head east.”

  She stopped, her last step coming down so heavily it seemed the thud carried like a shout through the fog. Biting her lip, Jules got a grip on her upset before turning to look at Ang. “Why would that make a difference?”

  He shook his head at her. “Cap’n, I urge you to turn back.”

  “Why? Because of fog? Because it rained?”

  “The signs are ominous. This voyage does not have the sea’s approval.”

  “You want to give up?” Jules looked across the ship, raising her voice. “Who else wants to give up?”

  No one answered.

  Walking to the front of the quarterdeck, Jules called again. “You voted to go west with me! Who has changed their minds?”

  Marta called back from near the mainmast. “Do you mean to go on?”

  “Blazes, yes!”

  A long pause followed, while Jules wondered what to say next.

  The silence was broken as another voice called out from on deck, starting out low and gaining in volume. “I call for a vote of the crew!”

  Startled, Jules looked to see Cori walking aft, appearing out of the fog to stand by the mainmast. Other sailors came out of the mist from where they’d been out of view farther forward. In what seemed a few moment’s time, the entire crew was standing on the deck, looking up at the quarterdeck. To Jules’ dismay, none of them appeared to be surprised by Cori’s call for a vote.

  She looked back, seeing both Ang and Liv on the quarterdeck now. Both were watching her with downcast faces.

  Cori continued, speaking in tones that combined reluctance and resolve. “I call for a vote of the crew,” she repeated. “A vote to cancel the last vote. A vote to turn the ship about, head east, and return to the safe waters we have always sailed, and the trades of piracy and smuggling that we know.”

  Jules had seen the warning signs, had been troubled by them, but still hadn’t expected this. “Haven’t I earned your trust?” she called to the crew.

  But nearly all of them kept their eyes and faces averted from her.

  Only Marta answered. “You still have our trust as captain. But that doesn’t mean we’ll blindly follow you to our deaths.”

  “I gave you my reasons! I explained why we can do this, why we have to do this!”

  Silence.

  “Has there been any danger sighted? Have any of you seen or heard danger before us?”

  Kurt replied. “The charts all show danger. Clear warning signs. If a sign warns of a pit ahead, do you keep walking until you fall into it?”

  “You know the charts lied about conditions in the north!”

  Silence again.

  They didn’t want to debate it, Jules realized. They’d decided, and they wouldn’t listen to anything she said. Despair filled her, the weight of the world and the prophecy and her many responsibilities bearing down hard.

  And she couldn’t fight anymore.

  Jules lowered her head. “Call the vote, Ang,” she said.

  Hearing nothing, she looked back at him.

  Ang shook his head, his expression stubborn and sad.

  Swallowing before speaking to keep her voice steady, Jules spoke louder. “Cori, you asked for the vote. Call the vote.”

  Startled, Cori looked about her at the rest of the crew. “All right. I… I call the vote. All those who wish to head back east, raise your fist, and say aye!” She raised her own clenched right hand. “Aye.”

  Jules, her heart sinking, watched as the crew raised their hands singly and in small groups. “Aye.” “Aye.” “Aye.” Even old Keli the healer finally, reluctantly, raised his hand. “Aye.”

  She looked about, momentarily voiceless with disappointment and despair, to see that Ang and Liv still had their hands down. Aside from them, only Gord hadn’t raised his arm, his face set in angry lines.

  “The…the vote passes,” Cori said. “The crew has spoken.”

  Jules didn’t trust herself to speak. She breathed in and out slowly as the crew waited. Taking another deep breath, Jules gripped the quarterdeck rail with both hands so no one could see the way they trembled. “The vote carries,” she said. “This is a free ship, and I will not change that. The ship will return to the east.”

  At least they didn’t cheer, Jules thought. The crew didn’t display any happiness at their victory.

  What could she do? There was only one course left, because her heart told her she could not turn away as the ship now would.

  Jules tried to keep her voice even as she spoke again. “The Sun Queen will need a new captain.”

  A murmur broke
out on deck.

  Gord called over the noise. “That’s not so! The vote was over a course of action! Not over you as Captain!”

  Shaking her head, Jules swallowed and tried to speak calmly. “No. I cannot remain with you. I must find what lies to the west. Mak calls to me to find that, and…” Her voice almost broke. “My heart tells me my fate lies there. I must leave the ship and wish you all the best for your future. You must vote a new captain. I strongly support Ang for that role and hope you will vote him captain. He is honest, and capable, and a good seafarer.”

  The growing murmur of voices on the deck went silent.

  Everyone stared at her. They were finally looking at her, in surprise and dismay.

  Jules swallowed again before speaking. “I ask only one thing, in recognition of the good fortune I have been able to bring the ship, and that is that the small boat be lowered, and provisioned with fresh water and some hardtack. I do not know how much farther my journey to the west will take me, and the small boat will make that task easier.”

  Not a sound answered her. Even the drops of water suspended from the rigging and yardarms seemed unable to fall.

  She fought down another wave of disappointment at the lack of response. “I understand that replacing the small boat will cost the ship. My share of the plunder we’ve acquired is in my cabin. My former cabin. I’ve spent very little. You can have it all to cover the cost of the small boat.”

  Still not a word, everyone gazing at her in utter silence, the mist swirling to form brief curtains hiding and then revealing the faces of those who watched her.

  Blazes. How had it come to this?

  Mak, what should I do?

  Jules closed her eyes, nerving herself, then looked out at the crew again. “All right. I see that is too much to ask. So I ask that instead the small boat be lowered to take me ashore. I can swim the distance if needed, but I expect a long walk to the west ahead this day, and for days after, and would much prefer dry boots for that.”

  Still no response.

  “Even that is too much, then?” Jules looked across the deck, trying to keep her voice steady and failing. “Will you at least put a line over the side? Have I not earned that much from you? Put a line over the side so I can climb down to the water instead of having to dive from the deck.”