The City on the Sea (City on the Sea Series Book 1)

by Heather Carson

  “I should probably go check on the house now,” I say as I pick up my sandals. “But I’m so glad you were here last night. I don’t know what I would have done. It must have been awful trying to make it back into the harbor in that mess. I don’t know how you did it.”

  Rowan shrugs. “Eat first.” He hands me a plate before carrying a tray of food to Meghan.

  *

  The walkways are alive in celebration as I take the familiar paths that lead to my house. Bergah and Anna, the cutthroat fish market rivals, sing out sailing songs to one another about being lost at sea. I’m not sure that either of them actually sails, but I smile anyway because their laughter is contagious. I love the aftermath of the storms.

  “Brooke!” Lena catches me by the arm and spins me around. She’s spent the night tying her shiny black hair into tiny braids that resemble dreadlocks. “I went by your house this morning, but nobody answered. I figured you already left and was hoping to find you out here.”

  I try hard to retain the joy of the moment, to keep the happiness in my voice, but it fails me. “I didn’t go home last night,” I explain guiltily. “Meghan had the baby and I couldn’t leave her.”

  “Oh.” Lena stops dancing. Her hand is warm against mine. “Do you want me to come with you? Maybe it won’t be so bad if someone else is there.”

  The heat of shame stings my cheeks. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay.” Lena nods, dropping the subject and leaving me with my dignity. “Well the spinners won’t be out today, and we’ll need another hand at the tavern tonight. Come help when you’re done.”

  I give her a hug and assure her I’ll be there as I leave the festivities of the city behind and walk toward my lonely dock.

  *

  The house seems untouched by the storm, but the shutters are still closed tight. Images of Meghan’s screams and Thora’s cries blur together into a distant happy memory. I hold to that and smile despite my serious desire for a peaceful nap.

  Whatever hope I have for sleep is drowned the minute I step in the house. The storm may not have touched the outside, but it raged within these walls last night.

  “Oh mama, what did you do?” My breath catches in my throat as I survey the damage. The floor is littered with crushed shells. Oyster, calico scallop, and abalone shells from the decorations I created mix with sea glass shards from the artisan spun plates my grandmother gave my father on his wedding day. Twisted metal from the crustacean traps spill like seaweed vines from my father’s closet. Every cupboard is open. Every drawer is upended. The house that I learned to walk in, where my father played peekaboo behind the counters, that Meghan and I shared secrets in, it’s all a broken mess.

  “It’s my house to do what I want with.” The woman who is my mother smirks from the rocking chair in the corner. Her hands. Her hands are covered with an inky black substance and I force my mind to go blank. I don’t want to process what this means.

  “What do you even care?” she sneers. “You don’t want to be here anyway. There was a storm last night and you intentionally abandoned me.”

  “I didn’t.” My voice is breaking. “Meghan went into labor and no one was there. I had to stay to help.”

  “No one was here for me,” she chuckles coldly. “Meghan got herself into that position. She shouldn’t have married a man that would leave her when she needed him.”

  I bite my tongue as I go to the kitchen for the broom. If I can clean this mess, I can piece together another day. The broom sits untouched in the same place I left it and I begin to clear the shattered pieces of my life from the floor. The door to my room is open. I refuse to look inside. Whatever damage she did to my shells, to my mural, it doesn’t exist if I don’t see it.

  “Leave it.” She smiles menacingly. “It’s my house after all and I like the way it looks now.”

  Years of this tone have trained me to stay quiet. Just nod my head and do the right thing. I don’t know if it’s the sleep deprivation or the weight of the words, but I feel myself cracking as I speak.

  “Your house?” The question comes out louder than I intended. “This is my father’s house. What have you ever done to make it a home?” My blood begins to boil as the anger stirs inside of me. “Do you want me to leave too?”

  “Might as well.” The creak of the rocking chair grows louder. “You don’t want to be here. Neither you nor your sister appreciate anything I’ve ever done for you. My youth, my beauty. I gave it all up to have you ugly girls. You know what? Yes. I want you to get out of my house. Go live with the pigeons where you belong.”

  I stare at her, trying to peer through the layers of hatred. There is nothing there to see. In a cold dread, I walk to my open door. Gashes of squid ink streak through my paintings.

  “Now that,” she scoffs. “That looks much better, don’t you think? Fixed those stupid scratches on the wall right up.”

  In this moment I break. I turn to see the horrid woman that I’m supposed to call mother and the hate burns deeper than the sun.

  “Fine,” I whisper letting the dustpan crash onto the floor. “If that’s what you want, have it your way.” The scowl falls from her face and her eyes are pleading as I walk to the door.

  “Are you really going to abandon me?” she cries.

  All the times and all the different ways I’ve dealt with this before, it doesn’t seem real for me to leave. I pause at the exit. She doesn’t mean everything she says. She can’t mean everything she says. No one can be this hateful and then cry out for love. I’ve dealt with the back and forth my whole life. I know she needs me.

  But the ink stains her hands. Of all the things she could have ever done, this is a new low. The fuel of every moment leading up until now hardens my heart.

  “Meghan had a daughter,” I say as I walk outside. “The baby is as beautiful as her mother is.”

  *

  I take off running down the dock. My anger propels me past the happy faces as hot tears burn my eyes. One foot in front of the other, focusing on the knots forming in my lungs. I don’t know where I’m going but my feet take me there of their own accord.

  The broken docks end and I climb down to the uninhabitable rocky outcropping where my father spent the last years of his life.

  Sharp angles of rock cut into my sandals and threaten to slice the skin of my feet. I should be more careful, but the frustration in my chest propels me forward at a dangerous speed.

  At the ledge of the outcropping are boulders overlooking the sea and the remains of my father’s work. My breaths come out gasping and short as I collapse onto the rocky seat.

  I let out a scream. The lapping waves and the call of the ocean swallows the sound like I am nothing. I scream louder, cursing the sky and the sea beneath it. My rant continues until my throat is raw.

  The tears fall silently down and mix with the spray of the water crashing on the rocks. The breeze dries my face before the next wave hits reminding me that I can’t escape. The sea and I are forever linked. I pull my knees to my chest and hug my legs against me. The music from the ocean pulls me into a numb and distant trance.

  When I wake up the sun is high in the blue sky above me and my skin tingles from napping under its golden rays. It’s amazing how clear the sky can become after a storm. The waves crash against the rocks and I climb down the slippery ledge to the alcove where the remnants of my father’s invention sit.

  Part of me wants to tear it apart. To break it down piece by piece until there is nothing left. Instead I run my hands over the gears in wonder.

  He wanted so much for this to work. This complex machine in front of me with the smooth metal tubing that touches the ocean floor. His face is etched in my memories, bright-eyed and excited, as he explains his grand idea. He was going to pull the earth from beneath us and deposit it onto this rocky outcropping.

  “To make our own land.” He laughed as he danced Meghan and me around the kitchen. “We’ll bring the earth back to us.”


  The piping and buckets suspended by metal coils sit untouched since my father died. Everyone told him this was too dangerous of a plan. I bury his face back into my memories and climb up the rocks.

  “Curse the gods,” I mumble under my breath as I crest the ridge. There at the edge of the dock stands a new watchman staring at me. I carefully make my way back across the jagged rocks trying not to slip. His eyes watch my every movement like a sea eagle stalking a fish. Whatever hope I had yesterday from the conversation with Jillian is gone. It wasn’t a rogue watchman from the last group. There is no doubt in my mind that this one is watching me.

  He doesn’t move as I get closer. Despite feeling this vulnerable and judged, the fact that my life is in ruins gives me the voice to ask the one question I’d been too afraid to speak aloud.

  “Is there a reason why you are watching me?”

  He looks to be as young as I am. His face isn’t hardened by the sea and his uniform is still crisply pressed. There are no salt lines on his clothes like the other watchmen have. Yet his bearing is that of an old man. Steadfast and distant, like he holds secrets I cannot understand.

  “Why don’t you tell me why I have to watch you?” The amount of disdain in his heavy voice catches me off guard.

  Great, I think wishing a tidal wave would swallow me whole. I’ve managed to piss off a new watchman on what looks like the first day of his job.

  “Since I haven’t done anything wrong,” I try to reason with him, “I’m confused as to why I’m being watched. I’d like to know what I’ve done wrong if you can answer that.”

  He crosses his arms over his barrel chest revealing the ancient weapon at his side and creasing his uniform. His eyes narrow as he sizes me up. “I’m not allowed to say.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” I sigh. “Well, nice to meet you. My name is Brooke. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.”

  “I know your name.” He shakes his head like I’m dumb as I hurry past him.

  It’s not like I’m already having an awful day jerk, I’m tempted to yell. Except screaming at a watchman on a day like today sort of seems like a stupid plan.

  ‡ Chapter Five ‡

  “What’s wrong?” Lena’s worried question greets me as I walk through the back door of the tavern. She’s busy washing dishes from the lunch rush in preparation for the new round of dinner festivities that are sure to come.

  “Is it that obvious?” My shoulders slump as I take my place beside her at the tub filled with frothy water.

  “You look like you spent all night out in the storm, and you didn’t look like that this morning.” She uses the back of her hand to tuck her braids behind her ear. She stares at me with so much concern that I can’t help but tear up.

  “What is it?” Her voice is panicked, and I know if I don’t tell her then she’ll start crying and I’ll start crying. Then we’ll both be a blubbering mess with no idea what is going on. The thought of this makes me giggle. Lena looks at me like I’m crazy and I start really crying.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I croak out between broken sobs against her damp sleeve. She holds me tighter as I shatter.

  “What happened Brookie?” Her sadness mirrors my own and I find the strength to inhale deeply so I can pull myself together.

  “She destroyed my mural.”

  Lena gasps and pushes back so she can study me. “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head wishing the tears would stop already. “But she told me to leave and I left.”

  “I hate her.” Lena’s voice grows deep in a rage that only dissipates when she looks at my puffy eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your mother, but she makes your life so miserable. You don’t deserve this.”

  I force the sadness down into my chest and reach to pick up the discarded dishes in the water. “It’s stupid really. I shouldn’t care so much about a childish wall.”

  “But it’s not stupid,” she states firmly. “You worked hard on that. She had no right.”

  “It’s over now,” I reassure her as I hand over a plate for her to dry.

  “No, it’s not,” she sighs. “You can’t go back there. Not after this. You’re coming to stay with me. Ma won’t mind, she loves you…” her voice trails off in a bitter huff. Shame twists in my gut.

  I feel like I should tell her about the watchmen so she can decide if I’m worthy enough to let into her home. My life is crashing down around me and I can’t find the words to say, but I’ll need to say something before I say yes even if it means losing my friend.

  “Let me think about it,” I whisper. The roaring crowd of sailors and fishermen enter the tavern drowning out any further discussion between the two of us.

  *

  The evening crowd swells in a blur of drunken laughter as the aftermath of the storm celebrations continue. I’m swept up in the jokes of the patrons as I carry out trays heaped with fried or boiled seafood and jars of rum.

  There’s a collective roar of approval when Aegir drags in a keg of his homebrewed beer. Gertrude pays him in extra portions of food from the kitchen which Lena and I struggle to carry to his table.

  “There’s our little Brooke,” Aegir laughs heartily as he crushes me to his side. “I didn’t see you leave yesterday when the sirens rang.” I manage to pry myself from his hug and save the tray of food from falling.

  “I had to get Zander home from the wall,” I giggle as he reaches hungrily for the fish in front of him. “Meghan had her baby last night during the storm.” He runs his fingers through his beard and the hair bounces back to its usual position.

  “I was wondering what happened to Rowan today.” His eyes light up in a playful merriment. “Well what was the baby? A boy or a girl?”

  “A girl.” I smile brightly. It hits me that this is the first time I’ve been able to happily brag about the arrival of my niece.

  “A girl!” Aegir slaps his thigh as the laughter bubbles from deep within his chest. “A storm born girl. Poor Rowan will have his work cut out for him. That one will be even stronger than her mother.” I leave the table in an uproar as the fishermen crack good natured jokes at my brother-in-law’s expense.

  Rushing to the kitchen to fill more orders, I collide into Tordon’s chest. Behind him are four more kegs of his father’s beer stacked against the wall. The simple smile on his face pulls at my heartstrings and for a moment I am transported back to the way things used to be.

  “I take it you are done being weird?” He cocks his head to the side. “I haven’t seen that look on your face in ages.”

  “What look is that?” My eyebrows raise.

  “The one where you are happy to see me.” He shrugs playfully.

  “I am,” I state resolutely. “I’ve missed you as a friend.”

  “I’ve missed that too.” He winks and suddenly I am swept away as Lena drags me into the bustling kitchen.

  “What was that about?” she asks in a whisper as she hands me a tray of plates.

  “Nothing,” I chuckle and grab a piece of shrimp from the cook before following her back into the main room of the tavern with the tray balanced on my arms. “I’m just lucky that I have such great friends.”

  The noise in the tavern swells into crashing waves as the night wears on. When the fishermen begin to belt out drunken tunes, Lena and I can relax at the bar. Besides the odd request for a plate of food, the customers have had their fill of solids. Liquid becomes the new diet and the tune changes to match it.

  There are no watchmen here tonight and in a weird twist of fate it begins to worry me. I should be happy for the reprieve, but the energy level of the crowd is getting a little dangerous. It’s not like they stand here on duty or anything, but the presence of a few watchmen hanging out on their off days subdues the festivities just enough that it never gets out of control.

  “They just relocated here,” Gertrude says as if she’s reading my mind. “Probably haven’t work
ed enough for time off yet. Bad timing with the storm, but don’t you worry about it.” She gives me a knowing smile. “I wouldn’t have this job if I didn’t know how to handle them.”

  Lena giggles beside me as she sips her rum. “Here, have a taste.” She slips the glass into my hand.

  “It’s mostly water,” I grin as I pass it back to her.

  “It’ll help clear their heads.” Gertrude nods.

  We are washing dishes when Gertrude makes the last call announcement. I’m barefoot at the sink. My feet are aching and my brown dress reeks of beer and fried fish.

  Lena dries the last of the cups and we stumble out arm in arm into the chill of the night. The moon is half hidden by the clouds and the sight of the blackened sky reminds me of my mother’s hands. All the joy of the day’s festivities fades away with each step I take down the wharf.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” I bite my lip as I stop walking.

  “What is it?” Lena turns to me. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know how to say this.” Worry lumps in my throat and I swallow it down hard. “But I need to let you know before you let me stay the night and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. I couldn’t find the right words to use.”

  Curiosity piques her interest and she smiles in confusion. “Whatever it is, I forgive you. Does this have something to do with Tordon? I was wondering about that look you gave him.”

  “Nothing like that.” I shake my head and scan the darkened walkways before lowering my voice. “It’s the watchmen. They’ve been watching me since my father drowned. I don’t know what I did, but they are always there. The same one followed me for months before the relocation and now there is a new one. He won’t tell me why.”

  Lena’s brow furrows and she looks at me with such pity that I wish the metal would crack beneath me so I can drop into the sea.

  “That’s what watchmen do.” Her words are punctuated and slow. “They watch all of us. Why do you think they are fixated on you?”

  “I don’t know.” I want to cry from embarrassment. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”