by Steven Bohls
“Good. When we get going again, we’re having a little chat. And bring that fancy clunk with you.”
The crew was lined up on the deck, awaiting direction.
Kizer clasped his hands behind his back. “The storeroom’s cleared out, ready for supplies. Sprocket and I will load trades to the schooner while Pobble and Riggs haul in the new cargo. Let’s be quick and efficient. No mistakes this time. We don’t have time to waste.”
Pobble stood on his toes and stared over Kizer’s shoulder. “Uh, where’s the tinker going?”
The others turned.
“Stop!” Kizer shouted. “What is the tinker doing?”
Captain Bog cleared his throat. “Deal didn’t go through.”
“What do you mean it didn’t go through?” Kizer asked.
“No trades today.” The captain tossed the supply-list book back to Riggs.
Riggs thumbed through the pages. “But—but what about my list?” he said. “What about the defluxor core? And I need a half-dozen capacitors, steel bulkhead paneling, microgenerators, and copper tubing!”
“I’m aware of that, Riggs.”
“We’re running an illegal T-five engine block! We can’t just shop for those parts at a township! We won’t see another tinker for a month—at least!”
“Then keep our girl flying for another month.”
“That’s what you said last month. And the month before that. And—”
“And look how good a job you’re doing. Sprocket,” the captain said, dismissing Riggs’s frantic eyes, “get Bessie moving. Everyone else, back to whatever you should be doing. I need to speak to Jed in my quarters. We’re not to be disturbed.”
“You!” Kizer jabbed a finger at Jed. “This is your fault? You slimy little scab-faced slug! I’m going to tear your scrap skin from those scrawny limbs and boil it in your own blood!”
“Enough, Ki,” Captain Bog said, though the words sounded less than halfhearted. “Jed, with me. Now.”
At least Kizer said blood, Jed thought, instead of red-dyed machine oil.
“In.” Captain Bog pointed to his quarters. Then, as he had before, Captain Bog pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”
Jed sat and the captain stood, fists on his hips. “I’ve always had bad luck with stragglers, but against my better judgment, I let you keep your watch. A junkstorm hit Skova not four days ago, and I told the crew we’d be digging there in three hours. But without supplies? We won’t be doing digging anywhere! I’ve lost a fresh dig, a month’s supplies, and the confidence of my crew. I’m not a thief, so I don’t regret what I did. But that said, you’ll tell me everything. Right now.”
“I told you, I—”
“I know what you said. And I believe you. But I’m not being told everything. You get one last chance to come clean with everything. If you’re lying or leaving out one scrap detail, I’ll throw you on the tinker’s schooner faster than you can fall off a ladder. I was decent to trust you—even saved you from that vulture. Now be square with me.”
Jed nodded. “Okay. I did come from under the fringe. That wasn’t a lie. Rain from the sky, wood that grows fruit—all of that was true.” The captain eyed the painting of the woman. “My parents went missing, and they left me this watch and a letter that said to never take it off.”
“You said that already. What else?”
“I’m getting there. When I met Riggs, he knew the watch was relic junk. I said I didn’t know what it was. And then…”
He paused and looked at the floor.
I can’t mention Shay. He’ll kill her—he’ll throw her off the ship.
“And then what?”
“I found out more.”
“How?”
“I—I can’t tell you.”
“You want to go back to the schooner? You know what that tinker will do?”
“Steal my watch.”
“And?”
“Kill me?”
“Why would he kill you when he could sell you to a scrap pit as a digger?”
Jed winced. “I can’t be responsible for hurting this person.”
“You mean one of my crew?”
“If I tell you, promise not to hurt them.”
“I deal with my crew how I want. That’s not your concern.”
“What if it’s not your crew?”
“What are you babbling about? I’ve had my eye on you since you stepped foot on this ship. You haven’t talked to anyone else.”
“Then it should be an easy promise. Swear that you won’t hurt them or leave them stranded.”
“No. You talk, or my knuckles will get real touchy-feely with your face.”
“I can’t,” Jed said. “Do what you have to, but I’m not going to let someone else get hurt because of me.”
Captain Bog drew back his arm. You can take it, Jed told himself. You’ve been through worse. A memory flashed in his mind of when he’d had to cut open his own arm to drain a bubbled infection, sterilize and bandage the wound, then swim along a saltwater channel. The sting from the salt water still haunted him.
The captain’s fist flexed, then relaxed, then flexed again. “Fine. You have a deal. Now talk.”
Jed’s shoulders relaxed. “When we were on my grandpa’s steamboat, there was a girl. She survived the wreck.”
The captain chuckled. “You think I’d fly back there to beat up a girl?”
“She’s not exactly on the steamboat anymore.”
“She’s what?”
“Remember—you agreed.”
Captain Bog straightened and his fingers flexed again. “A stowaway?”
“She snuck on board while the crew was searching the wreckage. She’s scared.”
“I don’t care! No one sneaks onto my ship!”
“Do you want answers or not?”
The captain glowered. “Keep talking.”
“She recognized the watch. She knows what it does, but she wouldn’t tell me. She said it could…” Jed knew the next words would sound ridiculous.
“Could what?”
“Could make someone king of the junkyard. More powerful than the king of the dread.”
Jed waited for a scoff or a laugh. But the captain just looked at the watch as if his eyes were scalpels dissecting a specimen.
“Like a gilded relic or something?”
“She didn’t think so. But she said Riggs could read it.”
“Riggs? Why Riggs?”
“Something about his glasses. I’m not sure. She’s sort of odd.”
Captain Bog walked out of his cabin. “Sprocket!”
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“Send Riggs to my quarters, now!”
“Aye, Cap’n!”
Feet pattered down the bridge staircase and then down to the lower decks. A minute later, two sets of footsteps returned.
“Get in here,” the captain called.
Riggs entered and stood at attention. “Yes, Captain?”
“Sit down. I want you to look at something.” Jed scooted to one side of the couch. Captain Bog opened a porthole window and light pooled in.
Jed held out his hand.
A grin stretched along Riggs’s face. “Well, now…well, well, well…”
The captain loomed over them. “What is it?”
“It’s a—”
“And don’t say ‘relic,’” the captain interrupted. “We already know that.”
“Ah…yes…well…”
“Is it a gilded relic?”
Riggs nearly snorted. “Not even close.”
“Then what?” the captain asked. “Apparently you’re the one who’s supposed to know.”
“Me? Why me?”
The captain released an irritated sigh. “You don’t know scrap about it, do you?” He glared at Jed. “You told me—”
“She didn’t say that he’d know what it was,” Jed interrupted, “only that he could read it.”
“What? Who are you talking about?” Riggs said.
The captai
n pointed at the watch. “Read it, Riggs. What does it say?”
Riggs studied the face. “The clock numbers are obvious. But look here and here.”
Jed and Captain Bog nearly collided to hunch over the device. Riggs touched the red symbols.
“What are they?” Captain Bog asked.
Riggs tilted his head one way then the other. He pulled off his glasses, then found a red-lensed pair. “Township symbols. They’re old. But definitely townships. Look. The silver hands point to this township in this sector.” He touched the symbols, then switched to a new pair of glasses. “The black hands indicate the time.”
Captain Bog shook his head. “But they’re not moving.”
“No.” Riggs took off his glasses. “They’re not.”
“She said the hands would move when they’re ready,” Jed added.
At his words, Captain Bog perked up. “It shows a time and place, yes?” Riggs nodded. Enchantment glittered in the captain’s eyes. “It’s a treasure map.”
The three stared in silence at the watch.
And then the hands began to spin.
The six hands slowed and settled into place.
New symbols.
New township.
New time.
“Where is that?” Captain Bog asked. “What does it say?”
Riggs swapped glasses. “Dawndrake territory. Seventh sector. Eight o’clock.”
The captain pulled a chained watch from his coat.
“Eight in the morning or eight at night?” Jed asked.
“It’s already past eight,” the captain said. “Must be evening.” He stuffed the watch into his pocket and strode from the quarters. “Sprocket! New heading!” Jed and Riggs followed.
“Where to, Cap’n?” Sprocket asked.
“How close are we to Dawndrake?”
“Ten hours, maybe more.”
The captain checked his watch again. “And if we run hot?”
Riggs shook his head. “Without those replacement capacitors, I can’t burn Bessie past forty percent for a ten-hour cruise. She can sprint ninety-five percent for three, maybe four minutes. Then the engines will fail. Then we’ll explode. Then we’ll plummet and hit the junk, where we’ll explode again.”
“Okay. I get it. What will forty percent get me?” Captain Bog asked.
“Nine hours.”
“Sounds about right,” Sprocket said.
“Nine hours, then. Let’s get moving.”
Riggs and Sprocket headed off in opposite directions.
Kizer marched over. “Sir? Dawndrake is in the opposite direction of Skova! What about the dig site?”
“Change of plans. Seems we might have ourselves a treasure map.”
“A what?”
“Jed here—”
Kizer’s face tightened. “So it’s Jed now? What happened to Golden Boy?”
“I’m hoping he turns out to be a golden boy.”
“He’s getting inside your head! If that piece of scrap’s telling us where to go, it’s a trap.”
“Sprocket!” the captain shouted. “Make sure the shatterkegs are charged. Just in case.”
“Aye, Captain!”
The captain looked at Kizer. “Better?”
“This tug couldn’t defend herself against a broken wasp using slugs as shatterkeg fire, let alone a full dreadnought!”
Captain Bog frowned and patted a loose plank in a nearby wall. “He doesn’t mean that, sweetheart. Just a bit upset is all.”
Kizer rolled his eyes. “Captain, we can’t—”
“Ki”—Captain Bog held up a hand—“leave it. We’re going to Dawndrake.”
“Yes, sir.” Kizer nodded, but the muscles in his neck were stiff and the motion was awkward.
“Jed,” the captain said, once out of earshot of the crew, “take me to the stowaway.”
Jed’s stomach clenched. Shay was probably alone in her corner, trying to open another can of food.
“Remember that you agreed to—”
“If you remind me what I agreed to once more, I might just have to forget. Now go.”
Jed walked down the stairs to the mess. “I should go alone. I don’t want to spook her.”
“Two minutes—then I’m coming down.”
Jed scrambled into the innards of the ship. Not like the captain could fit between the pipes down here anyway.
Inside the stowaway cabin, Shay hummed softly to herself. She was dragging the charcoaled stick in circles on the floor. Over and over. Thousands of black circles.
“Hello again,” she said in a bright voice without looking up.
“Hi. It’s me.”
“I know.”
He glanced at the lemon, still in perfect detail on the wall, then at the other pictures around the room. “What are all of these?”
“Pictures.”
Something about that lemon. He couldn’t stop staring at it. Why? Why did she draw a lemon?
“What do they mean?” The question was too vague, of course—especially considering who he was asking. He braced for another evasive Shay remark.
She stopped making circles and looked up.
“They’re what’s inside me.”
“Inside how?”
“Sometimes, I feel like there’s something stuck.” She looked at her torso. “I can’t stop thinking about it. It just stays in there, banging on my belly, saying, ‘Get me out of here, silly girl!’ And so I paint it out.”
“Sometimes I feel like that too,” Jed said without thinking.
“You do?”
He was nodding before he realized it. And then words he never intended to say spilled from his mouth. “I make things too. Food. I cook food.” His mind flashed to Lemon Saturday.
Lemon poppy-seed doughnuts. Every Saturday for months. I had to have them. I had to. If I didn’t—well, I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t.
His mind felt dizzy—no, blurry—no, that wasn’t it either.
“Did I say all that out loud?” he asked.
“About the lemon poppy-seed doughnuts? Yep.” Her eyes were filled with wonder. It was an eager look—almost thrilled.
“What does that mean?” Jed asked.
“How am I supposed to know?”
He looked at the lemon on the wall. “That. You drew that.” He reached into his pocket for the lemon. She looked from it to the picture on the wall.
“Mine needs more yellow, doesn’t it?”
“Why did you draw it?”
“I told you. It was inside of me. ‘Let me out, Shay! Let me out!’ So I let it out.”
Three heavy stomps rattled above, and dust particles fluttered from the ceiling.
Jed pointed up. “I had to tell Ugly Mouse about you.”
She nodded. “Will he put me in a cage and hit me with pipes?”
Jed’s heart sank. “No,” he said quickly. “He promised he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“So did Captain Butterfly.”
Jed winced. He knew nothing about his grandfather, but he couldn’t imagine the man caging and beating a helpless girl. “I don’t know anything about what happened with Captain Butterfly, but I won’t let this captain do that. You can trust me.”
She studied Jed—studied the lemon in his hand. “You’re different from other mice.”
“I am?”
Her lips turned up in a mischievous grin. “Quite different. Not like Captain Butterfly at all, are you?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never knew him.”
“Why would you?” Still smiling, she bit her lip. “No. No, not like other mice at all, are we?”
More stomping. More dust.
“We’re coming!” Jed called. “Come on. I need to get back up.”
“Okay.” She crawled after him.
Captain Bog stood by the trapdoor, one hand on his hip, the other holding his watch. “Did you pause for a nap?”
Jed took Shay’s hand and helped her up. “This is Shay.” He adopted his most sympathetic
voice. “She’s the only survivor from the steamboat. While she was there, the crew locked her in a cage and beat her. She’s been stuck in a tiny space on this ship and has probably had barely any cans to eat for days.”
“Cans? As in our cans? A stowaway and a thief? No wonder they beat you.”
Jed glared.
“Actually,” Shay said, “I had plenty to eat. Lots of cans up here. Delicious cans. Peaches and blackberries and pea soup. Yum! But”—she held up a finger—“I only ate when I was hungry. Or wanted a treat. Or didn’t have anything else to do…like draw pictures on the walls of your boat.”
Jed held his breath. A smile filled the captain’s face. He was either amused or about to announce something threatening or painful. From Jed’s experience, it was usually both.
But he simply folded his arms and nodded, the awkward smile still plastered on his scarred lips.
“Do you have any more blankets?” she asked. “I took one from the big room with the pretty paintings. But it has a hole in it.” She connected her thumb and finger to make a ring. “Like a mouse nibbled through.”
“Yes,” Captain Bog said. “I know the blanket. A hole like this?” He spaced his fingers a coin’s width apart.
“Exactly!”
“That’s my blanket.”
“Well, it’s not very comfortable. You should wrap disobedient mice inside it to punish them!”
Captain Bog tilted his head as if considering the idea. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Yes. Keep it in mind.”
He studied her for another moment. “You know, you oddly remind me of…” He stared into her eyes. “Of…” He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.
“Of your blanket?” she asked.
His face lit up as a rare and mirthful laugh escaped his throat. “I was going to say my daughter.”
Jed looked up. “You have a daughter?”
“No.” He didn’t meet Jed’s eyes.
“Is she dead?” Shay asked. “How did she die?”
Captain Bog took a slow, steady breath. “She was taken.”
“By the wicked scritchlings?”
“By the dread.”
“Did they turn her into one?” she asked.
He scratched at one of the thick scars on his chin.
Shay eyed the motion and cocked her head. “Did you try to rescue her? Is that how you got all those scars?”
He stopped midscratch. “You’re a smart girl, Shay.”
“There were too many, weren’t there? You couldn’t stop them all. Too many wicked scritches.”