The Legend of the Red Specter (The Adventures of the Red Specter Book 1)

by M. A. Wisniewski

  She pushed her diving mask up on her forehead and peered up at the wheel's structure. It was dark, but there was some moonlight filtering in through the decorative cutouts. Now for the next stage of her plan—to use the paddle wheel spokes as a ladder to climb up to the deck, under complete visual cover. It was looking a lot harder now than she'd thought in her head, mainly because she was so tired, but it still looked doable. The blades of the paddle wheel only had mass at their outer edge, and a series of levers kept the blades angled vertically when they were in the water. Aside from the hub itself, most of the wheel's center was empty space, though an outer framework of spokes, reinforced with two sets of concentric rings, provided plenty of handholds and footholds. It was practically a ladder, though this was a ladder that was constantly rocking up and down with the waves.

  Joy hadn’t accounted for this in her planning, but clinging to the bobbing paddle blade made her realize that she could use the motion to her advantage—wait until the paddle was submerged at its lowest point, get her feet on top of it then, and ride it up. She readied herself to perform the maneuver, when she remembered she was wearing swim fins. She wouldn't be able to climb in those. She pulled them off and let them sink into the black waters below. She rested and observed the rocking of the boat to get a feel for the timing, then, on the next wave, popped up on top of the paddle blade, gripped high up the spoke to steady herself, and stood up.

  Her triumph was cut short by excruciating pain in the back of her right calf. Her leg convulsed, her numbed fingers lost their grip on the spoke, and she couldn't suppress a yelp of agony and fear as she tumbled back into the black waters.

  She fell crossways across the steel paddle on her way down, banging her ribs painfully, but somehow she managed to catch herself before going all the way under. She propped herself up by putting the paddle blade beneath her armpit, while she sputtered and coughed and tried to recover her wits. She managed to stop her leg from thrashing about by bracing her foot against the hull, forcing her calf to stretch out, and tried to ignore the searing ache spreading across her left side. Of all the times to get a charlie horse.…

  She stayed like that for a while, trying to will her calf to behave itself and return to normal. Suddenly, scaling the paddlewheel was looking a lot more dangerous than it had a minute ago. It was dark and slippery, it was rocking about, she was more exhausted than she’d thought, and her fingers were going numb. If she hadn't fallen the way she had, if she had hit her head instead of her ribs, if she'd gone all the way down, beneath the boat.…

  No. No time to think about that. No time to think about what almost happened. The important thing was that it hadn't happened, and she was still alive, and she had to take care of herself right now. Because at this rate, she was still going to die of hypothermia, trapped under the paddle wheel, out of sight where no one would find her, until the ship departed early next morning, leaving her bobbing corpse in its wake. If she was lucky, her body would get discovered by fishermen before the sharks did.

  No! She couldn't think like that. She could do this. The pain in her side wasn't sharp or stabbing, so her ribs shouldn't be broken. Her calf was already starting to go back to normal. She just had to move slowly and deliberately, concentrate on each step as she went, and she would make it. She had to believe that. As soon as her calf went back to behaving like a normal body part, she began her climb again, being extra-careful. It was both easier and harder than she thought. Easy because of how nicely-spaced all the handholds and footholds were, but hard because of how unhelpful her own body was being. It felt like someone had replaced the top layers of her skin with rubber padding, so controlling where her limbs went was requiring a ridiculous level of concentration.

  Joy made it to the top of the wheel. Her plan had been to climb out through the decorative cutouts on the paddle wheel cowl and onto the deck from there. It had seemed easy enough in her head, but now that she was actually here, with a body that wasn’t working properly, her plan didn’t seem quite so great. Still, she’d come too far to turn back now. She went to stick her head out the side to check her options, and winced as she banged her snorkel on the side of the cutout. Had to remember she still had that. For a second she considered ripping it off and tossing it into the sea, but decided against it. It wasn’t that much of an encumbrance, and she might need it later.

  But the banging around with the snorkel reminded her of something else—noise. She’d been making too much noise. This was supposed to be a stealth mission, but she'd been thumping around a lot. Had anybody heard her? She forced herself to be still, try and listen. It was hard. Her chill and discomfort dominated her awareness. There was a constant vibration in her lower jaw, that traced back to a point deep in her chest. It made her teeth clack together and her breath come out in a long wavering hum. She clenched her jaw and willed herself to be quiet. It took effort, but she was able to concentrate on the world outside her own body. Water splashed at the side of the boat as the paddles rocked up and down. The hull creaked. Seagulls cried out. She didn't hear footsteps, or snatches of conversation or anything like that.

  She peered out along the outside cowl of the paddle wheel, which lay flush with the side of the ship above her. She wasn’t seeing handholds within easy reach. That wasn’t right. There should be a deck with a railing that ran right up next to it. Wait, she remembered now. The paddle wheels extended out from the side of the Joanne Spaulding’s proper hull, so the deck at her level swelled out to meet it. That meant the railing would be angled away from her. Joy swallowed, made her way as far as she could to the edge of the wheel, and leaned out farther, so her head and shoulders were sticking out of the cutout. Now she could see it. The railing was right there. Just a few feet away. She looked along the side of the ship. It didn’t seem like anyone was there. She looked away from the ship, out along the docks. Some people about. Quite a few of them. But they weren’t close, and none seemed to be looking in her direction. She had to hope they stayed that way, and she had to move now.

  The longer she waited, the more she increased her chances of being noticed. She repositioned herself in the cutout and reached for the railing, several times, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t get any closer and keep her balance. Her arms were too short—by just a few inches. In a fit of inspiration, she detached her snorkel from her mask to see if she could use the hook of the breathing-end to catch the railing. Yes—it reached. But the tubing was too flexible. It wouldn’t support her weight. She could tell by the way it bent when she tugged on it, like so—and then she fumbled and dropped it, saw it tumble down to plop into the water below.

  Dammit! Joy stared back at the railing. She was not going to grab it while keeping her balance where she was. But she could jump for it. Not even a very long jump, more like a lunge—but if she missed... Joy looked back down. Even if she didn't bang her head on the side of the boat, or get sucked under the hull, a splash that big would certainly draw the attention of the dock guards, and that would be the end of it. There’d be no second chances this time. It would have to be all or nothing—get it right on the first go. Joy started to gather herself, prepare to spring, and felt a surge of doubt. The railing angled away from her, back towards the narrower section of the ship hull. No matter how well she tried to direct her lunge, it wouldn’t be perfectly parallel with the hull. It would take her away from the ship, a least a little bit. She would have to reach backwards with her arms as she was flying past her target. That made it so much harder. But not impossible. It wasn't that far. She’d jumped farther on the Caliburn courses.

  She'd made far more dangerous jumps climbing trees or construction sites. Thinking back to it made her remember Hugh, lying in a heap, screaming with a spike in his calf, remember the lecture, the slap, and the burning shame. So foolish. So many times she could've died. But she hadn't died, had she? She'd made those jumps. She hadn't been afraid. No, that wasn’t right—she been afraid, but she hadn't cared about being afraid. She'd been having too
much fun. This could be fun.

  Joy looked at the railing, and told herself, "I can do that." But this time it was different, it wasn't a denial, an attempt to shout down the fear, the fear of falling, the fear of failing. This was her own voice from long ago, of a prideful little girl, the Caliburn champion, staring down the rest of the world and shooting her mouth off. "You think that's hard? Well, it isn't! I can do it. I can do it, no problem. Just you watch!" The declaration touched off a spark, deep in her chest, warmed her from within. She planned out her leap, visualized it in her mind. Once, twice, three times. And then—GO!

  She felt her body arc out into empty space, saw the railing, within reach but drifting away. She saw her palms make contact with that railing, felt her numbed fingers fail to react in time, felt herself slip down... And catch herself on the lower, middle railing with one hand. Her upper body swung down like a pendulum to smack into the deck and lower railing, but she managed slow the impact with her legs and her other arm, just enough to avoid making too much noise, she hoped. She managed to lever herself up though the gap in the railing, onto the deck, and froze, listening for any signs of alarm. Had anyone seen that? Or heard it?

  But no voices cried out, and no one came running. Plenty of things go creak and thump on a ship, all the time. No cause for alarm. Still, she felt horribly exposed. And freezing. What did she do now? Why was it so hard to concentrate? She needed a towel or a blanket, and she needed to get under cover. Would they even have something like that? They must—they'd need it if a man went overboard. Emergency supplies—look for that. She found it within seconds—a metal cabinet, bolted to the wall, painted bright orange with bold white letters saying EMERGENCY. Of course--you would keep them close on hand, make them easy to find. It had a nice, thick blanket and a small box of supplies. She grabbed all of it and ducked down a hall leading into the ship's interior.

  Chapter 41

  Infiltration

  Third door down was a storage closet, clearly marked on the door. Perfect. She slipped inside, shook the blanket open, and found it was actually a bundle of several blankets. She grabbed one of them and began frantically toweling herself off. She shed her mask, unhooked her satchel. Touching her own skin felt like touching a cold marble statue, and her suit felt worse. She glanced back at the door. Of course there'd be no lock on the inside of a storage closet. She hesitated a moment, then stripped off her suit. Scandalous!

  Joy wrapped herself in the dry blankets head-to-toe and curled up in a little ball in the corner. Nothing to do now but lie and wait for her shivers to subside. Well, this rescue mission was off to a terrific start, wasn’t it? Already there’d been more difficulties than she’d accounted for in her mental half-plans. What would the next screw-up do to her?

  Joy felt another surge of dread, followed by a wave of guilt around her last, unwritten letter to her family. The cold and the fear did bring her one benefit: it had a clarifying effect, and she finally realized what she should have written, what she would’ve most wanted to tell them, if it was her final chance to tell them everything. She should have told them each one thing that she loved and admired about them.

  Joy felt the list ordering itself in her mind, with barely any conscious effort on her part. Hugh had always followed her around, even to places he shouldn’t have, determined to do anything that she did. He probably would’ve followed onto this ship, if he’d known about it. She knew he planned to enlist, even though the war was over, and it was so like him, to refuse to shirk the danger that others had faced. Hugh had courage; that was one thing Joy loved and admired about him.

  Flora was very different, quiet and reserved, with her nose constantly buried in a book, or in her journal. But she wasn’t ignoring people. Whenever someone in the family was really hurting, you could count on Flora to be there to pick them up. Flora had empathy; that was one thing Joy loved and admired about her.

  Belle was the rebel of their family, prone to wild mood swings, and stubborn as a rock. She ditched school and got into fights—though usually, when the details came out about those fights, Belle was defending herself or someone else against a bully. And sometimes her stubbornness paid off in ways Joy would never had expected. Belle had a fierce, independent spirit; that was one thing Joy loved and admired about her.

  June took a little more thought—the third-born child, smack dab in the middle, June tended to go along with what everyone else wanted. She was clear water, flowing along the path of least resistance. But there was more to it than that—every time there was a fight in the family, June was the one to bring the combatants back on speaking terms. More than anything, Joy realized, it was June’s lack of ego was what allowed her to do this. June had humility, that was one thing Joy loved and admired about her.

  Kane was easy. He was a builder. Joy remembered one summer project that turned out to be a steam-powered couch on wheels, that could carry all the Fan siblings down main street until it caught fire and went up in a blaze of glory. Joy always thought it was so cool how passionate he got with his projects. Kane had intelligence and creativity; that was one thing Joy loved and admired about him.

  Dean came up clearest in her mind. He was the oldest after her, and she couldn’t even remember a time when he hadn’t been around. Likewise, when Kallistrate was in desperate need of men to crew the spikefruit ships, Dean was right there—someone needed to do it, so it might as well be him. Dean had a strong sense of ethics and responsibility: that was one thing she loved and admired about him.

  And then her thoughts turned to Mom and Dad, and here her mind faltered. There was too much, and it was all so complicated. In so many ways it was easier to remember her resentments—all the ways she’d felt things growing up had been unfair, all the times when she’d felt the responsibilities of being the eldest weighing her down. She remembered that feeling of liberation she’d felt when she’d moved away to college, free and clear.

  It turned out that freedom could be really lonely. There were so many things that she’d taken for granted—little details that came rushing to the surface of her mind: Mom’s smiling face from when she tucked them in at night; Dad taking any excuse to torment them with lame jokes; Mom comforting her and dabbing ointment on a bee sting; Dad taking time to become the ferocious Cave Bear and chase them all around the yard; and a million other little things they’d done throughout the years—a million little ways of saying “I love you.”

  Joy wouldn’t have called her parents the most passionate people in the world. She couldn’t remember ever seeing them kiss each other on the lips. But she also couldn’t think of two people who loved each other more than they did. It was something she’d never questioned, just like a fish never questioned being wet. That love had surrounded her growing up, permeated the house itself. It seeped in through all the floorboards, travelled through the plumbing, soaked in through the carpets and the upholstery, nourishing them all so they sprung up like weeds. It was the foundation for every other thing they’d do in their lives, and without it, they’d have all been lost.

  Finally, Joy found the words to contain her feelings. The thing she loved and admired most about her parents was that they loved each other. That was the core, and everything else was just details.

  Joy tried to wipe her eyes on the blanket, and winced at its scratchy texture. They made these things for emergencies, not comfort, after all. She found that she was able to uncurl from a fetal position without being overwhelmed by shivers. Little by little, a slow fire had built up inside the cocoon she'd made for herself. Feeling returned to her hands and feet—actually, it felt like they were on fire now, compared to the rest of her. The air felt warm again. It was still summer, after all.

  Joy reached for her satchel and opened it up, which was a bit of a chore, as the waterproofing required unrolling the top and undoing triple layers of zippers, which would each need to be re-sealed with special grease before she could submerge it again. At least her hands were working properly now, with even the pins
-and-needles sensation receding. She pulled out her notebook and paused, wondering at her actions. It was already too late to mail a letter. If she survived to make it to a mailbox, would she even need to write something like this? But—it couldn’t hurt to write this down, either. Just in case. Just so she’d done it.

  It didn’t take long. The essence of it was simple: “To my family,” as the heading, a neat, ordered list with seven sentences, signed at the bottom with her name in Kallish and Xiaish characters. Joy looked it over and it seemed completely bizarre, what she’d done. But part of her felt a small sense of relief, nonetheless.

  She took the opportunity to scan the supply closet for anything useful, like ship blueprints or a set of keys, or a janitor's uniform—did they have janitors on a ship? Or were they called something else? Never mind—there was nothing in here except cleaning supplies, some simple tools, and the stuff she'd dragged in herself—her mask, her satchel, her reed sandals, her suit, the wet blanket, and the medkit from the emergency locker.

  Or rather, the box she’d assumed to be a medkit—that actually held something else: three reddish-orange cylinders. Joy took a closer look at them. Signal flares? Ah, whatever. She pulled out her flashlight and sandals from her satchel, and, upon reflection, replaced them with the three flares. They could be useful. Might as well hang onto them.

  She needed to get moving. She glanced at her swimsuit, lying in a sodden puddle on the floor. There wasn't any helping it—she had nothing else to wear. She wrung it out several times, patted at it with the blanket, and even tried snapping it once to air-dry it, which she instantly regretted. That wasn't quiet! Even with all that, putting the suit back on felt like donning a sheet of ice.