“Fine afternoon, Captain.” Fulgar joined him at the prow.
“Only one week in,” Zale said. “Already my daughter can’t stand the sight of me, and I’m sorely tempted to toss the dolt she holds dear overboard. And, of course, I continue to hope I haven’t doomed us all on this errand.”
“I have noticed that you are indeed a thoughtful man. That’s admirable in a captain, no doubt a large reason for your success.”
“And how is your experience aboard the Queenie thus far?” Zale asked.
“You’ve a fascinating crew,” Fulgar answered. “They are a headstrong, passionate bunch…and they place much faith in your instincts.”
But how much faith shall we place in you? Zale wondered. Fulgar had proven to be an able member of the crew, and the men seemed to trust him. He had played no small role in convincing Zale to go after the Grimstone, promising he could help achieve a more targeted search. It was time to find out what that meant.
“Let’s hope they’re right,” Zale said. “And that reminds me. We need to speak on the matter of Gukhan. What’s your lead on its location?”
Fulgar pulled a folded flaxsheet from within his frock coat. He smoothed it out against the ship’s railing and held it close for Zale to see. Various wavy lines and shapes scattered the page, along with something like a spire coming to a very sharp point.
“I made a copy of this page from the Order’s records,” Fulgar said, “associated with the clues left behind by Macpherson. Along with this was the clue: ‘As with decuple generosity, to those who give an inch, a mile is given in return.’”
“What does this mean?”
“We are not sure,” Fulgar said. “However, decuple suggests tenfold, so we believe this might indicate a location ten miles away from something.” He pointed to his flaxsheet. “It could be ten miles from this pointed structure, or that this structure is ten miles from something else. This snaking, uneven line could indicate a route or path which must be taken to or from the structure.”
Zale felt a deep discomfort in the pit of his stomach. Some old sketch was not what he had hoped for. “I was under the impression you knew an actual location! We can’t just roam some foreign land until we stumble upon this landmark and a path!”
“There is more within our records, which I believe will get us close. The legend indicates that this structure is visible from the water, accessible from the southern side of the island. It is not pinpoint accuracy, I admit, but at least we know it should be visible from somewhere along the southern shores.”
It was a glimmer of hope, but this still sounded a little vague for Zale’s comfort. “Seems rather easy; I mean, visible from their closest shore?”
“Just because you can see it doesn’t make it easy, Captain. Gukhan…there are many tales about that land. Many too fanciful to be true, I’m sure…but, still…there are often even hints of truth in tales. The ‘Untouchable Society,’ some call it.”
“It’s landlocked with Ska’ard, so clearly it’s not that un touchable.”
“The Ska’ardians won’t go near their border. They don’t even engage in trade. Few really know what that land is like, what secrets they harbor. Within the Order’s ancient records, Gukhan is often said to be a ‘tangible illusion.’ Once we’ve arrived, there might yet be clues to unravel.”
Hopefully they aren’t clues that Seadread has already figured out, Zale thought.
“Whatever the case,” said Zale, facing Fulgar, “the one thing that’d better not be an illusion is the Grimstone.”
Starlina stood upon the stern deck, staring at the ship’s wake. Somewhere back there were Grandtrilia and Tuscawny and Warvonia, where she wanted so badly to return. Instead, they were only going farther away.
“This proves my theory,” said Jensen as he ascended from the quarterdeck. “Everyone needs fresh air eventually.”
Starlina had taken to spending most of her time in the hold, away from the crew as much as possible. It seemed there wasn’t a single one of them she could gain comfort with, as if they were all some alternate form of human with which she simply could not associate.
“Fresh air or not,” she said, “I feel like I’m on a floating prison. I can’t stop thinking about home. One week from today Amira starts at university. I can’t imagine what she thinks has happened to me.”
“Perhaps that you’ve run off with me on some romantic getaway,” Jensen snickered.
Starlina’s face pursed, not at all amused. “But that couldn’t have happened, could it? You’d be out at sea, completely unreachable…just as I am now.”
“It won’t always be this way. If we capture this Grimstone and reach the mastery bar, everything could change. We’d have plenty to live on, and I wouldn’t have to be on nearly as many voyages. Chasing that mastery bar would be a thing of the past.”
“And that’s an awfully big if, isn’t it? We sail for Gukhan, the most mysterious land in all the Great Crescent, and my genius father doesn’t even know where to look once we get there. We’re like arriving to an unknown land—an entire country— expecting to stumble upon some rock that you heard about.” She noticed Jensen’s bemused expression. “I might spend most of my time in the hold, but I do pay attention to things.”
“Most of us trust that Captain Murdoch has a plan. He has always pulled his crew through before.”
Starlina threw her hands down upon the taffrail. “He’s so hard on you, and yet you continue to have faith in him. It’s remarkable, really. Just look at you, navigating all night. Your eyes are dark for lack of sleep.”
“I just try to keep my sights on the goal. That’s as much as any of us can do.” Jensen shifted to and fro on his legs, his hand fingering about in his pocket. “You know,” he said, “there was a reason why I brought you aboard this ship in the first place. Something more than showing you the view.”
She stood bolt upright. “Jensen, we must stop this.”
“What?”
Starlina painfully realized that out here, unlike on land, there was no ignoring what Jensen was. There was no suppressing the reality that he was a sailor, and he probably always would be.
“I’m sorry, Jensen. I should’ve told you long ago…long before you brought me here. You love…this life. I do not. Our lives are on different paths. Next year, I’ll be off to university, and we’ll be apart, each with our own expectations of the years ahead.”
“Starlina, please,” he spoke softly. “Our love is stronger than any of these obstacles.”
She wasn’t sure she even knew what love was anymore. Jensen wanted a woman to return to between his voyages. She wanted—needed—much more than that.
“I’m afraid it’s not,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”
She swept herself away and disappeared into the ship.
Two days later, on the first of Agust, Jensen stood alone upon the afterdeck, completely exhausted both physically and emotionally. His blank, enervated stare from the larboard stern was fixed upon the northeastern shores of Korangar, visible as a haze on the horizon’s edge.
He had just completed another all-night shift of helms duty, and with the rising sun beaming into his eyes, his body felt locked in an awful state of wanting to be both asleep and awake, not quite able to achieve either.
Starlina had not spoken another word to him since ripping the heart from his chest. She no longer wore the kuntupite pendant. He saw her only from a distance, and even then it was mere moments before she’d retreat back into the hold. He languished in constant regret of having brought her aboard this ship, wondering how he could have been so foolish.
He wandered his way downstairs and nearly bumped into Evette.
“You!” she said sharply, getting near Jensen’s face. “Do something about this girl you brought aboard. All she does is mope. If she’s not moping, she’s crying. If she’s not crying, she’s talking about the self-centered pigheadedness of men…specifically you. It’s just the two of us down in tha
t hold, and if she weren’t the captain’s daughter I’d have already tossed her overboard tied to a millstone. Or maybe getting rid of you would shut her up!”
Jensen was unable to form words before Evette had disappeared back into the berthing deck.
“That’s why women on the ship is a bad idea,” muttered Tate as he passed by.
By this point Jensen was quite inclined to agree. He would not make that mistake again.
CHAPTER 8
GHOST SHIP
8/8/3203
It had been a frustrating week of sailing since putting the Grandtrilia continent to their stern. Storms and unforgiving headwinds had forced many navigational errors and adjustments. One morning Zale found that they had yawed too far to the east, as though toward Ska’ard, a discovery that turned him pink with rage.
“Are we helmed by Murdoch’s Mates,” he fumed, “or some pack of slack-witted chowderheads?”
Typically their greatest variances occurred while the helm was under the watch of Jensen or Tate.
Even seasoned sailors rarely stayed perfectly on course when the elements got rough. Still, Zale found his patience with Jensen running especially thin, as they made one course correction after another.
“Jensen!” he shouted one morning.
Jensen jolted such that Zale wondered if he’d been asleep against the wheel.
“Are we sailing for Gukhan or Whiteland?” Zale asked. “Stop blubberpotting around and sort your bearings!”
Part of the time they made great progress, catching the wind just right. Other times, with the crew simply too spent, they were forced to becalm for intervals that felt like an eternity. They plodded along via oars as much as they could, but it was slow going.
They hadn’t spotted Seadread’s ship, the Iron Mermaiden, for days. The notion that Rummy had out-maneuvered them galled at what few nerves Zale had remaining.
Zale emerged from his cabin that morning, coffee mug in hand, to a heavy covering of sea fog. “Beeeeeeep!”
“Morning, Captain,” Kasper said from the quarterdeck above.
“How long have we been in this fog?”
“Probably not even an hour yet. I’ve been double-checking our—ahh!”
Timbers creaked and yelps resounded as the entire ship listed toward larboard. The ship vibrated and groaned for a short turn until balancing back out. Zale managed to grab a staircase railing but lost his coffee to the deck. “Oh, that’s just great!”
“Maybe it’s just me,” said Yancy, “but I think we hit something.”
Zale met him along the starboard railing.
Fump pointed beyond. “I see land out there!”
Zale spun around to face Kasper. “Quick, Beep, shift us larboard! Crew, keep a watch on all sides for shoals and sandbanks! Reef the sail and slow ahead! We’ll not run her aground, men!”
Dippy appointed several deckhands for the watch on both sides of the ship and at the prow, after which he rejoined the captain.
“Did we catch a massive tailwind throughout the night?” Zale asked.
“Not that much,” Dippy said. “By our reckoning, we should still be at least a day or two away from Gukhan’s shores.”
Zale rubbed at his chin whiskers. “Vidimir told us he’d lost ships among islets near their destination. Best we review this situation. Officers, including Fulgar, to my cabin.” He started off but turned on one final thought. “Except for Chim. See that the ship’s weapons are loaded and ready for quick action.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Chim replied.
Minutes later Dippy, Yancy, Kasper, Evette, and Fulgar gathered in Zale’s cabin. Kasper spread one of his maps out upon the table and pressed his finger upon an area of water south of Gukhan. “We should be right about here. If we’re seeing land, it’s uncharted.”
“Vidimir mentioned this to us in the tavern,” said Zale. “Now’s the time to be sharp and ready. We’re in hostile waters, and enemy ships could spring at any….”
“Any time?” ventured Yancy.
Zale’s eyes shifted to the scale of the map. One inch equals ten miles.
“What is it, Captain?” Evette asked.
“Fulgar, that clue from your Order. ‘To those who give an inch, a mile is given in return’….”
“That’s correct, ‘as with decuple generosity.’”
Zale tapped the scale of the map. “Tenfold. Give one inch and receive ten miles.”
Fulgar’s mouth went agape. “A map scale!”
The others in the room exchanged uncertain glances. “A map scale?” Dippy asked. “Sir, I don’t think we’re following you.”
Zale reached toward Fulgar. “Give me your drawing.”
Fulgar handed it over, and Zale took it with the map over to the nearest windowpane. “Our most efficacious spiritual guide happens to have information from an ancient order pertaining to the Grimstone.” He laid the map against the window. The sunlight shining through was dim from the fog but still enough. He carefully lined Fulgar’s drawings up over the map. “It was still only a vague clue…until now.”
Fulgar rushed toward Zale. “The drawing overlays your map perfectly! The pointed structure lies about fifteen miles inland. This irregular line on the drawing isn’t a path at all. It’s a river!”
Zale nodded. “It’s a river flowing from the southern coast. Thus, accessible from the southern side of the island.”
“And visible from the water. Not the ocean, but rather this river! Amazing!”
Kasper stepped toward the map. “And these other shapes down below—these must be the islets.”
“Charted after mainland Gukhan,” Fulgar said. He met eyes with Zale. “Charted only by those of legend.”
“So, now we know where the Grimstone is located?” asked Fump. “That’s awesome!”
Zale rubbed his hands together, pleased with his discovery. Not only that, but Fulgar had contributed a valuable resource. Zale remained wary of the man’s intentions, but this was a good step toward Fulgar proving his worth.
“Sir, may I?” Kasper stepped up and reversed the pages, so that his map was on top. Using a pencil, he traced the shapes onto his map. “I’d better get this out there. If I’m seeing this right, we’re bound to plow headfirst into a strip of land.”
Someone frantically rang the bell outside. “Captain!” shouted one of the men
Everyone rushed outside. Zale was surprised to see Jensen at the bell.
“Sir!” Jensen yelled. “Seadread’s ship is upon us!”
“Sweet birth of Bezliab,” Zale muttered as he saw the dark form of a ship looming up ahead. “Hands to the crossbows and ballista!”
“On it, Captain!” shouted Rosh, who was already dashing to and fro about the deck, dropping extra bolts to the wood with a clatter.
“Everyone take up arms! Make ready to subdue the bastards if they try to board!” Zale roared.
The ship was remarkably close and it was coming toward them at their larboard side.
“Take cover where you can and prepare to shoot if they make hostile!”
Zale fully expected Captain Rummy to take the first shot of dishonor at another Tuscawnese vessel, and he was all too willing to return the favor.
On a whim he turned to Jensen.
“Jensen…please see that my daughter is safe and protected.”
“Yes, sir.” Jensen grabbed a sword and went below.
Seadread’s dark, two-masted ship drew extremely close.
“At the ready, men!” Zale shouted, expecting an onslaught.
Everything went quiet, utterly still. Zale watched from midship, already certain his eyes were playing tricks.
The deck of Seadread’s ship was completely empty. There was not a soul to be seen—not on the rigging, not at the rails, not upon the forecastle or stern, not even at the wheel. From the horrid-faced, screaming, bare-chested mermaid prow all the way to aft, the Iron Mermaiden was as a ghost ship. Ropes from the ship’s sailyards flung unnaturally back and forth. Bo
lstered by long-seasoned instinct, Zale drew his saber.
“Captain, keep low,” Fulgar whispered urgently. “Something here is much afoul.”
No truer statement could’ve been spoken. In the muffled, foggy daylight, Zale saw the nervous shuffling of his crew. There was a disturbance about the fog that made his hackles rise, and subtle whispers of movement that didn’t match with the men he saw. He looked again at Seadread’s ship—the swinging ropes, the taut, steady braces of its sails…and the wheel. Deftly, he aimed his glass at the ship’s helm.
“By the Light,” he muttered. “Their wheel is not lashed, yet the ship is holding steady.”
A few men at the rails shuffled, the sort of move a person might make when another is passing close behind. Soft thumps resounded throughout the deck. Zale’s instinct swelled through his body like an alarm.
“Look alive, men! We’re being boarded!”
Zale shed his coat and dropped it before his cabin door. His sword arm would have greater freedom of movement without it.
Crewmen spun about, flinging into the disturbed air around them, and soon found it to be more than wispy fog.
“Grimkins!” someone cried.
Grapnels launched from the other ship, snagging in the ratlines of the Queenie. Several of the black-feathered humanoids known as grimkins swung across, screeching through their beaked mouths like deranged eagles.
“We’ve got more incoming!” shouted Rosh, hacking away one of the hooks.
“They’ve disguised themselves using byrne light absorption!” shouted Fulgar, pulling his novidian anelace.
Screams of pain pierced the air from men stabbed. As though shedding invisible cloaks, one by one the grimkins showed themselves, like feathered demons dressed in dark tunics. There were perhaps twenty of them. Angry screeches trilled from their beaks as they wielded curved, wicked blades. Steely clangs and shouts of battle replaced the stillness of moments before.
Murdoch’s Mates sprang into action, parrying with swords and axes Fump had furnished throughout the deck. Fump himself was a two-fisted, devilish fighter. With a sharp roar, he launched a hatchet into the skull of one grimkin and turned to crack the beak of another with a mace. He plunged a hand into a pocket of his trousers and flung a handful of sand into the face of another grimkin. As it screeched, holding its eyes, Fump drew a dirk. A flash of silver later, the feathered cretin fell to the deck.
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