**
The courier ship arrived at Carmen Island. From there the passengers dispersed to their final destinations. Perc’s cabin was on an island just south of the Prestle’s home island. Another short ride on another boat and the three had made it.
A handful of tidy cabins made up Perc’s village. “More people live throughout the island; we like our privacy,” she explained. “The courier comes twice a day from Carmen – that’s the pub, that’s the general store, and that’s the tour.” Andin and Fake followed her through the village.
The path they took led away from the shoreline. The shade in the palm and bamboo grove kept them cool. Animals scurried from their footsteps. The vegetation cleared into rocky beach. “That’s it,” said Perc.
In sync with their arrival the darkening skies began to rain. A large map of the Silver Chain hung on the wall. “Is this us?” asked Andin pointing to a small island.
Perc nodded, “Here’s Carmen Island.” Her finger moved to the bottom of the island chain, “This is the Hinge, it’s an enormous grotto – we should visit while you’re here.”
Andin dug through his bag for his bug-eyed goggles. “I’m going for a swim,” he said. Andin could tell Percaphia and his friend were eager to be alone. The rain wouldn’t bother him, especially in the sea. The cool water was refreshing. A child of the snow, Pelagos always felt too warm to the fire prince.
The fire prince swam parallel to shore heading east where the waves were bigger. On a rocky outcrop was a squat figure with a droopy hat. As Andin got closer he saw the man was fishing. Andin left the water to say hello.
Andin climbed onto the rocks to get closer. The fisherman’s hat was wider than his own shoulders. The old man spoke without facing the prince, “A Beldurian? Not what I was expecting to catch today.”
Andin bowed, “I am Andin of Beldur.”
The fisherman remained facing the water and laughed, “You mean Prince Andin.”
“Yes, but you don’t need to call me that.” Andin had still not seen this man’s face.
“Have a seat prince,” beckoned the fisherman. He summoned a small stool out of seemingly nowhere. Andin sat down. Low enough now to be under the large hat he saw the fisherman’s unweathered face.
“It’s the hat,” answered the fisherman. Andin looked confused, he hadn’t asked anything. “My face; so pretty because I wear this hat,” added the fisherman.
“Oh,” said Andin unsure how to respond.
“You don’t think I’m pretty?” baited the fisherman. Andin smirked; Fake had prepared him well for inanity. “The cave you are looking for is that way,” said the fisherman ignoring his own question.
“I’m looking for a cave?” asked Andin looking in the direction the fisherman pointed.
“You are now,” he chuckled.
“You’re a very clever man,” complimented Andin.
“Oh I’m not clever,” said the fisherman. “I’m just a good angler,” he added.
The rain and wind picked up. The low waves grew to rolling breakers. The fisherman adjusted his wide hat to ensure he was fully covered. One of his hands rested gently on the taut line from rod. There was a distinct economy to his movement that Andin admired.
“What makes a good fisherman?” he asked.
“Someone who pays attention,” answered the old man.
“Do you know Percaphia?”
“Oh yes, I know everyone who grew up here.” As he answered he pulled firmly back on the rod setting the hook into the unseen fish; he began reeling in his catch. A fat lazy eyed fish popped out of the water. The fisherman examined his prize with satisfaction. He strung it with his other catches and stood, “Well that’s enough for me; goodbye Prince Andin.”
The fisherman packed his things and left the prince on the jetty. Andin watched him walk over the dunes and out of sight. His absence left Andin feeling lonely. He fought the overwhelming urge to follow the mysterious angler, at the very least to ask his name.
It’s a small island; I’ll see him again, thought Andin. He started walking in the rain soaked sand. The way it stuck to his toes reminded him of snow. He left the shoreline. The fire prince almost fell into the rocky pit hidden by the wild grass. It was the cave the fisherman had told him about.
He jumped down into the cave. The wide mouth narrowed quickly a few feet down. Andin squeezed through the tight choke into the dark. With a snap of his fingers the prince lit the way. After a hundred yards of plummeting tunnel he extinguished his flame.
The cave was lit by luminous tube algae and cave mushrooms. Most glowed a soft sky blue but a patch in the corner was an angry purple. Weird and wonderful insects paid no attention to the fire prince as they crawled about their business. Andin was captivated by this marvelous miniature menagerie. He needed to show Fake.
“Oh I haven’t been there since I was a little girl,” said Perc excitedly. The rain stopped on Andin’s return to Perc’s cabin, misting the island in the jungle’s woody exhale. The three walked back to the cave. Andin asked Perc about the fisherman. “He’s been here since as long as I can remember; he lives inland,” she said pointing into the foliage.
“What’s his name?” asked Andin.
“Traufo, but he’s not a fisherman, not by trade at least,” said Perc. Fake tripped on a log of driftwood. “He makes cigars – they are famous throughout Pelagos,” she added.
Fake shook the sand out of his hair, “What’s a cigar?”
Andin thought about it for a moment before Perc beat him to the correct answer, “We’ll get some at the pub tonight.” And with those words, a happy blur of lazy days and cheerful nights flowed forth.