“All right,” he said, breathing heavily, “if I tell you a secret—a really special secret—will you show me?”
Char’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Would have to be one heck of a secret,” he said.
Ven swallowed hard, hesitant to part with the information. Finally he realized that he had no other choice. He looked in both directions and behind him, then leaned forward and spoke quietly.
“I don’t think that’s a seal,” he said seriously. “I think it might be a merrow.”
“What’s a merrow?”
“A—er, mermaid,” Ven said.
Char’s eyes opened wide again. “A mermaid? Gah! Why do ya think so?”
“Because I saw one,” Ven said impatiently. “Now, come on! Show me.”
The two boys jumped through the hatch and ran up the steps to the aft deck, Char leading the way. They waited until two sailors passed, then hurried over to a line of barrels that collected rain-water and slid between them and the rail.
“Blimey, don’t fall in, now,” Char warned, grabbing hold of Ven’s shirt as he leaned out over the rail. “I’d have to go in with you; there’d be no end to hearin’ about it otherwise.”
Ven steadied himself and stared out into the sea. It was a great, unbroken expanse of blue-gray water, dotted occasionally by floating driftwood or seaweed. In the distance he could see a few scraps of wreckage from the pirate ship, floating lazily over the waves, burning still.
“Where?” he said desperately. “I don’t see it.”
Char shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe it left.” He pointed to a small flock of gulls swooping at the surface to the left of them. “Could be fish there; the seal’s prolly feeding off the same school that the gulls are.”
At the fore of the ship they heard the first mate shouting orders to hoist the sails. The Serelinda was preparing to go back to serious speed now that Ven’s rescue had been accomplished.
“Sorry, mate,” said Char. “Got you all worked up for nothin’.”
“It’s all right,” Ven said, still watching the sea hopefully. He gripped the rail tightly as the sails opened to the wind and caught it, pulling the ship fast along with it.
“Let’s go back now,” said Char, stepping around the barrels. “I have to get the cornbread started for supper. The crew will be wantin’ to eat soon.”
Ven let out a sigh, then nodded. He turned to follow the cook’s mate, but looked quickly back when something caught his eye.
He thought he saw a small dark shape following the ship for a moment, but then it dove into the depths and disappeared. Far out near the gulls he could see the shadows of many similar shapes arch through the water, then dive as well.
Quickly he pulled out his jack-rule and extended the glass that magnified from afar. He peered through it. Below the green waves he thought he caught sight of a multicolored fin as it slipped into the deep, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Goodbye, Amariel,” he whispered into the wind. “Thank you.”
He turned around to follow Char. Suddenly the deck lurched below him. Ven grabbed the rail, dizzy and sweating. Char came back and took him by the arm.
“What’s the matter? Seasick?”
“Maybe,” Ven said, his face going pale. “I—I want to get off the ship.” His forehead and hands grew moist, and panic was starting to creep over him. His hand shook as he closed the jack-rule and put it back in his pocket.
A voice spoke from behind him.
“What are you two doing up on deck?” It was a deep, gruff voice, which Ven recognized as the captain’s.
“I—I was showing Ven where I thought I saw a seal earlier,” Char stammered.
“You all right, Ven?” the captain asked.
“No,” Ven answered shakily.
“Feel nervous, sort of green around the gills? Like any land beneath your feet would feel good right now?” The captain handed Ven his handkerchief.
“Exactly,” said Ven, wondering how the captain could tell.
“He’s seasick,” offered Char.
“No, it’s not seasickness. He’s got the sea-shakes,” said Oliver. “You probably never were afraid on the water before, but since the pirates and the ordeal of being shipwrecked, you’ve taken on a fear of the sea. Perfectly natural, under the circumstances. Come with me, and we’ll cure you of that.” He nodded to Char, who hurried back to the galley hatch, then took Ven gently by the arm.
“Close your eyes, lad, and don’t open them till I tell you to,” Oliver said. His voice was pleasant, but it had the ring of a sea captain’s order.
Blindly Ven allowed himself to be led, his legs wobbly, his stomach queasy, until Oliver stopped.
“Hook ’im up,” he heard the captain say.
Ven felt a rope being tied around his waist and something being slipped over his shoulder and between his legs. He suspected it was a harness for climbing the mast.
“Er—Oliver, sir?” he asked nervously.
“Quiet, lubber,” growled the sailor who was knotting the rope. “You speak when the captain tells you to speak, not before.”
The captain took both of Ven’s hands and put them on the shroud. Ven recognized the smell of the rosin and felt his stomach flip like an acrobat.
“Climb,” the captain said.
“Sir—”
“No talking, and keep your eyes closed,” Oliver ordered. “You’re a Polypheme; you should be able to do it with your eyes closed.”
Ven’s heartbeat was thrumming in his ears. He had climbed shrouds before, many times, but never on the open sea. He could barely breathe as he felt around the ropes until he caught hand-holds. Then, slowly, he hauled himself up.
He could sense the captain climbing too, somewhere below him; he could feel the ropes shift and sway with his weight as he moved. Ven concentrated on his breathing, trying to keep it steady, as hand over hand he made his way up the mast. The ropes were salty from the ocean spray that coated them with slime all the way to the top.
Each step of the way, the captain directed him with a calm voice. “Now, lean back and climb away, Ven. Good, that’s right. Pull yourself over—the handhold’s a little more to your right. Put your arm out—the mast is ahead of you.”
After what seemed like forever, he heard the captain say, “Hold there, Ven. Step forward and let go of the ropes.”
Hesitantly he put his foot down on solid wood, his eyes still closed, and walked forward until his hands felt the rim of the enclosed wooden platform ahead of him. A moment later he heard the captain step onto the platform as well. He gripped Ven’s shoulder.
“All right, now, Ven, open your eyes,” the captain said.
Ven obeyed slowly.
At first the pitching of the sea was made worse by the height. The mast swayed much more than the deck did, and Ven felt his stomach turn over again. He looked down at his feet, trying to focus on the wood planks that made up the floor of the fighting top, which was also known as the crow’s nest.
Then his eyes adjusted to the light, and he looked up and out. The nausea was replaced with wonder.
At his feet the world stretched out before him, green and gold in the light of the afternoon sun. He could see the horizon bending away, the sea rushing over it, frosted in glistening white waves, into the blue of the sky beyond the land’s end.
A great gust of wind came up, and it rattled the sails, making the riggings groan and creak. Instead of letting it scare him, however, Ven closed his eyes again for a moment and let it race over him, blasting his hair in every direction, rippling through his shirt. He remembered what Captain Faeley had said on that fateful day, his birthday.
Don’t drink too much of the wind, young Master Polypheme. It’s intoxicating; it will get you drunk more easily than you can imagine. And then you will be lost to it, as we are, and have no choice but to chase it over the sea for all your life.
“Whales,” the captain said. Ven opened his eyes again and followed the captain’s finger
off the left side. From his perch high in the crow’s nest he could see them, dozens, scores perhaps, a whole family of long, dark shapes, blowing fountains of spray into the air where it glistened in the fading sunlight. Ven thought he could see calves, too, swimming alongside their mothers, diving deep and flipping their tails, waving their flukes in the air as if to say goodbye.
The sky seemed wider than he ever could have imagined.
“From here you can see more of the vault of the sky, what sailors call the welkin, than any man can ever see from the land,” said Oliver, watching him with a smile. “Look below you.”
Ven glanced down at the deck of the ship and was amazed to see that it was already cloaked in darkness, while in the crow’s nest they were still standing in full light. He watched, fascinated, as the line of the sunlight climbed up the side of the ship to the mast and sails, swallowing the ship little by little into night, while he and the captain remained in the last light of day.
The sunset burned in fiery colors, far more glorious than Ven had ever seen before. The arc of the sun blazed hot orange as it sank into the sea beyond the rim of the world.
They continued to stand in silence, smiling, as the stars began to appear in the vast sky above them, winking in between the racing clouds, brightening as the sky darkened from robin’s-egg blue to cobalt to indigo, until finally it was inky black. As more and more stars appeared, it looked to Ven as if someone had scattered handfuls of diamond sand across the sky.
As they watched, one star streaked across the heavens, dragging a line of light with it that faded quickly.
“A shooting star,” the captain said. “An omen, it is, of magical things. ’Twill be an interesting day tomorrow, I’d wager. Well, young Master Polypheme, do you have your sea legs about you yet?”
“Yes, sir!” said Ven enthusiastically.
“And how much longer would you like to stay up here in the crow’s nest, then?”
“Forever, sir,” Ven replied.
Oliver laughed and clapped him on the back. “A true sailor’s answer,” he said. “But a true sailor also heeds the call of his stomach, and I would guess that yours is grumbling loudly. In fact, I think it’s making more noise than the riggings.”
“Yes, sir,” Ven laughed. He didn’t remember if he’d finished that second mug of stew before his fitful nap, but even if he had, he’d been at sea without food for several days. Now that his sea-shakes had passed, he was famished.
“Well, then, let’s be down from here. Char’s cornbread is—well, let’s just say the boy is well named—but at least it’s filling, if a little burnt.”
Coming down seemed to take no time at all, and when his feet thumped onto the deck Ven heard a merry cheer behind him. He unhooked his harness and turned to see the deck crowded with sailors, eating their supper from tin plates and mugs, a small fire in a barrel in the middle of their group that cast dancing shadows around the dark ship. The smell of the food made him feel hungry for the first time since he left Vaarn.
The captain banged his metal mug against the mainsail and called for the crew’s attention.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” he said in his pleasantly deep voice, “to Ven Polypheme, who this day has been pulled from the sea, gained his sea legs, and is the first Nain in my knowledge ever to climb the mainmast of a sailing ship at sea, and without question the first to summit the mast of the Serelinda.”
“To Ven!” the sailors shouted in one voice, followed by a host of other salutes.
“Hear, hear!” “Well done, lad!” “Takes a brave man to go aloft.” “Here’s to you, Ven!”
Ven sat back, warm and happy, as the sailors who stood the afternoon watch bade him good night and went to their hammocks belowdecks, while the night watch took up their positions. Oliver sat on an old sea chest near the fire barrel and started a round of storytelling that lasted most of the night, broken by the occasional singing of sea chanteys, tales of lost ships and great storms that thrilled Ven to the bone.
When dawn broke, Ven was still wide awake, watching the sky turn from black to gray to pink. Finally it exploded with color as the sun rose over the sea. The night watch changed, and the crew shifted again. Char stumbled, sleepy-eyed, out of the galley, a bowl of hot porridge dotted with globs of sweet black molasses in his hands.
“Mornin’,” he mumbled, thrusting the bowl at Ven.
“Morning, Char,” Ven answered, accepting the porridge gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Been up all night?” the cook’s mate asked in amazement.
“Yes, telling stories and singing songs,” said Ven. “What a great life you have here on the sea.”
“You only think so ’cause you don’t have to work for the cook,” said Char grumpily. “A couple of weeks of having your ears twisted every time you accidentally burn somethin’, and you might be thinkin’ otherwise.”
Ven grinned, but his attention was drawn away a moment later by the harsh clanging of the ship’s bell. The crew was beginning to muster, gathering to receive orders from the captain and the first mate.
He listened to the commands Oliver gave them, then watched as three sailors went aloft on the shrouds of three separate masts as easily as climbing a ladder into a hayloft. The captain, satisfied, turned to Ven.
“Off to the hold for some sleep, now, Ven,” Oliver said, smiling. “You’ve had a long night, but every man needs his rest on board. Storms come up from nowhere, and sometimes the seas turn rough for no reason at all, so it’s wise to take forty winks whenever you have the chance. You want to have your wits about you.”
“Aye, sir,” said Ven.
“A well-rested crew is a safe crew,” Oliver continued jokingly, loud enough so that the crew could hear him. “But the captain, now, the captain can stay up as late as he wants, and drink as much as he wants, because it doesn’t matter what kind of shape he’s in. If something happens, a captain is supposed to go down with his ship anyway. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”
A chorus of voices swelled in reply. “Oh, yes, yes, sir.” “Quite right, sir.” “True, true.” “Yes, indeed.”
An amused look came over the captain’s face. “But, of course, because of their sterling characters, undying loyalty, and superior capacity as human beings, I know that if I were to go down with the ship, my crew would insist on going down with me. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”
Once again, the sailors answered in chorus, this time with humor in their voices. “Oh, yes, yes, sir.” “Quite right, sir.” “True, true.” “Yes, indeed.” “Indubitably.” “No question about it, sir.” It was clear to Ven that this was a standard joke between the members of the crew and their captain.
“Even if there was plenty of room in the lifeboats, to a man they would stay, every one of them, to the bitter end, right, gentlemen?”
“Oh, yes, yes, sir.” “Quite right, sir.” “True, true.” “Yes, indeed.”
The captain’s blue eyes twinkled. “In fact, even if we were only a few steps away from the dock, and were sinking in water that was only knee-deep, since I would feel obligated to go down with the ship, they would all go down with me, rather than hop off and wade to shore, isn’t that right, gentlemen?”
“Oh, yes, yes, sir.” “Quite right, sir.” “True, true.” “Yes, indeed.”
“Ah, what a great crew,” Oliver said, clapping his hands together. “Can’t beat that, Ven. The loyalty of good, true-hearted men. Men who would stand with you when your back is to the wall.”
“Aye, aye!” the crew shouted enthusiastically.
“Men who would go overboard clutching your hand rather than let you fall in alone.”
“Aye! Aye!”
“Men who would cut off a leg if you lost one of yours, to keep you from feelin’ bad about it.”
“Aye! Aye!”
“Men who would be willing to stand in front of my wife and tell her I forgot her birthday, facing whatever consequences might come about.”
The
sailors fell suddenly silent.
The captain threw back his head and laughed. “You lily-livered cowards!” he shouted, cuffing the first mate playfully on the back of the head. “You are willing to brave the storms of the seven seas, laugh in the face of impending disaster, sneer at death on a daily basis, and yet you are frightened of my wife?”
“Oh, yes, yes, sir.” “Quite right, sir.” “True, true.” “Yes, indeed.” The sailors roared with laughter.
“Did I happen to mention that they are also wise men, Ven?” the captain said merrily.
Suddenly from the crow’s nest above came a hoarse cry.
“Megalodon! Starboard!”
The laughter choked off and the crew fell utterly silent again, but this time with the tension of fear. The boatswain clamped a hand on the wheel and held it firmly, so that the rudder beneath the surface would not move.
Ven felt the captain’s hand grip his shoulder.
“Don’t move or speak, Ven,” Oliver said quietly.
Ven stood completely still, but slowly let his eyes follow the eyes of the crew, all of whom were staring off the right side of the ship behind them.
For a moment he heard nothing but the flapping sails rattling against the Serelinda’s masts, saw nothing but the vast blue-gray expanse of the ocean.
Then, slowly, a little way behind them, the sail of another ship seemed to rise from the depths.
Ven watched in amazement that turned into horror as he realized that it was not a sail.
It was a fin.
The size of the ship’s mainsail.
Then it slowly sank back into the sea again.
His stomach turned to ice as the ship floated along in silence, waiting. From where he stood near the rail he could see a long, dark shadow approaching from behind them.
Ven’s eyes went back to the faces of the crew. Every one of them, from the slightest to the burliest of the sailors, was ashen. Most were sweating, and a few were praying silently, their lips moving with no sound coming out.
The shadow moved closer, gliding silently beneath the waves, shallow enough for the sunlight to catch it. It caught up to the ship quickly, passing beneath it. The sailors held their breath.