“I didn’t use you for my own selfish ends, you silly twit,” Rose shot. “What part of getting Mama and Tobi back am I supposed to regret? What part of saving you from being raped in an alley was selfish?”
“The part where you use it as an excuse to leave us!” Sara screeched. “Who cares if you can earn more money as a boy? People aren’t stupid, Rose, they’ll see through your disguise and they’ll punish you. And finally, at the end, when you’re about to hang from a rope and it’s too late, you’ll realize that your leaving didn’t help us: it damned us.”
“You…you don’t understand,” Rose grasped at this, sounding hollow. “I have to go find Benson. He’s counting on me.”
“You…you can’t find him, Rose,” Sara said, mortified. “He’s d—”
“Stop!” Rose screamed in pain and fury. “Stop! Gods, what’s wrong with you?”
Rose collapsed onto the bed, holding her face tightly to keep the tears at bay. Sara sat next to her, extending a frightened arm. Rose felt her gentle touch. With the touch, all her resolutions wavered.
“What do you want from me?” Rose sobbed.
“We want you, Rose,” Sara said carefully. “Your love, your respect, having you here as part of our lives. I feel like…like I met for the first time a few days ago. I feel like, for the first time, we really are sisters. We’re family. Something terrible happened to us, Rose. If we don’t hold on to our family, how can we possibly survive it?”
Rose looked at her sister and couldn’t deny the truth she spoke. Letting her bag drop, she pulled Sara into a teary, desperate hug.
* * * * *
On the other side of town, the eagle ship was preparing to depart. Sailors darted busily across the wooden decks, tugging at ropes and preparing sails.
On the dock below stood the Scribe, arms crossed. He stared nervously back at the town, waiting for someone.
“We’ve agreed to go on your fool’s errand,” called a newly-shaven Captain Kaille to Fenric from the rail of the Turnagain, “don’t you think you at least ought to be onboard for it?”
Fenric adjusted his stance, scanning the lanes that led to the city. His every muscle was tense. The intensity was making him sweat uncharacteristically. “We’re missing one of your new recruits,” the Scribe explained, “Benson Rose.”
“Not a problem,” Kaille said dismissively, “with your Tikaa—I mean, with ah…Ikpek—we’re at the right number, so it’s no matter.”
“It’s of great matter, I assure you,” Fenric snapped. He began tapping his foot aggressively, wiping heavy moisture from his forehead.
The Captain frowned. Motioning for Hector to take up his task, Kaille left the ship and walked down to the agitated Scribe. For the first time in Kaille’s presence, Fenric’s polished veneer had cracked. As Kaille approached, he could see the old man sweating through his finely embroidered shirt.
“It must be the heat of the day,” Fenric claimed, chuckle edged with nervousness as he patted the perspiration from his neck.
The Captain frowned. It was another warm summer day with few clouds to block the blinding sun, but the sun’s harsh rays weren’t enough to cause the cool Fenric to feel discomfort. In truth, the absence of his hired sailor was causing the enigma to doubt his judgment.
He had been so sure Benson Rose would return—so completely sure that even the lure of protecting a family wouldn’t stop what Dezadeash had called “destiny.”
On the Turnagain, ropes flew, sails unfurled, and men yelled back and forth.
“The tide’s impatient to leave,” Jas Hawkesbury yelled at the Captain and the Scribe from the rail above, “and so am I!”
Kaille indicated his agreement and focused his attention on Fenric. “This may be the time to rethink your quest,” he said. “An injured leg isn’t a boon out at sea, and I didn’t see you get it cleaned while we were here. I won’t have you rotting aboard my ship.”
Fenric wiped his forehead, fighting to breathe. “Ikpek will be enough, I assure you. He comes from a great line of healers.”
“Tikaani healers?” This caught the Captain’s interest. “And you trust him?”
“My dear Captain,” Fenric returned to himself long enough to answer, suavely, “he’s one of the few people to whom I would trust my life.”
Kaille squinted, then shrugged.
“Captain!” Shouted Jas from above, “what the talons are you doing? We must leave!”
Kaille gave Fenric a pointed look and another shrug, gesturing for the old man to walk ahead of him up the plank. Fenric scanned the streets once more as he complied, visibly shrinking with each step he took.
When they gained the deck, Kaille motioned for the ropes and plank to be removed.
Fenric groaned from the depths of his soul at the profoundness of his mistake. He began to slink off towards the second mate’s cabin in despair.
“Wait!” a distant voice called from the edge of town. “Please wait!”
The men unfurling the sails hesitated, catching sight of a pathetic figure barreling towards the Turnagain at full speed.
“Cap’n?” one yelled, pointing.
Benson Rose ran towards the ship, puffing like the bellows and flailing wildly.
“Wait!” Rose huffed. “Don’t leave without me!”
Captain Kaille was inclined to leave any sailor so undisciplined as to be late, but he caught sight of Fenric’s pleading expression and lifted an arm to stop all motion. Those not already watching turned a rapt eye as Kaille descended the gangway to confront the running boy.
Rose slowed to stand before the imposing Captain, herself sweaty and aching, and not daring to meet his cool gaze.
“I’m here to report for duty,” she gasped, fishing the eagle-branded strip of leather from her pocket.
“I think you’re mistaken,” the Captain said impassively. “The only positions available on this ship were filled by those who arrived on time.”
Rose’s heart fell. A few crewmembers above cackled menacingly.
“Not that it’s an excuse, sir,” Rose continued breathlessly, “but I had some family issues—”
“You’re right,” snarled Kaille. “It is no excuse. Who are you?”
“I’m Benson Rose,” Rose panted, gaze still on the ground.
“You’re not Benson Rose,” the Captain scoffed.
Rose’s heart skipped a beat. She resisted the urge to tug on her ill-fitting boys clothes. Laughing feebly, she joked, “You mean you met my twin?”
“You’re not Benson Rose,” Kaille repeated, ignoring her. “You’re Dirt, the Ship’s Monkey. On my ship, when Monkeys are told to jump, they jump. Do you understand?”
Above her, the crew jeered.
“I understand, sir,” Rose said with a nod.
“We were going to give the job to another,” sneered the Captain, “but you were late, so he got promoted. Do you understand?”
“I understand, sir,” Rose repeated.
“In that case, being in full possession of your reasoning faculties, you must choose,” Kaille spread his arms wide. He spoke for all his crew to hear. “Will you choose to be Benson Rose in this miserable piss-pot of a city or will you be Dirt the Monkey Boy on the noblest vessel to ever sail the seas?”
The crew of the Turnagain cheered with pride.
“What do you say to that, fresh meat?” one sailor’s voice cut through the din. The watching crowd began to shriek like monkeys, growing louder until Kaille good-naturedly cut them off.
“The men of the Turnagain must know,” Kaille said. “What do you say to that, boy?”
“I say,” she raised her voice to a proud shout, meeting Kaille’s eyes for the first time since running head-long into him in her mother’s dress, “aye, Cap’n!”
A roar of approval followed her words.
Rose and the Captain locked stares for a moment. Kaille felt something inside him shift, pulling him slightly askew. In Rose, something similar fell back into place. Slightly confus
ed, Kaille nodded at her. He moved aside and let Rose run up the plank before him.
When she had gained the decks, Fenric threw her a quick wink. He strolled off leisurely towards his cabin. A whistled tune had returned to his lips.
“Let’s get away from these gods forsaken rocks!” Kaille raised the cry. With a passionate yell, the crew turned back to their work. “Onward!”
*
Chapter 11:
The Sea
* * * * *
The Muddled Accounts of Whyl Winesmith, Mariner
Journal found amidst the Delahaye upon Dunsmere National Libraria
Presumed to be the efforts of one Whyl Winesmith
*
Janviens the 12th: I find myself in luck these summer days, not only in personal health and happiness, but also in the procurement of fine employment. The group of friends with whom I’ve found new acquaintance has been hired in the utmost secrecy to sail upon a hitherto undisclosed ship. I accepted, naturally, though I be more scholarly that sail-worthy. When it comes to advancement in the lands of Illiam, I’m inclined to believe, a man is most likely to make his fortune should he learn to conquer the blue.
Janviens the 19th: I’m to board in mere hours and am alit with excitement. It seems to me that my life may now begin. There has been but one name on everyone’s lips, that of Fenric, who, though not the Captain, is said to be in charge. I’ve been kept quite busy these last days with what can literally be called “learning the ropes.” There is much my sailor friends have to teach me. Though I glean what I can, it’s my impression that I’ll never truly understand a bit of it until I may put it to use.
Janviens the 30th: We’ve been many days at sea and I’m only now beginning to feel at peace, mind and body. It can only be when riding a handful of wooden planks upon these mountainous waves, I believe, that a man can truly understand his own delicacy and insignificance. I’ve been endlessly sick up to this point (an experience I would not wish upon my foes) and yet I trust that the worst will soon be over.
Subre the 5th: I’ve now met the infamous Fenric, who is as mysterious in person as in recommendation. Though he is traveling under the guise of “scribe,” he’s clearly nothing of the sort. With every aspect of civility and generosity I was greeted and engaged, though I’ll admit I came away from the interview with some confusion, feeling almost as though I had given away more information than was meant (not that I have secrets to hide).
Subre the 11th: There are whispers and suspicion everywhere I go these days. I don’t fully understand the cause, being no sailor and therefore left out of group discussion. But it seems to be thus: there is not one but two crews on this ship, some who are true mariners trying to get from port to port, and some who are said to be plotting against the crown! It has been brought to our attention in the course of cleaning this long-beached ship that the vessel beneath me is auspicious enough to cause great speculation. I happened to be nearby when my fellow shipmen discovered, under layers of muck, that the craft’s name is Illiamnaut—a ship that has not been seen these long years and was thought to have been burned by the Usurper.
Subre the 15th: I no longer know if those I call friends are the aggressors or the aggressed. At times it’s those whom I thought to be spies that seem in the right and other times when I’m almost certain we’re being led astray. Fenric and his puppet, the Captain Sneed, have set a course in opposition to what was agreed at the docks. There is doubt as to whether our supplies will be sufficient or if we shall all starve.
Subre the 28th: I wish to write with more regularity, but many an evening passes when I neither have the stomach nor candle light to lay down an account. Much has happened since last I made an attempt. There was a man found dead today and another who has simply disappeared. I saw also, as we tossed the body into the sea, that Fenric’s slaves, his Tikaani savages, have become ever bolder. The girl, with her eerie purple eyes, met my gaze for several seconds. A sharp chill traveled down my spine. It’s whispered by some that she is a demon incarnate—a curse upon the sea.
Sucre the 1st: It’s believed that Captain Sneed died of natural causes, not the least of which, in our estimation, was his love of the bottle. It’s difficult, however, to not even consider the possibility of foul play, for he was the most loudly spoken in the witch-hunt that has caused us all to live in fear, and had much tyranny to answer for. Two others have vanished without trace. Our feckless Fenric seems as unreadable as ever, neither at a loss nor in question of his mission.
Marre the 10th: It can be kept in order no longer. I fear we’re approaching our final days. There’s a dark ship in the distance, and many swear that the infernal Tikaani girl has been directing it to where we are. I regret my lack of record, but as I sit by light of wick and candle, I find I’m more engaged by the dancing flame than the idea of letting the flow of ink outline a story that will soon lie at the bottom of the sea.
Marre the 12th: Fenric has been locked within, guarded heavily by those we now know to be among the loyal. He’s left alive as a bargaining tool only in case his compatriots will spare our ship for his sake, for we can no longer hope to outrun them. Gods of land and sky, souls of fire and wind, I address my final words to you as the cannons fire. There’s no future for me. I shall soon join my brethren in the underworld, and that’s fine. I’m ready. If, however, the liar Fenric should sully your waters with a painless death, I beg that you spit him out, dear spirits. Keep him not close to your care. For what he’s done to us, let it be in his stars to die five upon five thousand times and over again before he be allowed to rest.
* * * * *
Rose struggled to stay out of the way as knowledgeable sailors bustled above and around her. It proved impossible to do, however, as the ship seemed to be little more than a maze of rope that the sailors somehow knew how to navigate. She tripped the mariners left and right—and once almost caused the ship to scrape against a harsh stone spire.
“Auk,” the Captain yelled, pointing vaguely in Rose’s direction, “please do something about that.”
A sailor affirmed the order from a distance. Rose endeavored to stand very still until the scowling, greasy man appeared. He shoved a rope in her hands and told her to coil it. When she returned it to him, he declared it a mess and gruffly demonstrated how it was to be done.
When Rose had finished this to Auk’s satisfaction, she was given another task. Then another. Her muscles were quickly sore.
As the laboring became familiar, Rose’s doubt began to set in. She felt remorse for leaving her family without a final good-bye. It had seemed the only option, as Sara was far too convincing to simply walk out on. Rose had sent her sister from the room to retrieve a bucket of water from the Landlord. They were both still covered with grime and sweat, which Rose knew her sister couldn’t bear. It was regrettable that Sara would’ve returned to the small room alone, finding it empty except for Rose’s abandoned dress, which lay spread across the low bed.
Rose didn’t linger in her regret. She’d been moved by her sister’s concern and could find no fault in her arguments. As she’d admitted the other day, however, Sara knew nothing of the ways in which magical energies could push and pull a vulnerable soul, and so wasn’t able to understand that the tug of Benson’s energy couldn’t simply be ignored. Sometimes, she knew, it was the difficult tasks that were most necessary.
Having no idea what to expect, Rose went into the wide world with nothing but a vague sense of her twin and the courage to hope. She had no doubt that Benson was alive, and no doubt they would be reunited, but how this was to come about and at what point in time were utterly unknown. In her naivete, she thought it might be a mere matter of months before Rose could proudly usher her father and brothers into their new home in Portridge. Until that time, her reasons were as Fenric had said: “Adventure, my friend, for adventure.”
Hard at work and deep in thought, Rose felt time pass faster than she’d ever known it to. Before she could believe it, the Turnagain was pas
sing through a final set of rocky spires and out into the open sea.
Her taskmaster was called away and Rose, knowing she shouldn’t, took a moment to look around her. She set down her current project and walked towards the front rail of the ship. Ahead, through the last pinnacle of stone, awaited a vast and open horizon.
Rose smiled broadly and her heart swelled. Her journey had begun.
* * * * *
Below decks, a strong sailor laid the unconscious Whyl Winesmith on his new cot. He arranged the limp limbs so that the sick man could lie comfortably, and then moved away to rejoin his crew.
There was a noise from the cot, and the sailor turned in time to see the unconscious Whyl twitch. His arm swung to hang over the edge of the cot.
“Here, now,” said the shipman encouragingly, gently returning Whyl’s arm to his chest. “It’s all going to be alright. Wake on up again.”
Whyl twitched violently and the sailor endeavored to hold him down.
“Careful now, fella,” he said nervously. “Don’t want to hurt yourself.”
“Don’t let him get me,” Whyl shrieked, bucking the sailor’s grip. His eyes flew open.
“Someone get the Captain!” The sailor turned his head to call for help. A claw-like hand shot out and grabbed the shipman’s collar. With more strength than seemed possible, Whyl pulled the sailor around to face his blood-shot eyes.
“Where’s the Scribe?” Whyl spat, eyes wild. “Where is Fenric?”
“In his cabin, I think,” the sailor said calmly, despite his unease. “Lay still, now. That’s a mighty bump on yer head.”
“Good gods, man, we can’t just lay still!” Whyl said with the same energy. “We must escape from Fenric. We must get off this ship before he murders us all!”
*
Book 2
The Secret’s Keeper and the Heir
* * * * *
Who is Fenric and what is his agenda?
Who is it that he seeks on the other side of the sea?