Water & Storm Country

Not once do his eyes touch upon mine.

“Lieutenant Hobbs,” he says, standing rightin front of me. “Will you walk with me?”

“Aye, aye, Admiral,” Hobbs says. They breakaway, cross the main deck, and climb the stairs to the loftedquarterdeck.

I’m invisible.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant Jones,” Barney says,“Lieutenant Hobbs will tell ’im what you did.”

I nod vaguely in Barney’s direction, but Idon’t say that Hobbs telling my father everything is exactly whatI’m worried about. Then, looking down, I stab the tip of my boot atthe spotlessly clean deck, seeing the pretty face of the mean bilgerat in the shine of the wood. Why didn’t I stand up to her like Istood up to Webb?

“Is that the Lieutenant Jones?” afaraway voice shouts.

I look up excitedly when I hear the familiarvoice. “Cain!” I say, not caring that my overzealous reaction islikely not becoming of a lieutenant.

Cain’s dark hair is tied in a ponytail,leaving his face visible save for the beard that’s grown slightlylonger in the two days that’ve passed since we parted ways. Heleaps from the plank and embraces me, slapping my back hard withhis palm. “How’s life on the dreaded Mayhem?” he whispers sharply,looking around with comically wide eyes, as if there might be seamonsters lurking in the shadows.

I laugh, look up at him. “Not as bad as Iexpected,” I say.

“The rumors are flying already,” he says witha wink.

“What rumors?” I ask, following him acrossthe deck.

I match his stride as he makes his way to thefore decks. A white-winged gull passes overhead, catching myattention. As I walk, I follow its flight to the main mast,twisting my neck around. A brown bulge hangs on the thick woodencolumn. The gull continues flying, but I settle my gaze on thebrown lump. Not a lump, or a bulge—a person. A brown-ski

Her long, dark hair hangs down in waves,billowing under the strength of the breeze. She looks down and seesme, and our eyes meet, and I know I’ve stopped walking while Caincontinues on, maybe answering my question, maybe not; I don’t know,I don’t care, because the bilge rat smiles at me and she’s reallyvery pretty, with striking features that I can’t seem to look awayfrom.

I smile back, despite how she mocked me infront of my men, how she ruined any chances of me wi

She raises the hand with the scrub brush andmy smile drops, though I don’t know why. And I’m frozen to thedeck, watching the smiling girl, waiting for her next move,captivated by her.

She whips her hand back and throws the woodenbrush, and I know I need to get out of the way, because it’s cominghard, end over end, and her aim is good, but still I can’t seem tolift my legs, because she’s still smiling—behind her act ofviolence she’s smiling.

I try to cover my head with my hands, butit’s too late, and the wooden brush handle cracks me in theforehead, knocks me back into something, the railing or a barrel orsomething else.

My minds whirls and explosions of light popand burst before my eyes and then all goes black.

~~~

The wind whips my hair over my ears andaround my face. The salt stings my cheeks but I’m smiling becauseI’m going to meet my mother on the fore deck. She’s promised towatch the sunset with me. Already the sky is changing from red todeep purple, splashing orange and pink around the pillow-likeclouds.

But wait.

Mother’s already leaning on the railing, buther gaze is downward, into the sea, rather than up at thebreathtaking colors of the water country sky. All that lies in thechurning whitecaps is death.

And I know.

I know.

Because I’ve been here before—and it’s whatsome of the men on the ship call “salty memories”, when you seesomething for the first time, but it’s like you’ve seen it before,maybe many times, and it hits you so hard it’s like a punch to theface. And I want it to stop—please stop—because I know howthis one ends—how it always ends—how it has to end.

Blood in the water.

The smile fades from my face and my lips andjaw feel sore, like they’ve smiled too much and need to rest.

I’ve tried ru

I can still save her—can’t I? Why else wouldI have chance upon chance? Somehow I know it’s the only way to endthis nightmare, to gain my father’s respect once and for all.

Save her.

Be faster.

Be stronger.

Be smarter.

I realize I’ve been going about it all wrong.And it’s another one of my father’s lessons that marks the changein my thinking: “Speed and strength only get you so far. Brains setyou apart from the common sailor.”

I’m wasting time and any moment the big wavewill hit the bow and my mother will be thrown off balance andshe’ll fall down, down, down.

But I don’t move because my brain tells menot to. I stand, watching. Waiting.

And the wave never comes. Minutes pass andstill she stares into the murky waters, which are quickly darkeningto black.

I’ve done it.

I have.

I walk toward her on tiptoes, afraid that myvery footfalls might cause the ship to lurch, to buck her from itsback like a Stormer’s horse.

She turns and her eyes are red and wet.

Somehow she falls, her eyes glittering withmoisture as they catch the last rays of the dying sunlight. I’m toofar away and, anyway, my feet are frozen to the planks, and all Ican think is I saved her, didn’t I? but the answer comesfrom the side, when a shadow steps into view. Although the shroudedcloak of night has fallen over the ship like a storm cloud, myfather’s eyes are clear and blazing in the darkness. They speak tome, and they say one thing:

You failed me.

~~~

“What happened?” the disappointed voicesays.

I’m awake, but I keep my eyes closed, carefulnot to twitch. Two memories twist and spiral through my mind: Mymother’s wet, red eyes pinch at the back of my head, causing a deepache that makes my neck feel like dried, salted meat; thebrown-ski

My father is nearby and I can’t face him likethis.

“Uh,” Barney says.

“You’re his steward, aren’t you?” My fatheragain, his voice laced with venom.

“Well, yes, but—”

“So you should’ve been nearby, right?” Not aquestion—an accusation.

“Of course, but—”

“And yet you didn’t see anything, is myunderstanding correct?” My father’s question hangs above me like aknife. With each moment that the question goes unanswered, I cansense the blade drawing closer and closer, until its sharp edgecuts into my throat and I have to hold my breath. Barney will tellhim everything, and the bilge rat with the pretty, brown eyes andthe unpleasant disposition will be chucked overboard quicker than abig-chin catches a fish.

“No, Admiral, I didn’t see anything,” Barneyadmits. I release my held breath out my nose, careful to keep iteven and normal. Why I should be so concerned with the welfare ofmy attacker, I do not know, and I wonder whether the knock to thehead has permanently dulled my senses.

She’s safe for now, and so am I.