Blankmap: Book I

25. Beneath the Waves

Solomon waited another minute before reemerging into the sunlight. "Hello, father," he said, hoping that his voice didn't betray him. He had certainly heard things, but was no closer to understanding them, and he thought it would be an awful shame if he were exposed as an eavesdropper without even really knowing what he had heard.

"That's quite a haul."

"Oh, there's plenty more where this came from. Where should I put it?"

"Unload it over there in the corner. No, on the outrigger side. We'll get someone to come pick it up."

"Is there anything else in particular I should be looking for? Besides plates and cups, I mean."

"No, nothing specific. Just keep hauling. We'll get it sorted."

Solomon, turning to go, paused at the sight of his father's arms. They were uncovered, his white sleeves rolled up to the elbow. For a moment the young adventurer thought that Jacques and Rip Rap had been painting the ship in his brief absence, such were the bursts of bright colored ink stretching from Jacques' elbows to his wrists.

"Well?" asked Jacques evenly.

"Nothing," Solomon said, perhaps too quickly. No answers to be had today, then.

So Solomon returned to the inner chambers of the Petrichor, illuminated by the holes punched in the hull, still in disrepair in so many places. He filled the the skid slowly, relishing the feeling of being alone with his task and being trusted to do it well. Solomon whistled tunelessly as he worked.

This time, when he returned, he made a point of leaving the skid several yards behind him and tiptoeing to the doorway to the deck. His heart beat quickly at the thrill of doing something that he probably shouldn't be doing. He wrapped his slender fingers around the doorframe and pressed his ear to the wood, praying that his shocks of red hair wouldn't poke out for his father and Rip Rap to see.

To his great disappointment they appeared to be talking about nothing more than the direction the ship's repairs would take.

"The mizzenmast is completely beyond saving. I barely even noticed it being hit, in the midst of everything else being destroyed. I'm not sure there's even a tree on Kwajro big enough to replace it. I'll have to ask Melion to organize a team to get out to the uninhabited islands around here to see if one can be found."

"Ever try replacin' a mast with the ship half-cocked and bobbin' in the water? Just how, exactly, do yeh plan on doin' that?"

Jacques laughed, though to Solomon's ears there was little humor in his voice. "We'll figure something out. I designed the Petrichor, my friend. She won't best me. Besides, this isn't the Windjammer. The masts were designed to be removed and turned upside-down for quick directional changes. Taking this broken one out won't be nearly as hard as on a ship that the ri-Marij didn't build."

"Good."

By the time Solomon reemerged on deck, Jacques had already rolled his sleeves back down.

"Productive trip?"

"Very. There's no end to the stuff inside the ship."

"Well, haul it over to the edge. If I'm not mistaken there's a rowboat headed our way to pick up what you've found."

So there was. In several minutes' time a pair of ri-Marij women were gracefully boarding the Petrichor. They expertly bundled the wares Solomon had found with ropes, loaded their boat, and as quickly as they had come, left the teetering ship and began pulling their small craft back across the reef.