The Walkers

Chapter 19

A couple months have passed as I have been trapped in this sailing coffin. So later I learned that most of the seadogs wanted to, pretty much, kill me and stuff. Now we're on good terms. I mean, we're not like in a buddy-buddy kind of relationship, but at least they won't poke me with their cutlasses or sabers. I started out moping the deck and eventually I got ascended to less inferior tasks. They don't trust me enough to give me a cutlass, but I have been taking some lessons from the quartermaster. He said something about being able to fend off an attack.

"Scallywag, go to the crow's nest and ask the lookout for his daily report." That was one of the menial jobs that I had to do. Nobody ever offered to climb the mast. Only the lookout was crazy enough to like that place as if he had been programmed for it.

"Aye, Aye, sir!" I took a deep breath and nodded at the order. I took a pose in which my opened the palm was touching my forehead and dashed away. I made sure to rest the mop I was holding somewhere where it wouldn't fall down. I didn't want to get scolded again for it.

In the past days, I had noticed that my body had become bulkier and sturdier. It probably had to do with the fact that I have been moping and sweeping, carrying buckets of stuff, running up and down the deck with the grog and climbing the mast on a daily basis. I don't look anything like my previous lanky self. I still feel weird about the sex change and stuff, but it feels like I had been inside a dream or something. Perhaps the true me was just a navigator who got stranded.

"This is tough..." I talked to myself. There is nobody else to talk to when I climb this freakily huge wooden pole. My hands have calluses and the shrapnel sometimes gets stuck onto my palm, but I have to withstand it like a sailor.

I have met with the captain once or twice in my time here. He's as handsome as ever. It is like time doesn't pass through him and he remains in his youth for all eternity. I'm jealous about how he conserves that appearance, but it also helps for foes to lower their guard. You can't expect to see a slim person have the strength that Cap'n Morrison has. It's almost unnatural. His swordsmanship is on point and the footwork he uses is almost divine. He acknowledges my position as a lad now and after I apologized to him, he actually forgave me.

"Almost there..." Even if I feel less fatigue from carrying this task as I did when I started, it's still hard. There are just a few feet more till I reach the crow's nest or the place where the lookout spends his time looking through a spyglass.

"Oi!" I called to the person that was in charge. He was a slim black-haired sailor.

"What do ye want?" He replied with a groggy attitude. I probably just woke him up from a nap.

"Quartermaster is asking about the situation, dog." I asked for the daily report as I always did.

Give me a second." He scoffed as he took the brass cylinder onto his hands and looked through it. His hands are shaking. No. His body is shaking!

"Are ye alrite, mate?" I asked as I stared dumbfounded at the unexpected situation. He just silently handed me the spyglass and pointed at a certain direction. I looked through it and spotted something that I have never witnessed until now.