Bandits

Chapter 5: 9 Years Later

9 Years Later...

Gideon's hair whipped across his face. His open shirt rippling in the wind, like a flag tethered to his body. The rope tied to the harness he wore pulled taught. Now was when the fun began.

Gideon reached down to the iron loop that connected the rope to the leather straps of the harness. His long, nimble fingers skillfully untied the knot. As the hemp fell away, Gideon felt a rush of adrenaline. Of course the rule was to wear a lifeline at all times, but Gideon couldn't help feeling limited by it. This was true flying.

Gideon moved quickly along the bowsprit, his footing sure and his balance keen. To either side of the horizontal mast the endless sky panned out above and below. One false move and that would be it; a long fall into oblivion. Gideon wasn't really sure what would happen. Would he fall until he starved? Or would he eventually smash into the core of Regius inside of the Eternal Storm? Obviously no one who did fall lived to tell the tale. The few lucky enough to be caught had only fallen a few thousand feet at the most. Maybe that's what made this so addictive for him: the sense of danger and adventure. It held an undeniable allure for Gideon though most of the crew thought he was crazy.

As he neared the tip of the bowsprit, Gideon closed his eyes and stuck out his arms for balance. For several more yards he just walked, eyes sealed shut, taking in the sound of the wind and breathing deeply the smell of the air. When he opened his eyes he was less than four feet from the very front most point of the ship.

Grabbing onto the last of the ropes that stretched from the masts to the bowsprit, Gideon leaned out into the wind. Both of the suns were behind Gideon; he could feel their warmth on his neck. The stars were bright and vibrant. They surrounded Gideon on all sides, above and below, left and right. At that moment Gideon felt like the center of the universe, the entire sky revolving around him.

Gideon closed his eyes again. He loosened his grip, one finger at a time slowly letting go of the rope. As his last finger left the rope Gideon fell forward. He'd done this a thousand times, but he never lost that brief sensation of panic that persisted until the wind caught him. The force of the oncoming air lifted Gideon, keeping him from plummeting from the bow. He leaned farther, his toes the last thing connecting Gideon to the ship. The last thing tying him down.

After what felt like minutes Gideon stood back up straight. With his feet firmly replanted on the wooden beam, Gideon opened his eyes. He sighed, and smiled to himself. He turned and grabbed the rope and started making his way back toward the deck of the Wraith.

"Where have you been off to?" Gerard hardly looked up from the thick manifest that sat on the desk in front of him. His long dark hair that normally hung in unruly waves was now tied back so he could read more easily.

"Off to?" Gideon sat on a wooden bench carved into the wall of the room. The Captain's cabin was directly above them. This was the officer's hall. Where the ship's officers slept, ate, drank, and then drank again. It was also where Gerard came every evening to write a report in the ship's log.

Ever since the last Quartermaster died of some kind of disease from eating a sick bird he had caught, Captain Daedalus instated Gerard as the new Quartermaster. As one of the few members of the crew that could read or write, Gerard was an obvious choice. Still, he made no effort to hide the fact that he hated the job. "Tiresome, monotonous, repetitive, and a load of yak's manure" were all among the list of phrases he'd used to describe his new position.

"Yes, off to," Gerard repeated, scratching down a note in the manifest. "Don't think I don't already know, I'm just giving you a chance to rethink your story."