Riven Isles

14 | It's All Relative

With the mop and bucket locked away with Simon, I have free time on my hands. I can't very well mop the deck without a mop, can I? So, what am I to do now, but to take Simon's advice. Mr. Tussock, a scrawny swine of a man, sleeps on the deck, under the shade of the stairs to the bow. Asleep would be a kind word. Mr. Roofus Tussock is perhaps the most notorious drunkard aboard, and it's a wonder that he hasn't fallen overboard yet.

His bottle sits beside him and I snatch it. This man has caused me plenty of humiliation over my six days on this ship. I'm not extremely creative, myself. I never have been. So, I take Simon's suggestion, despite the nagging sense that 'revenge' instead of 'confrontation' may not have been what the professor had been getting at, and pick up the spare bucket with the long rope that resides beneath the stairs. I bring it, with the bottle, to the rail. I pour the rum into the rushing whitecaps below, and the liquid disappears. Then, I throw the bucket over, holding tightly onto the rope, and pull it back up when it fills with seawater. I've become quite skillful at hauling up buckets of seawater, I must say.

Kneeling on the deck, I place the bucket in front of me and dive the bottle into it. It barely fits, but it submerges enough to fill almost to halfway with the saltwater. Content, I lift it with me as I stand, and start to dry the outside with my shirt. I stop when a shadow falls over me. A tall, thin shadow.

Oh, dear.

I turn, and drop my bottle, thanks to my nerves, which seem to have quite an issue with the Sailing Master. I'd had a feeling it was him. Still, I shudder at the sight of his white, sightless eye. Up close, I can see the chunk carved out of it by whatever foul beast had scarred him. I swallow and stop the bottle from rolling away with my foot.

He regards me silently for a hair-raising period. His shoulder-length black hair and one-shouldered cloak flow in the wind. They don't flutter. They flow. As if he has some power over the wind. As if he's too smooth to be affected by its anarchy.

He blinks in that slow, lethargic way. Despite how long he takes to speak, I don't feel like my time is being wasted. I feel as if his pace is just right, as if it is safe. Were he to speak or move any faster, I fear I may feel it like a whip.

"The captain," he drones at last, raising his eyes over my head, "requests your company in his quarters."

I stare. Like the idiot I am, I just stare, until he narrows his eyes at me, and curls his lip.

"Now."

"Y-yes, sir!" And my legs are moving before I even tell them to. I hear him pick up my bottle, but I don't look to see what he does with it. I half-scamper for the door at the stern that leads to the captain's quarters and make way for a long overdue appointment. I knock on it twice, and burst in, closing it behind me.

The captain frowns at me from behind his desk and I get the feeling that he wasn't expecting me at all. I gulp and anxiously feel behind me. Gullible, Walter Avery. You are gullible.

He waves his hands.

"No, no. Come here."

I hesitate, then obey, lugging my feet towards him. I hover in front of the desk and sit when he gestures for me to do so.

"You look flighty. Did Increas scare you?"

Awkwardly, I lower my eyes. "No, sir." Yes, sir.

He chuckles, because he probably can see right through me. I feel the pink come to my cheeks. He prods a bottle of alcohol towards me. "He's a charmer, Increas is."