Riven Isles

15 | Desire and Doubt

In lieu of our alliance, in my agreement to join the captain and, to the best of my abilities, help to, by whatever means necessary, get rid of Darling, the Witch, we shared a drink. I hadn't even thought about it, for I had been so wrapped up with the glee of being treated like the adult I am, that when he had poured me a glass of rum, and poured one for himself, I clinked my glass with his without consideration, and tipped it back. And he tipped his back, too. Together.

It was satisfying. It was a symbol. I didn't so much as bat an eye at the pungent flavor, because I had firmly disciplined myself that I wouldn't, because he didn't, and I didn't want to be weak.

He'd sent me on my way after that, and I'd left the cabin and now stand outside with a glorious boldness inside me. Whether the boldness comes from the drink, which I have no experience with, or the sheer pleasure at my own luck at stumbling upon my father and his eagerness to include me in his almost twenty-year old plans, I cannot decipher.

There's a purposeful march to my step as I inhale a breath of the sweet, salty air, and walk on. The doctor stares at me quizzically from the water barrel wedged by a cannon on the port side. I bet he's wondering what I was up to with the captain, and I can't wait to tell it all.

"Walt?" he asks.

"Find Lydia," I say. "I've got news!"

Strutting like a bachelor, I start for the stairs, and catch, on my way, a glimpse of the saltwater-filled bottle perched beside the snoring Mr. Tussock. Perhaps the frightful Master Langley isn't so frightful after all.

My path takes me to the bow end of the first deck below, to the galley, in the search for Simon. If I am to boast my good fortune, I'd like to do it to my whole group, and I'm sure they'll like what they hear. They won't be jumping for joy, of course. But, they'll be eager to learn more about why Captain Clarke is so important. Especially Simon, with his thirst for information.

I open the door to the galley, and find the professor casually (and 'casual' would not normally be a word I'd use to describe the constantly tense young man) sat on the bench in the center of the room, with Elian Arrow beside him.

They both look to me, unexpecting of guests, interrupted from a friendly conversation. Another word I would not normally use to describe the professor is friendly.

Simon looks to Elian, apologetic, lowering his hand from his glasses.

"Simon," I say. He's made a friend, I guess. "I've just talked with the captain. Come right away, and I'll tell you everything!"

His eyes widen, interest sparked, and he excuses himself, very politely, from Elian. He shakes the curly-haired man's hand lightly and, grabbing his books on his way out, follows me to the other end of the hall. We both press into the left cabin. We only have to wait a moment longer before the doctor and Lydia bustle in, and I begin right away. I tell them how he interrogated me, and then revealed to me that he, in all his grandeur, was Henry Avery himself.

You can imagine the response. Uproar about piracy and desertion and deception, and so on. Well, see, I won't have it, anymore. I quell it all, and silence them with the story—for which they quieten and listen with perked ears—of how he'd lost forty-six men to a devilish troglodyte by the name of Darling, and now sought only justice in their name. I, of course, feeling so bold and brash and glowing, exaggerate a little, mostly in my delivery. Showmanship! I stick very straight to the truth of what I'd been told, repeating the captain's words to me almost exactly as I'd heard them; but with a few more adjectives to keep the intellectuals intrigued.

When I finish, I eagerly await their thoughts. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I grin across their row of beds. Lydia and the doctor both seem oddly concerned, and Simon has his chin pinched twixt his thumb and forefinger in thought.