Chapter XLIX
Swells Over Still Waters, Part 4: Ending
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11th Day in the 1st of Delód’s Months, Rainy Season, in the First Year of King Feyaz’s Reign, 127th Reckoned Year
What terribly foolhardy fun we had,
rowing through sea and ice and land.
Pour the sea down over our heads,
what terribly foolhardy fun we had.
Such wary sea-faring foul weather we saw,
winds fit to knock down a man stood too tall.
‘Haul out the mainsail’, the bosun did call,
Such wary sea-faring foul weather we saw.
What horribly big beastly beasties we caught,
leaning to port with the lines all made taut.
Ran down the biggest and baddest we fought,
What horribly big beastly beasties we caught.
‘Foolhardy Fun’, Shanty, Author Unknown in the 49th Reckoned Year
The Painful Lady leads a procession of damaged and battered ships across the Deep Sea toward the Royal Mass. Only the crew remain aboard, the Oullman and the King having returned to their respective ships. The Fellpost is being held with one other prisoner in the brig of King Feyaz’s ship, while the other Dintish vessels are housing the Fellbin that surrendered. The prisoner with Fellpost HelBenledore is actually a guard selected for the duty to watch for escape attempts, an unenviable position but an important one. The task typically fell onto the head of a soldier in need of discipline, but Wittkinson objected. He said “It ought to be someone who will look at it as a serious task, rather than a punishment, that way they are sure to be vigilant.”
Benafield volunteered but was graciously refused. In the end it was Tonkish, one of the guards that had stayed aboard the Lady to ensure compliance. Now, in an ironic twist, Mavis leads the entire navy back to the Royal Mass. He smirks behind the ship wheel at the thought.
The Saint’s sun reaches its zenith in the gray sky, just as a light rain begins to fall. The waters are speckled with thousands of ripples that rise and fall over the choppy waves. Chapel stands next to Mavis at the helm, and Mavis speaks for the first time since Chapel joined him. “Looks like a storm.”
Chapel nods, acknowledging his words. Mavis grunts, wishing his Captain would just say his piece because something is clearly on his mind. Chapel speaks then, much to Mavis’s relief, finally voicing what has been bothering him. “Do you think Dintash will go to war against Broadfell now? Now that The King knows who is responsible, I mean.”
Mavis scratches his thick beard in thought. “Don’t know. I’d say not. King Feyaz seems wise, like his father. I’m sure he’ll handle the situation well.”
Chapel bites his lip and makes vague sounds of agreement, though he appears none-the-less concerned. That is, until a familiar and welcome sound rings across the main deck: Bor’s meal bell.
The crew come crawling out of unseen places like pitmites to a fruit barrel. Bor is doling out generous portions of fish filets, each one crusted with a thin layer of breadcrumbs and dripping in an unplaceable golden sauce. The table remains up on the quarter deck, and they all gather around it for the meal. Petsune pulls out a chair next to Chapel. The crew converses happily over Bor’s splendid cooking, and Chapel engages with Petsune. “So, we did what we set out to do, more or less. What does that mean for you?”
Petsune answers, “I’m not sure yet, honestly. But I have been thinking about it.”
“Well, which way are you leaning?”
Pet hesitates before answering “I think… I think I’m torn between what I want and what is needed. Does that make sense?”
Chapel pauses for a long while, other conversations carrying on around them. Laughter and chatter permeating the air in a way that only good food seems to allow. After a few moments Chapel answers. “That is a difficult choice. I have no doubt you’ll choose the right thing.”
“Yes… unfortunately.” Petsune says, looking somewhat downcast.
Chapel smiles fondly. “The right thing is often the harder thing, I’d wager. If we only do what we want, the world will end up with a lot more HelBenledore’s and Devishaw’s.”
Petsune nods appreciatively.
Chapel exchanges some quick words with Mavis, then Petsune speaks again. “There’s something that’s been bothering me.”
“Oh?” Chapel answers jovially, “and what’s that?”
“Your Saintstone eyeglass — what happened to it?”
Chapel touches the place on his side where it usually lay tucked away in his belt. He thinks back to the row from the King’s Crown to the Painful Lady, after they had thrown the Fellpost in the brig. He remembers his last look at the exquisite implement, then he gently dropped it into the sea. Chapel stirs and shifts his focus back to Pet. “I, uh, dropped it. Overboard.”
Petsune looks at the Captain quizzically. “… you dropped it?”
“Yeah.”
“On purpose?”
Chapel looks away, feigning a casual air. “Yeah.”
Petsune wants to ask, but he senses that Chapel doesn’t want to discuss the topic right now, so he decides to let it be.
Instead, Pet looks around the table at the smiling faces, enjoying this moment and trying his best to capture it in his mind. Mavis is reaching for the bowl of sweet bread when it inexplicably moves away from his hand. He squints one eye in skepticism, then tries to reach faster, to no avail. The Big Man is in more of a good mood than he has been for a while, and he watches the First Mate. As Mavis misses a third time and pounds the table, Benafield laughs loudly, spewing fish filet in Cheese’s direction. She recoils in disgust at the chunks and shrapnel that land on the table. She stands up and smacks the Big Man’s arm, which he fails to notice in the slightest. Suddenly, she heaves her chair on top of the table, then leaps up after it. Benafield stares up at her in bewilderment, as do Shushilah and Mavis. Sprig, Bor, and Shush all laugh and carry on talking as she drags her chair across the table, stepping easily around the bowls and dishes, then leaps down to the decking. She pulls her chair down and squeezes it between Petsune and Chapel, forcing Pet to scoot his chair further down.
Pet is bemused at the whole thing, continuing to watch the crew. Bor pushes the bowl of sweet bread to Mavis, who grunts in appreciation. Below the table, Sprig releases the snagweed line he was moving the bread bowl with and finishes deftly replacing Mavis’s compass with a barnacle of rockwart. Shushilah smiles at the Big Man, who continues obliterating his food with detailed care. Shushilah sighs in a good-natured exasperation, then turns to Bor to speak about Filkish dishes. The General, who absolutely insisted on being brought up for the meal, now sits on the other side of Benafield, waving his knife around to mock a parry or block of the chewed detritus. Once Cheese elected to move places, the Big Man chose to exaggerate his chewing to the point of excess. The General is about to attempt a clever quip but is interrupted by a wheezing noise to his left. When he glances over his shoulder with one eyebrow raised, he sees Sprig smelling a green shoe.
On second glance, he realizes it is a shell and that Sprig is attempting to play it like a flute. “Say there, boy, what is that contraption?”
Sprig leaves off the wheezing and looks at the General, pretending ignorance. “Conscription?”
“Contrap—oh, never mind. What have you got there?”
Sprig smirks, inwardly pleased at the growing number of his successful pranks today. “Oh, it ain’t nothin’, jus’ a shell flute.” Then he sets it to his lips again and blows.
This time there is a very short note, clean and crisp, before it devolves into more rasping spittle sounds. Sprig looks frustratedly at the green shell, as though it were at fault for the sounds. Benafield notices the crew’s attention shift away from his egregious display of Fellbin table manners. Seeing Sprig with the flute, he speaks. “Myekood teeshyew sumfin simble—”
“For Saints sake, swallow your food, Bennie! Depths!” Cheese cuts him off.
Benafield obligingly swallows, having gotten carried away in the act, then tries again. “I could teach you something simple to play on that. It may help you to get the basics.”
Sprig flashes a smile and hurriedly agrees.
Cheese rolls her eyes at the Big Man, then turns away. Pickett watches Sprig pop back up into his seat, as though he had never been absent. Sprig flashes a wicked smirk at Pickett, then shows him the stolen compass. Pickett speaks in his flat unaffected way. “You are getting good.”
Sprig beams. “Thanks. I think I should be making my final offerin’s to the Tapestry soon, then I’ll be a full Finger Weaver.” Pickett doesn’t respond or show any sign of emotion. Sprig speaks again, his smile having flitted away as quickly as it appeared. “You sure you ain’t wanna come with me?”
Pickett shakes his head once slowly. “No,” then he pauses before adding in an almost wistful tone, “I want to see things.”
Sprig looks fondly at his friend, and Pickett smiles back. “You ain’t gonna forget me? You’ll come visit?”
Pickett nods a firm yes. “Of course.”
The two carry on speaking of the future and their hopes, while Petsune watches in admiration. They both have such good hearts, and he cannot imagine them without each other, especially with how fond they are of one another. This makes him think of Chapel and the Lady. He looks over and sees the Captain conversing mildly with Cheese.
Pet is very fond of Chapel and the crew, and he is comfortable here. But is comfort really the most important thing to him? He thinks of his beliefs, his convictions, and he knows that if he stays now, he will never leave. He wants to simply ignore all of the things wrong in the world, that way he can go on living a comfortable life aboard the Lady. But he knows he can’t, he would rather do what is needed and be at peace with that, than do what he wants and be eaten away by the decision. Later that evening, while most of the crew mills about playing Runny or talking idly, Chapel and Petsune climb to the crow’s nest. They both sense that their time together is coming to a close, but neither wishes to vocalize it and make it real.
Chapel sits in the branches just outside the nest, and Petsune leans over the railing of the lookout. The sea was very choppy around midday, sending large swells rolling beneath the ship. But now, the air has cooled, and the sea has calmed. Chapel speaks after some time. “My father gave me that eyeglass about ten years ago, when my aunt died.” Petsune doesn’t say anything, and Chapel continues in his own time. “I spoke briefly with HelBenledore before they locked him in the brig. He told me he gave the eyeglass to Devishaw a long time ago. He was trying to convince him to help steal the Saintstone, saying he would be rich.”
This time Pet pauses but then speaks. “How did they come to work together if Devishaw refused the Fellpost’s offer?”
The two continue to sit quietly above the sails and the chatter below. “I think he tried to convince Bornidin to attack Coldor again. I’m guessing enough angry rebuttals gave Devishaw the idea to simply kill Bornidin, blame it on Coldor, and then King Feyaz could be manipulated by the Fellpost into declaring war — knowing he had the backing of Broadfell.”
“I see…” Petsune says sadly, “the Fellpost’s advice and support probably went a long way. Plus, Coldor didn’t have a leader to condemn the assassination or a navy to fight back with.”
The air grows quiet, the occasional bird call sounding in the evening sky. Pet turns slightly and looks back at the dozens of ships off their stern, amazed at the size of the Dintish navy as it follows along in orderly formation. Chapel speaks a little while later. “You know, your parents might have sensed HelBenledore’s greed. That could explain why they tried to assassinate him?”
Petsune appreciates what his friend is trying to do, but he shakes his head. “Perhaps, but they would’ve been acting on prejudice and they leapt to the most extreme option. They could have done something else.”
“Maybe,” Chapel says noncommittally, “but, anyway I should head down and relieve Mavis for the night. Don’t stay up here too long, Pet. We’re not out of the Deep Sea yet, the air is bound to get cold fast.”
Petsune waves a hand, acknowledging the advice, then Chapel disappears down the mast. Petsune sits for some time, lying on his back in the nest and mapping out the constellations and the faint patchwork colors of the tailor’s moon. As he lays, he lets the exaggerated swaying of the mast gently loll his head back and forth. Eventually he rises before he falls asleep, takes in a final view of the vast open ocean, shimmering and beautiful, yet terrifying and dangerous. He pauses a moment, considering what Chapel had told him when he was first found on the Lady. He had said ‘there are big things out there. And you probably should be afraid of them. The sea is not a safe place. It demands respect’. Petsune considers Chapel’s words, and for the first time he realizes how well they apply to all things divine. “Beautiful and terrifying”, he thinks idly as he descends.
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