Climate Change

The bright light streaming from the sunshine was the only source I could use to see a long, white, stone dinner table spread before us. We had entered a dusty, cobwebbed room of an ancient Irish castle. Thousands of years old—dating back to 1180, my tour guide had said—Henry Hamilton’s home apparently housed a mysteriously eerie area. Spiders’ webs, ragged curtains, dirty, moldy windows, a tablecloth stained with bloody spots and glass shards strewn everywhere was enough to call in the Scooby-Doo gang or Nancy Drew. If they didn’t come, I would solve the mystery before the villain got completely away. Whoever he or she was.               

As my tour guide discussed the stone marble chairs while carefully avoiding the strewn glass, I whipped my pad of paper to the next page, scribbling notes as fast as I could. Even writing the words of history entranced me. It made me smile that thousands of notes had filled these pages just like thousands of years of history had been waiting to be told to tourists. 

I nodded, inquiring about the bloody edges. But the tour guide started rambling about a group of guests using this dining room for a special occasion. So I scrambled to keep up.          

“So—” I tried to understand, reviewing my messy notes. “Something went horribly wrong—the blood resulted from a bloody massacre. The guests had dropped dead onto this table after the murderer—whoever he or she was—stabbed them with this glass.” He pointed to the shards on the table, chairs and filthy cement floor. “The remains of wine glasses, goblets and small cups. Servants, too.”     

He sighed sadly. “I’d hate to think about toddlers and older children being victim to such horror!”

“Why a birthday party?” I scratched my brunette head with the end of my pen, enjoying this mystery! “Hated celebrations?” My tour guide shook his head.

“Guess so.” He elaborated on the curtains. “Says, ‘Happy Birthday’.” He shivered.  

“What?” I ran over, but then answered my own question.

A chill ran up my spine. “Yeah, the murderer did take a finger of one of the victim’s blood and filled in the words. He…” I swallowed, shaking my head. “Pretty evil to make a show out of it. Maybe to avenge someone at the party?”

The tour guide threw sweaty hands on his hips. “Well,” he turned, “we are researchers, not detectives; let’s move on from this humid place.” 

I soaked in every word as we walked outside into the courtyard, breathing in the fresh air after being in a stiflingly hot room for so long. Walking along the castle’s seemingly endless wall, its bushes and small trees lining along underneath the holes cut into each divided segment, the tour guide divulged. On our break, I saw I had filled out about fifty or sixty pages.

I looked around—the sun was setting. A cold wind whipped my braided hair off my shoulders. I smiled as it kissed my hot neck and chest.

“Want to head back to the hotel?”

I thought, and then looked back, turning around.

The tour guide laughed. “Got more room on your clipboard to explain to your professor about this place?” 

I responded in kind. “He can reward me double points for at least being interested in a mystery as gruesome as this!”

Reminding me to meet him in the lobby early tomorrow to review my information, he left after I nodded. I ran along the gravel path, clutching my notes to my chest. When I entered the eerie place, I made my way back over to the table. Studying the tragedy, I gazed at the tablecloths first. They were pure white, like those used at a wedding, hospital or baby shower. But they were not meant to stay clean, according to the killer.  

A shiver rocketed up my spine as I sketched the scene, including words etched into a corner. I bent down, dragging out a knife from under one of the chairs. I read the words, and then looked at the beautiful weapon.  

I flipped through my packet. Several hundred more pages told me I was going to have to spend another week and a half here. I inhaled but remembered: if you’re going to eat an elephant, eat one bite at a time. This paper was big.      

I sighed. I felt I was trying to keep up with it all. Trying to remember every detail so I could perfect this assignment. The last one before my dream job from a history museum. The place I’ve dreamt since I could remember.  

Working as a tour guide was something I’ve always wanted to do, too. I’ve even turned green with envy as my tour guide showed off his knowledge of such amazing history as Killyleagh Castle. 

Maybe one day. Hopefully.    

I jerked my head up. Was someone there? I leaped behind one of the curtains. “Who is it?”    

Everything was as still as it had been.                

“I asked you something. Now answer me!”

Someone came into the light, and I gazed at her in fear. She unsheathed a sword, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was studying something on the ground, and her dirty face tilted, then scrunching in confusion. I slapped a hand to my mouth—my pad of paper!              

I exposed myself after a cotton, fingerless gloved hand grabbed the clipboard. She narrowed her dark eyes at me. “Are you trying to see whether you can take information back with you an’ slaughter us all?”     

“No—no—”

“Captain!”              

“No, no, Captain. I’m a researcher. I’m just investigating out of curiosity—” 

Her eyes had become angry slits. I felt her sword tip at my back—she was ordering me to march towards the hanging curtain. Before I could push it away, she tore it. I turned around, and begged to complete my work. The pirate’s eyes blazed, and she whipped back her saber.              

“Sit down, matey!” She threw my clipboard somewhere and then plopped right into a chair. “C’mon. You’re not scared, are ye?”

I sat opposite her. And then saw the clipboard half-submerged in a muddy puddle. So much for so many days of hard work.                               

“Let me hear a tale. Of hope and truth.” The pirate relaxed against the chair, playing with her sword. Then she lay her head back and closed her eyes. I hoped this story will allow me to graduate with honors—not just a PhD.     

So I started—her ship creaked and groaned as it rolled from side to side. The angry waves roared and then crashed into this colossal creation. Boot-clad, torn curtain-cloaked, buttoned women of all shapes and sizes, skin colors and attitudes swarmed me, some gawking at my research paper. Others looked hungry to steal and possibly tear it to shreds with their sabers or knives. Some argued it was a target for their pistols and arrows.      

I guarded my precious work. Then, these dirt-stained, greasy faces awaited orders. I faced the captain, too.         

She held the packet in the bright sunlight, tearing the first half from top to bottom. Showing off this part, she grinned like she had won a token of achievement, and then ripped it to shreds. 

Okay, I told myself, watching the black and white pieces fall to the planks below like snow. If she wants to turn years of dedicated research writing into flecks of paper, that’s fine. I’ll just explain—

The captain was looking right at me! I stood respectfully.                               

She ordered me to clean the ship from bow to stern. “The cook's making gruel. We’re eating oatmeal tonight!” Slamming a door, I assumed the captain had disappeared into her quarters.  

As the crew went wild, my shoulders sagged at its enormous size. I inquired about the bucket of soap and water after everyone retreated to her respected places. One of them laughed in my face. Another one jerked a fingerless gloved finger towards a braided woman, who whipped a thumb behind her. “Over there!” 

After finally managing to find something like soap and what at least looked like a mop, someone chucked me a pair of grubby clogs. I forced my feet into them, grimacing as I cleaned from port to starboard.

“Yer gonna clean till midnight!” One pirate cackled as she strutted over to the steering wheel. She played with the wheel, spinning it back and forth. The ship leaned crazily on one side and then the next. Her loud laughter mixed with the howling wind and flapping mainsail.

“Whee!”

“Stop it!”

I clutched the side rail. The ship dipped, returned and then crashed, the huge waves soaking me with greenish-blue seawater. Angry threats rose from the other crew members. However, a slam of a door terrified me. I whipped my head around, crying, “Aye, cap'n!”              

She stood amazingly well before the navigator, who looked up behind her.  

“Want to be our dinner?”

The navigator instantly straightened the ship. The captain insulted her and then stormed away. I returned to cleaning.

“Yer gonna unleash the captain’s wrath if the whole ship ain’t sparkling clean.”

And we’re gonna have a cannibalistic captain if you don’t navigate this ship! I smirked to myself, dunking the mop’s brush into the soapy bucket. Cleaning was a specialty of mine. Ensuring a whole ship goes without dirt, grime, seawater, seaweed and sea minerals is impossible. But I scrubbed and swept away.    

I reported all finished duties to the captain. The beautiful woman flicked a grain of dirt from her already filthy fingers. And scanned the floor. “Clean it, and the whole quarters!”                                   

“Yes, captain!”

By midnight, I was striving to keep my eyes open. Stifling anther yawn, I obeyed every order the captain hurled at me. Her sharp interruptions and violently surprising whirls on her crew had me saluting her every time her dark eyes lay on me. I inquired about her attitude.       

“Why,” the hammock-swinging woman played with her yucky fingernails after calling me into her quarters. “do you think you are able to inquire about anything?”

“I—”

“Yer going to fin’ it.”

“Find what?” I removed my clogs.

“The land we’re heading toward!” She leapt off the hammock and grabbed her sword beside a pole. “Tell my Lookout she’s on Poop Deck duty. By the time she’s done, you’ve spotted the sandy place!”

I exchanged places with the gruff, frustrated woman. Seeing only hazy clouds, I waited. Days felt like weeks. When the moonlight showed a palm tree, I yelled down to the navigator, “Land ahoy!” She directed us there. I smiled as I held onto the post.               

The anchored ship’s thousands of hanging kerosene lamps glowed, illuminating most of the tiny island. We descended the plank, palm trees stretching high as the sky. Sand stretched for miles. Soon, the late morning sun’s heat already made me feel like I was melting. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Water!” Someone cried, and the captain barked there was a whole sea behind her. She raised her sword at the coconuts.  

“Get them, matey!”

I did, also slicing some fruit found somewhere near a little crab hole. A feast of crab, oysters, seagulls and fish lay before us after I announced lunch. The captain consumed most of it while her hungry crew complained of bare-bones and oyster shells sucked dry. The captain commanded me to store the very little remains in their kitchen. 

That night, I was starving. I dared to creak open the captain’s door.

“Captain, please. I’m starving—”

“You know ‘ere the food is! If there’s any left.”

After retreating downstairs, I heard boots clomping and then screaming. A mate’s trembling voice responded respectfully. I disliked this captain very much. She was so angry! I quietly headed to bed, my stomach rumbling. My head hurt very much, too.

When I saw the captain again, she was studying what looked like a map. We must be going somewhere—

“What are yew doin’?”

I bolted away. The next night, she looked through the window. “I can see the stars ‘ow.” She laughed.

“Glad to ‘ear, captain!”   

“Well, steer us ahead, because we’re going to—” she jabbed the map. “Thar!”

Once we had shored and were anchored, I almost fainted from thirst after descending the post. While the captain demanded her crew to be more situationally aware—stop being such stupid weaklings—I drank to my heart’s content.  

Late the next morning, I awoke o'er a pathetically messy clump of hay, exhausted.

The captain grabbed a bucket of nearby slop, throwing it at my blistered bare feet. “Breakfast, matey. Eat up!”   

But I felt myself being yanked, and then flew through the air. But I landed right on my feet, and spun around. Complete silence reigned on the ship. All around me, pirates were staring, some fearfully, at me. “You turn around and...?” One dared, and the captain shushed her.

“No one’s challenged ‘e ‘fore.” The captain walked slowly up onto the upper deck. She swung at me, and I dodged. She attacked again, fire in her eyes, and I side-stepped. Her face twisted into a snarl.

She swung that sword so high she would’ve sliced a cloud. I dodged, a split second seeing the fascinated stares of the pirates all around me. When she swung right, I dipped left. Once, I slid right underneath the weapon, my noses inches from its sharp edge.      

The sword seemed to hang there like it was levitating. I scrambled away and then looked back. The captain’s sword sliced thin air, and then she whipped around, confusion written all over her face. She dropped the sword, kicked it towards me and ordered it shiny and sharp by tonight. 

While sparks flew from my grinding wheel, the captain released her crew from their five-minute breaks.

While the queen of the seas assumedly slept through the day, I cleaned until late morning. When she finally came out, she slipped on a piece of soap. After getting up, she marched right towards me, her hand unsheathing her sword from its scabbard.    

I braced myself. Then opened my eyes. She was commanding the quartermaster to attend to something. The master boatswain beckoned me. I aided her all day, dealing with the weighing and rigging of sails and the humongous metal anchor.     

Though I was really tired, I never slept. The captain could attack me without notice.

She looked at the window tomorrow night. “I can see the stars now.” She laughed. “You think they’re shining brightly!”

“Yes, captain!”

“Steer ahead.”

I guided the ship from above again. Dehydration set in, and I made more drinkable water and collected three times more food. Three weeks went by, I think, before I slept till late morning. The captain asked how I didn’t go crazy or try to escape. I said I had hoped for better. She said she’d die before seeing any hope. Some of the rigging crew added snarky comments.  

“I’ve seen you accomplish more than any of my crew.”

She sounded like she was considering whether I was worthy of staying on her ship. Collapsing into her hammock, the captain looked up at me with half-shut eyes. “What’s hope, matey?”   

I explained. She dismissed me, studying her pretty self in her sword’s reflection.  

While I ate heartily, the captain came downstairs. She grabbed some of the crab meat. “Did I eat first?” Her cool voice sent shivers down my spine.    

“No…” I swallowed. “You—you didn’t.”

“For the next week, you’re banned from this place.”

I started wondering whether we headed anywhere, or just sailing to sail? Was this captain merely a captain?

“Teach them sword fighting.”

I did, soon gaining the approval of Nattie, the boatswain. The captain inquired about the hope I claimed of having. And continued bringing some life to this ship. Some goal.       

I rewrote those research notes. I told the captain of my homeland.

“Try escaping, and you die.”  

“Yes, Captain.”

“You’re a…?”

“Researcher, ma’am.”

“Well, fear no more, for you’re my navigator, too. Study the stars. Find our location.”   

That night, I tried remembering my nautical navigation classes. I marked the constellations and then sunk onto the same bed, waking sore and stiff. 

The next night, Nattie cleaned her quarters as I watched my superior scan the curtain of drawings and sketches. No mistakes must’ve been traced, but I wasn’t sure. Then she ordered her hammock washed. I had to make fishing poles. I liked this job. I could create anything. Even string attached to a hook ready to pull fish from the sea into our stomachs.   

As the captain feasted, her eyes hungered for hope. I hungered for her to replace the anger with hope. While Nattie and I rehung her hammock, she chucked a piece of holed wood at our feet. “You think I just want to sail this ship forever? I want to land, not just see it! Besides, this ship’s been rotting ever since it’s been built!”

I showed the captain the new palm and bamboo wood I had replaced from the old rotting stuff. The crew started respecting me. But they were just pirates who’d forget me once I died. Over the years, our ship started trading with others and carried exported goods to importing lands. As the sun beat down on my sunburned neck, I couldn’t help grinning as we brought in piles of doubloons! 

That night, I went gladly to the captain’s quarters.

“Navigate us to the next trading port, matey!”

“Matey!”

I looked up—and begged the captain not to abduct me.   

When I revisited the eerie place, the captain was swinging in her hammock, a superior grin spread across her face as a mate told her story—of trading vessels, fried fish and piles of doubloons.