Cabin Boy

“Capt'n losin’ his marbles,” I heard the First Mate, Andras, say from outside the door. I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping, I was only delivering a message. I paused outside the door, waiting to hear what the Quartermaster would say. After all, these are his chambers.

I was surprised when another voice that I recognized came through, the Carpenter, Mase. “Aye, he be. Best nah to speak o’ it.” Realizing how suspicious I would look if someone found me standing outside of the door, I knocked.

“Enter,” Quartermaster Kalin said. I opened the door and stepped up to where he sat at his desk. The other two were standing around him, giving me odd stares as if they knew that I had been listening. I forced myself to ignore them, focusing on the large man behind the desk. He’s a head taller than me when he’s standing with a thick scratchy-looking beard and small brown eyes. I’m guessing that his skin had once been fair, similar to mine, but long years on the sea had washed that all away. His greying wind-blown hair sticks out as if he had just come in from a raging storm though the skies are clear.

“Cabin boy,” he says by way of a greeting.

“Captain has a letter for you,” I say, setting the paper that I had brought on the desk. The two others stiffened but I pretended not to notice. His eyes flicked to the door then back to me, as if asking why I wasn’t leaving. “He requires your immediate response.”

As he read, he murmured the words to himself like an awful ditty. The cabin smelled of the sea air, a scent that has penetrated the bones of the ship and clings to it like moss to a tree. The cabin was small but not quite as small as my own. Its wooden walls were darker than on deck, none of the hull having been exposed to the brutal heat of the sun. The air feels thick with heat but not as suffocating as being on deck. Other than the desk, there’s a bunk that looks like any other on the Dark Howler with a chest at the foot.

I tried not to look at anything in particular as I waited. I’m still becoming accustomed to the ways of this ship but, even in my short time at sea, the crew has made it abundantly clear that cheats and traitors will be fed to the fishes. Eavesdropping could be classified as both.

I settled my eyes on the porthole at the back wall. The ocean spread out for as far as the eye can see, the dark waters mixing with the bright, mid-day sky somewhere far off on the horizon. All my life, I’ve wanted to know what was past that collision, to see what was out there. Now I am here, as an errand boy.

The Quartermaster muttered something, shaking his head as he took out another piece of paper and scribbled down his response. I took the message from him and headed out. I walked down the short hall running through the belly of the ship where the cabins are located. Captain's cabin was at the back. I knocked on the door.

“Enter.” I opened the door, finding Captain Vega standing over his own desk. Maps spilled out over it, held in place with weights. Those that weren’t weighted curled up at the edges, pushing at other maps and testing the Captain's patience. Captain Vega is a tall, lean man, wearing a white shirt, tall brown boots, and simple pants. He had thrown his vest and weapon’s belt over the back of his chair. His hat sat crooked on his head, black dreadlocks fell down to his shoulders from underneath the hat, braided with beads colored red and silver.

“Captain Vega, the letter from the Quartermaster,” I say, stepping up to his desk and setting it in front of him. He doesn’t look up at me, just takes the letter and reads it at a feverish pace. I stepped back, unsure if he had another task for me or not.

I started thinking about what Andres had been talking about. You can’t see how Captain’s unraveling just by looking at him. It’s how he speaks, how he spends most of every day locked away in his chambers, pouring over these maps again and again as if there was something he was missing but couldn’t quite see yet.

“Blast!” Captain Vega slammed his hand down on the desk, making one of the weights roll off the table and thump on the ground. I cautiously stepped forward and picked it up, setting it back into place.

“Captain?” I say, curious as to what the letter says. He shoved it towards me.

“Kalin advises that I give up.” The way he said advises made me think that he had a much darker word in mind. I don’t touch the letter. “Tell me, Peter, wha’ does th’ crew reckon about me?” He was hunched over the map, hair falling into his face in a way that obscured his face from vision. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking from his tone.

I paused. Carefully, I say, “It's not my place to say, Captain.”

He doesn’t move, his hands flat and still on the desk, his shoulders stiff. A long moment of tense silence passed. The stuffy heat began to get to me, making the back of my neck sweat.

Finally, he says, “Wha’ do ye reckon about me? About wha’ I’m doin’?”

With the same caution, I say, “I don’t know enough about it or you to say that.”

I’m about to ask if that’s all he needs from me when he gestures for me to come closer. Captain shifted the map around so I could see it better as I stepped up beside him. For the first time, I got a good look at the map. And the island at the center.

“The Vanishing Island?”

He nods, hair swaying.

“You're looking for a myth, Captain,” I say. “It’s a story told to young children, nothing more.” He doesn’t contradict me so I continue. “An island with sand of ground gold, waters of sapphires, and plants of emeralds. An island that moves on it’s own, vanishing the second a ship comes within view. How could a place like that exist?”

He stays silent, leaning over the maps with his hands pressed flat to the desk.

Another long beat of silence passed before he spoke. His voice is so quiet that I almost don’t hear it. “Don’ ye see it?”

I wanted to say see what? See that you're going mad? But I don’t. Captain Vega backed off from the table, straightening his back and pushing his hair out of the way. For a moment, he was the same strong, unfearing man that I had met that night at the bar, before I knew he was a pirate. But his voice is just as quiet.

“Look again. Tell me wha’ ye see.” His green eyes are sharp, leaving no room for argument. I look at the maps again. They’re old, drawn many years ago. Or maybe that’s the sea air. On the first, the island was posted at the ocean’s center. The second map showed the island being much smaller than the others, as a part of the coast. The third map, it was very close to land, close enough that you could see it from the coast. The fourth was different from the rest, purchased the last time we came ashore with no mention of the island at all. I ran the coordinance through my head, something I had gotten good at recently, but none of them were even close to matching.

I shake my head. “I don’t know what you want me to see. These maps have nothing in common.” I step back from the table. Looking up at Captain Vega, he surprised me with a smile. Not just the slick, devious smile he had when we first met, a true, genuine grin.

“I knew ye’d see it.”

I blink. “See what?” He stepped back up to the desk and pulled out a fifth map, or rather, a piece of one. Captain Vega placed the old sliver of map over the newest one. The island was depicted on it, the coordinance lined up exactly. I was about to ask my question again when everything clicked into place.

These maps have nothing in common.

Because it moves.

I stepped closer, taking in the part of the map with the others. I just stared at the maps, my brain unable to form words to describe the one, monumental thought that had smashed down on me.

Finally, I swallowed and said, “You found it.”

He nods then claps his hand on my shoulder, effectively knocking me out of my stupor. I look up at him, the same strong man that I met not so long ago. His powerful voice matches his stance. “Now, I needs yer help t’ figure out how we get ashore.”