Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Jackie
The bright-yellow school bus pulls into the gravel parking lot, and my stomach performs an impressive somersault.
This is my first official educational program. Solo. No Sylvie zipping around to save me if I bomb.
I scan my clipboard one last time, tapping my pen against the laminated checklist covered in sparkly sea creature stickers.
Not exactly the most professional look, but Sylvie insisted they were "part of the Flippers and Feathers experience.
" Not that I would ever dare challenge Sylvie on anything related to our public relations.
That pixie is terrifying. Amazing, but terrifying.
Through the window, I watch as the bus doors swing open and an entire small town’s third grade class pours out like confetti from a party popper, their excited voices carrying across the parking lot.
The children point at the center, at the lighthouse, at the seagulls wheeling overhead.
Everything is a source of wonder for them.
My guts twist into a painful, nervous knot.
I take a deep breath and head outside, plastering my most welcoming smile on my face and hoping I don’t look like some sort of demented killer clown.
"Good morning, Saltford Bay Elementary!" I call out, waving to the group.
Twenty eyes swivel in my direction, some curious, some shy, all filled with the unmistakable energy of children unleashed for a field trip on a warm spring day.
"Hello!" they chorus back with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
"I'm Jackie, and I'll be your guide today at Flippers and Feathers Rescue Center." I gesture toward the building behind me. "Who's excited to meet some amazing sea creatures?"
A cheer erupts, though I notice one small pixie girl hanging back, half-hidden behind who I assume is Miss Johnson, the teacher who’s been emailing me. The girl's eyes are wide, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt while her pale-green wings flutter nervously.
"Thank you for having us," Miss Johnson says, herding the group closer. "They've been talking about nothing else all week."
"We're excited to have you!" I lead them inside, trying to project confidence I don't entirely feel. "First, let's learn about what we do here. Does anyone know what 'rehabilitation' means?"
A troll boy with a dinosaur t-shirt raises his hand so enthusiastically I fear he might dislocate something. "It's when you help animals get better so they can go back to the wild!"
"That's exactly right!" I beam at him. "Here at Flippers and Feathers, we rescue injured and sick marine animals—that means animals that live in or near the ocean.
We give them medicine, food, and a safe place to heal.
Then, when they're strong enough, we release them back into their natural habitat. "
I guide them to the education room where I've set up interactive stations about marine wildlife. Each table features touchable artifacts—seal fur samples, bird feathers, shark teeth, and whale baleen. All ethically sourced from animals that died naturally, of course.
"Before we meet some of our patients, let's learn about the animals we help," I explain, watching their faces light up as they move from station to station.
As I demonstrate how baleen works by filtering "krill" (actually colored beads) from a water tank, a movement outside the window catches my eye. A familiar dark-blue truck pulls into the staff parking area.
Orvik. My stomach makes another epic somersault.
He's not scheduled to help with any releases today.
Must be here to check on Rumple again, something he's been doing with surprising regularity.
As I watch his tall, should-be-criminal good looks unfurl from the truck, a mischievous idea forms in my mind, and a smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
I know it's wrong. I know I'm poking the bear—ahem, the kraken—but I can't help it.
The harbormaster of Saltford Bay versus ten excitable children? Now that's entertainment I can't pass up.
I know I shouldn't. It's childish and probably unprofessional.
But the thought of Orvik's perfectly ordered world being disrupted by curious kids asking a million questions is too delicious to resist. Besides, the children would love meeting a real harbormaster, especially one who helps rescue animals.
It's educational, really.
That's what I tell myself anyway.
"Hey, everyone," I announce, clapping my hands to get their attention. "I have a surprise! One of our most important team members just arrived. He's very important—he's the harbormaster of Saltford Bay, and he helped save Rumple, the seal you're about to meet!"
The children's eyes widen with interest.
"But he's very busy, so we need to be on our very best behavior. Can you do that?"
Ten heads nod solemnly, though the gleam in their eyes suggests their "best behavior" might still involve excessive questioning and wide-eyed staring.
"Perfect. Let's go welcome him!"
I position our group near the side entrance where Orvik will most likely enter.
Sure enough, the door swings open moments later, and there he is in all his imposing glory, wearing his crisp uniform, his tentacle hair bound tightly at his nape, posture military-straight.
He freezes mid-step when he sees us, his blue-green skin visibly tightening across his sharp cheekbones.
Oh, this is going to be fun!
"Harbormaster Fenmoor!" I exclaim with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"What perfect timing! We were just about to learn about marine animal rescues.
Everyone, this is Harbormaster Orvik Fenmoor, the Guardian of Saltford Bay's waters and one of our most important rescue partners!
Harbormaster Fenmoor, these are the children of the Saltford Bay summer camp! "
"Children," he says, the word sounding foreign on his tongue, "good morning."
The children stare in fascinated silence for approximately three seconds before erupting into a cacophony of questions, their words jumbling together in a meaningless ruckus.
"Wait, wait!" Orvik waves his head at the miniature mob. "One question at a time, okay?"
Orvik's eyes find mine over the children's heads, narrowing dangerously. His tentacle hair tightens against his scalp until it resembles a helmet of writhing ropes. The tentacles in his beard curl inward protectively. I bite my lip to hold back a laugh.
"Ms. Durand," he says with careful restraint, "a word?"
But before I can respond, the shy pixie girl who'd been hiding behind Miss Johnson steps forward, eyes fixed on Orvik with wonder rather than fear.
"Did you ever rescue a whale?" she asks softly.
Something in Orvik's expression shifts. The hardness doesn't disappear, but it recalibrates of a sort. He kneels down to the girl's level, his considerable height diminishing to seem less intimidating.
"Yes," he says simply. "She was tangled in a fishing net and I had to jump in the water to save her."
The girl's eyes widen.
"Were you scared?"
Orvik nods, and I notice his beard tentacles relaxing slightly, no longer curled tightly against his chin.
"Of course. But each species has different strengths, and as a kraken, I can navigate rough waters and reach depths that would be dangerous for others. I'm also stronger than most species underwater, so it was safe for me to go in there."
Just like that, the children circle him like curious fish, their initial hesitation forgotten. Orvik rises to his full height, shooting me another glare, but I can tell he's resigned himself to his fate.
"I have precisely fifteen minutes," he announces to the group. "Then I have to return to the harbor before the noon tide brings in the fishing fleet."
The children nod seriously, as if they too are concerned about the fishing fleet's schedule.
"Now," Orvik continues with unexpected patience, "questions will be taken one at a time, with raised hands." He points to dinosaur-shirt troll boy. "You first."
"How deep can you swim?"
"Approximately three thousand feet, though it's not comfortable beyond two thousand."
"Whoa!" Several children exchange impressed looks.
"You." Orvik points to an orc girl in pigtails and a yellow summer dress who smiles broadly, showing off a gap where her tusk should be.
"Do you eat people?" she asks bluntly.
I choke back a laugh as Orvik's face registers momentary shock.
"Certainly not," he says stiffly. "Krakens are primarily piscivorous. That means we like to eat fish, squid, and occasionally shellfish."
The questions keep coming, mostly focused on Orvik's kraken nature, but also on his role as harbormaster and his help in our sea rescues of injured or stranded marine animals.
I watch with growing admiration as Orvik handles each question with surprising patience. His answers are short and precise, but not unkind. For someone who maintains such careful distance from others, he's remarkably good at explaining things to children.
"Let's move on to see some of our patients," I suggest after several more questions. "Harbormaster Fenmoor, would you mind helping me show the children Rumple? You were there for his rescue, after all."
Orvik checks his watch.
"Eight minutes remaining."
He follows as I lead the group toward the rehabilitation area.
In his recovery pool, Rumple has made impressive progress in the two weeks since his rescue. The wounds from the fishing line are healing well, and he's gained nearly four pounds on his special diet. As we approach, he perks up, his whiskers twitching with interest.
"This is Rumplestiltskin," I explain to the children. "Two weeks ago, he was found tangled in fishing line that was cutting into his skin. He couldn't swim properly, and he was starving because he couldn't catch food."
The children's faces fall with sympathy.
"But thanks to Harbormaster Fenmoor and our team, we were able to rescue him and bring him here for treatment."