Chapter Thirty-Five Finlyr
chapter thirty-five
finlyr
It’s my habit to wander the deck in the early morning, when the rest of the crew are still asleep.
I had forgotten that some of our new crewmates will never need to sleep again.
I nearly bash a door in the face of an undead wearing a tattered hat, who is momentarily perplexed by the obstacle, before moving around it.
‘Sorry,’ I say, reflexively, before shaking my head at my own stupidity. A shudder runs down my spine at the smell, a pervasive rot that has been with us since our additional crew was awoken by the map. Even the salt-brine air up here can’t quite rid the stench from my nostrils.
Despite this, I’m pleased to see we’re keeping course and the seas remain calm enough that sending everyone down to rest was a decent choice.
Still, I don’t like to be away from the helm for too long.
I breathe in the salt air and look around at the peach-blush skies.
It feels good to be back on the open water.
I have new eyes looking at this ship and remembering the years spent upon its decks.
There’s not a section of wood or rope I have not laid hands or eyes upon.
I didn’t realise how landlocked I’d felt in Umasa, biding my time, not knowing if the next day would be my last. But it didn’t feel how it had before the noose.
That felt heady and free. The time at Narra’s had been more like watching sand fall through an hourglass.
The future slipping through your fingers.
To my surprise, I find Isagani standing on the taffrail, leaning precariously over the side of the ship.
They lower a net into the water. It’s got a homespun quality about it, but I have to admit I’m impressed.
After watching them teach Biba Lassairian hitches, I figured Isagani has some nautical knowledge after all. Still waters run deep and all that.
‘Catch anything?’ I ask, and they startle, nearly going overboard. I catch Isagani by the scruff of the neck, much as I did the night we commandeered this vessel. I pull them back to their feet and grab the edge of the net, fastening it to the taffrail.
‘I thought you were Big Red!’ they say, clutching their chest.
‘Who?’
Isagani points to a tall and broad corpse wearing red britches, currently at the helm.
‘Thanks for the flattering comparison. You’re not seriously naming them, are you?’
Isagani shrugs. ‘Why not? They were people once.’
My stomach squirms as I look at the undead crew. ‘Once.’ I turn to survey Isagani’s net, a welcome distraction. ‘Well, you’ve not got any sinkers on this.’ I laugh as the net continues to float like a jellyfish on the water’s surface.
‘I didn’t know that,’ Isagani snaps, crossing their arms. They pull their wide-brimmed hat down to cover their reddening face.
I whip it off and scruff their hair. They’re no longer playing at merchant’s daughter and have taken to loose, comfortable garb and tying their hair back from their face.
‘I was trying to catch some fish, to make a nice breakfast for everyone.’
I hide my heart-melted smile.
‘I’ll help you after breakfast and maybe we can have a nice fish lunch or supper – how about that?’
When we go down to the galley, I’m alarmed to see one of the undead cooking.
They are clattering about the cramped counters, pots of upended herbs and discarded half-chopped ingredients littering the surfaces.
They bounce their head off the pots and pans, which hang from the ceiling rack.
They’ve a fire going on the stovetop, with the flames alarmingly close to their rags.
A pot bubbles over with what looks like rice porridge, the undead stirring haphazardly.
‘I suppose breakfast is served?’ Isagani says, an amused grin on their face. ‘I’ll wake the others.’
We all sit in bemused silence, bowls of slop in front of us, as the undead chef goes off to find other duties.
‘A corpse made this?’ Ris says, failing to hide her disgust.
Everyone plays with their food, and I realise we’re each waiting for the other to take a spoonful first. I taste the porridge and let it sit on my tongue.
It’s plenty hot, which is the only thing I feel for a while, until eventually the flavour begins to burn through.
It’s creamy, a bit gritty, and then there’s something sour.
At first it’s almost pleasant and my mind recognises it as calamansi.
I can see the yellow fruit rinds on the counter next to the empty pot.
Then an earthy taste, almost damp dirt. I look at the calamansi again and notice dark brown spots on the undersides.
My throat can’t bear to swallow. I dribble the foul mess back into the bowl.
‘Fin, that’s bad manners,’ Biba says.
‘Rotten,’ I try to say.
‘What?’ Ris asks, sniffing the porridge. She takes a tentative bite, flicking her tongue against the spoon like a lizard. She instantly recoils and pushes the bowl away. ‘That’s awful! How did it take you that long to notice?’
I shrug, trying to contain my nausea.
‘What happened?’ Isagani asks.
I suspect I know what happened, but I have to see it with my own eyes. I indicate for everyone to follow and we make our way over to the storeroom. I unlock it and am hit with a musty, foul aroma. My heart sinks. This confirms it.
Everything was stored properly, or so I thought. I had done a cursory check but excuse me for trusting the Seaguardians actually know the first thing about sailing. The queen’s finest indeed.
‘What are we going to do? Is everything ruined?’ Isagani says, voice beginning to take on panic.
‘We’ll have to ration,’ Ris has already begun to strategise.
‘I say we mutiny,’ Sinigang chimes in.
‘Look, can we all just take a breath? Let’s take stock of everything first before we start catastrophising, yes?’
They reluctantly agree, and we begin to rootle around in the cupboard, assessing every item for ruin.
It is not as bad as I had imagined, but the calamansi has begun to rot, a green fur forming on the underside of some of them and an unpleasant squishiness when I inspect them.
My hands feel around the walls. By Paranish, there’s damp in here.
This wouldn’t have happened under my command.
Must have been those damned Seaguardians.
Don’t they know a storeroom’s supposed to stay dry?
Idiots to the crown. For fuck’s sake, there’s barely room for one person in here.
We bump in the half-light, all elbows and knees.
‘I need some fresh air,’ Ris says, backing out of the cupboard.
She stands on the deck, backlit by sunlight, a proud silhouette, arms akimbo.
What she doesn’t know is that the sun is also lighting up the shape of her body beneath her linen garments.
I avert my eyes. She can probably sense my thoughts and by Paranish this is not the time for it.
‘Not everything is lost,’ I say, matter-of-factly. ‘The water is fine. We should dry everything out here. It’s a pleasant day for it.’
I look up and Sinigang is staring sourly at me. ‘So, we’re all agreed the undead should stay out of the kitchen.’
‘You may as well help me fix my net now,’ Isagani sighs, watching the scattered food items drying in the sun on the deck. ‘So we can at least have something for breakfast.’
I retrieve stone net sinkers from the now-empty store cupboard and attach them to the net one by one.
‘You need to spread them out properly to ensure the weight is evenly distributed.’
‘And how often do I need to check the nets?’
I stand straight and look at Isagani. Their eagerness would be endearing to anyone with a kind heart. But I can also hear something underneath it. Not just eagerness, but eagerness to please.
‘Where did you learn the Lassairian hitch, Isagani?’
They shift uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of their boot against the decking. ‘My grandmother.’
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. ‘Was she a sailor?’
Isagani shakes their head. ‘Not quite. Fisherfolk on the Summer Isle. Lassairian hitches were better for nets, she said.’
‘A noble enterprise, fishing.’
‘It was, until the waters got poisoned.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It happened slowly, the coral reefs dying, species of smaller fish disappearing. We barely had enough to feed ourselves, never mind pay the royals’ tithe. That’s when the Bastion took notice.’
This is the most words Isagani has ever strung together, and I find myself holding my breath, afraid to break the spell.
‘Blamed my grandmother, insisted she pay her debt. I knew they’d come for me after she passed. Debts don’t die with you apparently.’
‘So you ran,’ I whisper, placing a hand over theirs.
They flinch, then look up at me, pouting proudly. ‘What would you have done?’
‘The exact same thing,’ I say softly. ‘You looked out for yourself. And you’re not the only one.’
‘It was never the right time, she said, to leave Paranish. Our family lived there for generations; she wouldn’t abandon our home. For all the good that loyalty did her.’
‘She’d be proud of you, kid. And I’ll make good on her wish. I’ll take you to a fresh start, if we survive this.’
Silence covers us like a blanket. We watch the gentle movement of the waves and listen to the slop of the water hitting the bow.
Slowly the fish enter the net, the stillness making it invisible to them.
‘Now?’ Isagani asks.
‘Wait until it’s the right time,’ I insist.
Others gather, thinking it must be safe for how many fish are there, chomping on the hull’s algae.
‘Pull!’
We tug at the net, and the weights move upwards, tightening the net around the fish. They flip-flop as we haul them onto the deck, gasping for air until they are still.
‘It worked!’ Isagani yells, delighted. ‘Should I take these to Ris?’
I examine the fish, making sure they’re all dead. There’s a surprising variety of species here, including deepwater luminous roughy, tiny dragonfish with deadly teeth, and translucent glass squid shaped more like a bird than a marine creature.
‘You’ve done well, Isagani. I’ll take it from here.’
I haul the net across the deck and down to the galley, slapping it down on the floor triumphantly. ‘Look what Isagani reeled in.’
Ris turns her attention from the counter, where she’s reorganising the food for the store cupboard. At first she seems surprised by the strange marine creatures, and then she smiles.
‘We’ll have pickled fish for days,’ she says, pointing to the myriad jars on the counter.
‘Could make a nice fish stew or a pie or a . . . grilled . . . there’s plenty of other things you can make with fish.’
‘That’s true,’ she considers, tapping her finger on her lips. ‘But let’s just say your menu is a tad . . . repetitive.’
‘At least it’s not mouldy porridge.’
‘Fine,’ she concedes, clearing the sink. ‘Help me prepare these, will you?’
‘We’ll have to gut them all now,’ I say, hauling the net into the sink.
‘We can salt what we don’t eat now.’ She pauses. ‘The salt is still dry, isn’t it?’
I make a non-committal noise. ‘I think so.’
She sighs, raising her eyes to the skies. ‘Paranish, just give me a knife.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘You want me to furnish you with a weapon?’
‘You want me to only gut the fish?’ she asks, leaning past me to grab a knife and a slippery candidate from the net.
We work in amiable silence for a while and when Ris next opens her mouth, I’m surprised to hear her tone is sincere.
‘Where did you learn to chop like that?’
‘Why, are you intimidated?’
‘No, you’re making a mess of it.’
I look down at my handiwork and then at Ris’s neater pile of innards. ‘Where does a farmer get off telling a sailor about fish?’
‘By Aistra, your pride is a bruised mango.’ She laughs. ‘Come here.’
She takes my knife and nudges me playfully aside, standing before my work and demonstrating. ‘You’re too fast; you need to slow down and hold this bit here so it doesn’t tear away. Peel it back, layer by layer. Like undressing a lover.’
My face must be an open book; she laughs at my discomfort. ‘Are you confessing that Biba’s father was a siren?’ I jest.
Her body stiffens, and I step back from the heat of her body. I hadn’t realised we were so close to one another.
‘Try to keep it cleaner with the next one,’ she says, but the warmth and levity is gone from her voice.
‘Did I do something?’ I ask, gently.
‘Just realised how hungry I am,’ she says, with a tight smile. ‘Let’s get some of these ready for eating.’