Jimmy the Fish aboard QOV: Sprayhawk

Jimmy the Fish aboard QOV:Sprayhawk


    Jeremy Farthington O’Toole was drowning.  He fought against ocean’s clammy grasp, but his hands found no purchase.  He’d always been a strong swimmer.  Jimmy the Fish, his Pa had called him, and his sailor friends had laughed.  “Takes to water as if he were born to it, he does,” they’d say.  He’d always loved the water.
After a few moments of combating the seizures of his lungs as they fought for air, Jimmy decided that water must not love him back very much.

    When he thought he could stand it no longer, Jimmy gave in and opened his mouth, resigning himself to his fate.  After a few breaths, though, he realized that he was breathing air… and that the water against his lips had been replaced by something softer and decidedly more pleasant.

    Jimmy started to struggle weakly, and felt soft limbs envelop his shoulders, and felt something press against his chest (a woman?) that he knew his mother would tell him he by rights oughtn’t think about, him being a boy of fourteen summers and not yet a man grown.  He also knew his Pa would likely agree with her until she left the room.  Then he’d give his boy a grin, a wink, and a puff of his briar pipe, all the while speaking loudly in a stern voice so that Ma could hear them through the door.

    Jimmy realized that he’d done a very good job not thinking about what he oughtn’t, and then realized that what he felt against his knees and ankles was nearly as intriguing, seeing as how it felt less like legs and more like the tail of a giant fish.  Jimmy’s eyes shot open, but here in the middle of the Parlund Channel, several fathoms deep, at night, there wasn’t much to see.  Jimmy realized that fish out here must get awfully bored.

    Realizing that he’d done enough realizing for one day, and suddenly too tired to care anymore, Jimmy relaxed in the curious, warm embrace and passed out.

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    Jimmy twitched in the mermaid’s embrace.  There, he thought, I’ve come to terms with what she is.  Perhaps now I can open my eyes and see this mythical creature.  When I get back home, Pa’s going to want all the details.  Like, for example, I didn’t know mermaids had beards.

    Eyes shooting open, Jimmy had just time to register that he was most definitely NOT kissing a mermaid before his lungs decided that they were most definitely NOT gills and ejected all the water he’d previously inhaled in a most violent and uncomfortable manner.

    Jimmy the Fish rolled onto his side and started hacking up seawater, coughing and retching and generally feeling miserable.  He felt a hand slapping his back as a gruff voice said “There now… there ye are.  Get it all out.  First dry inside, then dry outside, I always say.”

    After his heaving lungs had finally settled down, Jimmy squinted up at the large silhouette looming between him and the sun.  Gradually he began to make out details; a black bandanna tied loosely about shaggy grey curls, a salt-and-pepper beard that had been tied into four separate braids, and a bedraggled, green silk vest that had to have belonged to this gentleman’s great-great-grandfather.

    Weakly, Jimmy sputtered at the giant shadow, “You’re not a mermaid.”

    The immediate response was a booming laugh from the big man, as well as from several other spectators Jimmy hadn’t noticed.  Looking about him awkwardly, he saw that several other men had gathered around.  Jimmy looked up in confusion at the large man.  “Where am I?”

    Before he could answer, a sharp whistle cut through the air.  “Mister Fisk!  Get that minnow squared away and off of my deck.  And if the rest of you dogs have nothing better to do I will find something for you.  That deck won’t swab itself.”

    The sailors all vanished in a near-magical fashion, and Jimmy saw a whipcord-lean figure with long, black curls and a neatly trimmed mustache (Jimmy thought he looked a bit of a fop) step back inside the door into the cabin of what, it seemed to Jimmy, must be a sailing vessel and close it on the proceedings with some degree of force.  The great graying giant that Jimmy assumed must be Fisk reached his hand down to the boy curled up on the planking and hauled him effortlessly up to his feet.  “Welcome, little fella.  Ye find yerself aboard QOV Sprayhawk.  That’s Queen’s Own Vessel.  I’d be the ship’s mate, name of Bartholomew Fisk.  Of course, none of the dogs here can be troubled to say me full name, so Fisk will do.  Or Bart.  Or Mister Fisk, if ye hap’n to be my employer at the time, but that’s no concern of yers.  And who might ye be?”

    Wiping his face, Jimmy remembered his manners enough to bow and extend a hand.  “Jeremy Farthington O’Toole, at your service, Sir.  At least, as much as I can be, considering I don’t think I’d be much good for anything right now.  I’ll do what I can to find myself useful until you can stop into the next port, seeing as how I’d like to possibly do something to earn enough from you to maybe afford passage back to Parlund-by-the-Sea, that being my home an’ all.  But anyway, Mister Fisk Sir, if you’d be so kind as to give me a few minutes to collect myself I’ll be more than happy to jump right into whatever you’ve got that needs doin’.  I’ve helped my Pa on his ship a few times, it’s a fishing vessel called Old Tom’s Hook, on account of some sailor’s story my Pa won’t tell me ‘cause he says I’m too young, maybe you’ve heard of it?  But he taught me-“

    “Whoa there, little fella.  Ye’ve sure enough got a lot on your mind, don’t ye now.  Well, come with me and we’ll get ye a place to sleep and summat to eat, and we’ll see the cap’n about arrangements for ye.  And maybe you can tell me why ye were drinkin’ your fill o’ seawater while we’re at it.”  Fisk took Jimmy’s hand and began leading him towards the rear of the ship, and the door that had so recently been used to punctuate the  fop’s tirade.

    “The Captain?” Jimmy asked, ignoring the big man’s question, “is that the rude, skinny man with the loud voice?  I don’t like him… why don’t you mutiny?  I’m sure you’d be a much nicer captain than he is.”

    Fisk stopped dead and began turning the same shade of purple Jimmy’s Pa did when deep in his cups and deeply offended by some imagined insult.  Jimmy started shrinking back slightly until he heard a few snickers slip past Fisk’s lips, followed by a roaring belly laugh as the man doubled over and began slapping his knee.  Wiping a tear from his eye, the large man turned and knelt in front of Jimmy, bringing them eye to eye.  “Now, lad, there’s somethin’ ye should know about our good cap’n.  There’s not a man aboard the Sprayhawk hasn’t had the same thoughts sneak between his ears a time or two, and there’s not a man aboard the Sprayhawk as would follow through on it.  Cap’n Rousseau’s no angel, but he’s gotten the men aboard this vessel through hell and back more times than we can count on all our fingers combined.  He’d give his life for any of us, and we’d do the same for him, without a second though.”

    “So you’re not going to mutiny because you trust him, even though you don’t always like him?”  Jimmy asked.

    “Aye, lad.  That, and there’s no doubt in my mind that never has a deadlier man sailed the seas of this world than Captain Robert Rousseau.

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