What Captain Said #3

He’s gone now.

Ship’s Log

The Racing Marlin

Entry # 3

20th February, 1916

Hookstone Bay, Hatri-Aegis

Clear day, Parse clouds, No wind

They’ve left. After about a score of days in the bay, they rooted up and left. Not a day too soon, many say. Called south, the sailors said. South, towards the war. More pressing matters, that Admiral shouted. But I alone received a pact, they found what they were looking for, whatever illustrious and ominous artefact they were searching for, and finally knew different.

Early today I heard that one of the Smokers made port, resupplying. I thought I’d take it as an opportunity to speak with them. Many of the angry lot in Hookstone wanted to have a word with them as well, they hadn’t unpacked fresh food for a fortnight. For all the Smoker’s crew here were gathering up anything that wasn't bolted down, bleeding the starved commoners dry for all they got… Except the invisible food, of course. Oh, but nicely enough they eventually decided to share, made an announcement that they had plenty of cuisine onboard, and they were kind enough to ration out a rat’s portion. Canned goods and such. I guess that puts them all in a well-enough mood…

There had to have been a hundred of those swabbies up and down the wooden-boarded port, running this way and that, laden with heavy barrels and crates of whatever their officer ordered. Too busy to pay, said many of them. The navy would pay them off later. Of course there were many merchants who didn’t take kindly to it too, but besides their salty smelling bodies, they all were well armed, and that’s what they had in common… so no-one said any different.

I grabbed one of them bustling by my side by the arm and barked at him, demanding for his officer. He turned a scallop-color and whined about my grip, which I then calmly told him my grip was daisies compared to what the officer might think, refusing good information like I had. His sun-bleached hair waved up and down madly, and in a timid limp he brought me beside the Smoker he belonged to. Standing there, in a circle of men who looked about the same standing, was one more decorated.

Maybe a bit older than me, his yellow face had a lop smile and dying scalp. He dogged me for a moment about dallying his time, but I asked him a strong question to quiet him up for a moment. Why’re you here? The question was blunt, and I hoped it to be. Anger flashed across his face, then a look of exasperation. No answer, he answered promptly and shallowly.

Well if you’re looking for a person, I’ve seen them. My scratchy words lit up his face, a darned look of surprise and instant readiness. He was a dog, I could see it, sniffing up a scent on a trail, and he needed more. I showed him my crumpled ballot of passenger names, the most recent I wrote. I pointed to the last name down along the lines, and smiled. Well, that person is most mournfully no longer here, I roughed with sly disappointment. But, if you’re willing to take your fleet and sail off, I’ll tell you the direction they paddled in.

It was a rough guess. But I’m also a man of rough superstition, and I don’t lightly forget signs. It was both their looks that proved something to me at the last moment of indecisiveness. The lady a time ago, a look of someone who hasn’t the time to think about what she’s done, and the sailors, a look of meticulous pursuit. And that pursuit, I knew they’re not sure this lady’s worth it. Or maybe I imagined it. I just wanted them gone.

And right I was, because then like his tailcoat was on fire, that scruffy captain gathered up his men with a long swish of his arm and piled them back onto the cramped behemoth. He howled something along the lines of “The Port’s yours!” as they flew off, the tired crew looking mournful heading back to sea. Smoke trails still line the sky, pointing off between the clouds until I can’t look any farther.

Guilt was a drop of what I felt, but any real seasoned captain would know searching for one person in the Mire is impossible, no matter how big of a fleet you have. Needle in a hay stack. What that lady did, I better not know, but I wish her the most luck I can give. Why the navy kept their search a secret, I didn’t bother asking. Probably was embarrassing for them, trying to keep quiet whatever she messed up. Seemed smart enough to run this far, and that’ll help her too. I’m well convinced she’ll make it. She received twenty days of well-starting from a kind-hearted captain. I could’ve made it ten.

We’re off now, I’m making sure to avoid these waters for a while,
-Captain J. Hedret
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6:00 PM: Fully resupplied, crew gathered.
7:00 PM: Preparations made
8:00 PM: We’re off now.
9:00 PM: Leaving the Bay.
10:00 PM…