Charlie and the Ship II (Day 5)

Continued from Day 4.

* * *

In the momentary flicker between sundown and twilight, the ship had come to life.

Its crewmen now walked the deck that had been empty a moment ago, and sat in the rigging where there'd just been only white sails. There was a man in the crow's nest, watching the sea. There was someone at the helm, his hands firm on the tiller and eyes set on some distant spot where the sea met the earth. Most of them were barefoot and wore cotton trousers, except for the helmsman, who had leather boots on his feet and a suit the colour of a murder of crows.

They all seemed to be only half there somehow -- their feet made no noise on the wooden deck, and when you looked at them, you saw them but you also saw the ship through them; it was as if they existed and did not exist at the same time.

On the starboard horizon, the sun was now completely gone, with only the lukewarm imprint of twilight to remember it had ever been there. Soon that, too, would be gone. And then there would be darkness.

"Ghosts..." stammered Charlie. He wanted to run, but he couldn't make himself move. He settled with trying to grip the deck with his fingers, to the point where all the blood drained from his knuckles.

"Aye, I suppose they is," chirped Melissa. "Wanna go ask Mister John about how the ship works now?"

"No!" Charlie regained control of himself, though only barely. He tried to back into the bulwark, not really knowing why. Perhaps he wanted to sink into it and be lost forever.

Melissa studied him. "Are you scared of ghosts, Mister Charlie?"

"Yes!"

"Oh." She looked surprised, and a little taken aback. "Why is you scared of ghosts, Mister Charlie?"

He had no answer to this. Melissa tugged at the sleeve of his soggy shirt.

"Come on, Mister Charlie. Mister John is a nice man. You is gonna like him lots, I promise. Come on!" When Charlie didn't budge, she grimaced and tried to make her voice authoritative: "Mister Charles Dobson! It are most peculiar manners to not introduce yusself to the Captain of a ship such as has taken you aboard!"

Charlie gave in. He rose to his shaky feet.

The pall lifted from Melissa's face. "He's over here, Mister Charlie!" she beamed, dragging him to the stern deck by the cuffs.

The man at the helm looked every bit a pirate captain. He was tall and lean, garbed in a rather striking mixture of heavy fabrics and fine silk. It looked all black from a distance, but from close up you could see that it was really composed of a plethora of dark colours -- among them the exact yellow of tarnished gold and the red of dried blood; the green of Scandinavian pine and the brown of African soil after the rain; and, of course, the deep, penetrating blue of the night sea. The most prominent piece of blue was his captain's hat, which he raised in greeting.

His features, surprisingly, were soft.

There was no cutlass at the Captain's hip. He didn't have a talking parrot, or a wooden leg, or an eyepatch. He didn't need props.

When the Captain spoke, his voice was light and resonant. What he said was, "Greetings. I hope we didn't startle you too greatly. We are not used to visitors, I'm afraid. I'm called John Duke. I captain this vessel. Whom do I have the pleasure to meet?"

Charlie's mouth worked silently for a while, before he could produce any words. "My name is Charles Dobson. Pleased to meet you." He added the last part like someone who isn't entirely sure what he's saying is going to prove true.

"Delighted, sir. You were in luck to be found by us. You were drifting on the North Atlantic stream, and would have been swept all the way to the Arctic, had we not intervened."

"You'd have freezed by then," interjected Melissa.

The Captain tsk'ed, and Melissa lowered her eyes. "I'm afraid the young lady's observation is quite correct, though," he said. "The gods must have been watching over you."

"I'm afraid I'm an atheist, Captain," said Charlie automatically.

"I'm sure that doesn't bother them one bit, Charles Dobson." The Captain glanced at the deck. "The crew will be putting up the lanterns soon."

Only a thin strip of light remained at the edge of the horizon, glowing the dying red of cooled iron. Everything but the starred sky with its thin crescent of a moon and a small patch of stern deck was engulfed in darkness. Then, specks of light emerged from somewhere in the depths of the ship. They moved around on the deck for a moment, like fireflies under hypnosis, until one of them widened to the shape and illumination of a lantern.

One by one, they flickered to life, casting some pale light onto the deck. The crewmen made no sound on their feet, and they did not need or did not wish to speak, so the whole affair was conducted in complete silence.

The last lantern traveled across the ship and up the stairs to the helm. It was carried by a woman, dark and slender and tall (though not as tall as the Captain), and the light of the lantern played on the gold of her earrings.

"Thank you, Cindy." The Captain's voice was soft now, like the magnified sound of feathers whispering. She smiled. And then, noiselessly and swiftly as she had come, she was gone.

The Captain hung the lantern on a nail in a post that stood next to the tiller. When its light fell on him, it wasn't strong enough to make him disappear, but it turned him pale and faint, like morning mist.

"Look," he said. The ship was wreathed in lanterns - they hung at the bow, the bulwark, the riggings - and their light was like a veil on the ship. "Isn't it beautiful?"

They watched. The waves washed solemnly against the ship's hull, and it must have been in agreement.

It was Charlie who broke the silence. "Captain. I, um, thought that pirates were, well, nasty. Bloodthirsty and vile and... you know." He blushed, feeling foolish about making these accusations to the Captain, who never failed to keep his hands steady on the tiller, whose face was a mask of utter calm. "It's in all the stories," he defended, feeling that he ought to, somehow.

"Oh, I suppose most of them are nasty. Or were. But death, well, with death cease the hormones, ceases the anger, ceases the rush to live as much as possible as fast as possible. Death frees us from need. Death gives us tranquility." Pause. "And moreover, we are retired pirates."

Charlie nodded. "I suppose it has to be true. I mean, look at you. You're like Serenity himself."

"Herself," the Captain corrected. "And I do not fancy that I resemble her much. But I don't doubt your words were meant purely as a compliment, and I am grateful."

Charlie watched for a moment as the Captain guided the ship across the sea, like the groom guides his veiled bride to the altar.

"Captain?"

"Yes."

"Where are we headed?"

"To the Old Continent. To see the Golden Merchant."

* * *

Continued on Day 6.

Well, I'm early. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

I'll see when I get around to writing the entry for the sixth day. (I should be able to cook up more about the Ship, but I make no promises.) Maybe I'll do most of it today already. Maybe I'll do a bigger batch. Maybe I'll slack off and leave it to the last minute again. Maybe maybe maybe.

I guess we'll see.