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Adam and Susan found themselves outside the One-Eyed Gull for the second time that evening. They had tried to enter the establishment with two guardsmen in tow, but the bartender had seen Susan and quickly put a stop to it. One officer minded them outside in the street while the other vanished into the dim depths of the bar. Their chaperone said nothing; he and his partner already had the information they needed. Adam waited in patient silence. Susan fiddled; with her dress, with her fingers, with her hair.
...Previous
Adam and Susan found themselves outside the One-Eyed Gull for the second time that evening. They had tried to enter the establishment with two guardsmen in tow, but the bartender had seen Susan and quickly put a stop to it. One officer minded them outside in the street while the other vanished into the dim depths of the bar. Their chaperone said nothing; he and his partner already had the information they needed. Adam waited in patient silence. Susan fiddled; with her dress, with her fingers, with her hair.
The other officer returned after a dishearteningly short absence. He gave his partner an entirely noncommittal look, that special coded look that civilians could not read. He cleared his throat and turned to Susan.
“Miss, the, er, gentleman in question did not seem to know what I was asking about. He said he wasn’t aware of any child aboard his ship.”
Her fidgeting fists clenched immediately.
“Liar,” she spat. “You liar!” she shouted at the din of the open door. “Where’s my baby?!”
Both officers made a move to grab her as she lunged, but Adam caught her first, by the arms.
“Susan, please,” he murmured. The officers both gave her the coded policeman’s equivalent of a grimace.
“Miss, we understand you patronized this bar earlier today?” said the investigator.
“Yes!” she snapped. “I went in there to give that FUCKING LIAR a piece of my mind!”
“When I spoke to the bartender, miss, he said you’d destroyed his property and assaulted several of his customers?” It was a question, but barely so.
“So? That man has kidnapped my son! He deserved everything I gave him!”
“I see. Have you been drinking tonight, miss?”
“Are you listening?” she shouted at the officer. “My son is being held hostage! My child has been taken from me! Why are you standing here asking me stupid questions? You should be in there getting him back!”
“Miss, we’ll do our best to investigate,” said the officer calmly, “but we need your cooperation and your patience. If you believe your son to be aboard Captain Weatherdecker’s ship, we’ll need proper warrants to search it. Our job is to uphold the peace. We’re not a cavalry.”
“This is no time for paperwork!” spat Susan. “They have my baby!”
“Do you have reason to believe he might be in danger, miss?”
“They’re pirates! Of course he’s in danger!”
“Weatherdecker wants money.” Adam cut in over her shoulder. “From me, I mean. He knows I won’t pay if something happens to Damian. The kid won’t be hurt; the debt depends on that.”
“How are you so sure?!” Susan snapped at him.
“I know him well enough. He’s stupid, Susan, but he’s not that stupid.”
The officer cleared his throat, drawing Susan’s glare away from Adam.
“I can’t promise a miracle,” he said, “but I can promise a full investigation. We’ll put out a cable with the description of your son, and ask everyone to be on the lookout. Every guardhouse in the Moonfalls already has an eye on Captain Weatherdecker, but they’ll use both at our request. In the meantime, we’ll have the paperwork put forth for a search. It’ll take some time - a privately owned vessel requires a lot of back and forth with lawyers - but we’ll go as fast as we can, miss. I promise.”
She searched. Oh, how she searched for something to get angry about in those words. But, all of a sudden, she felt tired. The rage inside her disappeared like a candle flame in a draughty room. She settled back into Adam’s embrace. His hands tightened on her shoulders.
“Thank you,” said Adam. “We really appreciate your help.”
“It’s what we’re here for, sir,” said the officer, with a nod. “Our best isn’t always ideal, but we do it anyway. Now, the both of you should head back to Port Victor. Get some rest, stay safe, and leave things to the professionals.”
“Go home?” said Susan. “Who’ll follow the ship? What if they get away?”
“Miss, that is no longer your concern. You’ve done well, but you need to keep your distance. This is now a criminal investigation; we can’t allow civilians to be involved. It’s dangerous, and irresponsible on our part. We’ll be watching them. Don’t worry.”
“How?” she demanded. “What if they sail out of your jurisdiction? What if they enter international waters? You have to send a boat after them or—“
“Susan, I’m sure they have a plan,” said Adam, squeezing her shoulders. “He told you not to worry, right? Let’s go. The sooner we’re on our way, the sooner they can get to work.” He began to guide her down the street.
“Adam, how can you—“
“We’re leaving,” he said firmly. He nodded at the guardsmen. “Goodnight, officers. Thank you again for your help.”
The candle flared up once more, white hot. She was so furious at Adam’s insistence that she temporarily forgot how to speak. She remembered, thankfully, once the officers were out of earshot.
“What the hell are you talking about, Adam?!” she snapped, pulling out of his grasp. “We can’t just go home! If we let that ship out of our sight, who knows where they’ll go?”
“I know that, Susan, that’s why we’re not going home,” said Adam quietly. “Who do you take me for? Of course we’re gonna follow them. You just can’t say that in front of the bronze, y’know? Especially after they told you not to.” He took her by the hand. “Let’s get back to the tug.”
The baby didn’t care much for sardines. Cheeses were fine. Biscuits worked, as long as they were properly mushed up. Mr. Tiller had picked up some fruit in Coraqua; the baby liked that best of all.
The baby was a boy, as Mr. Tiller discovered at the first diaper change. He had carefully taken apart the puzzle of pins and cotton, and put it back together again clean. He’d picked up a few more of those in Coraqua as well.
They were well underway to Charleston, the wind at their backs along with Coraqua. Also at their backs was a small, shabby-looking tugboat. Mr. Airedale kept an eye on this as he saw to his correspondences during afternoon tea. He had a book propped in his lap as a makeshift desk.
A strange squealing noise made him look up from his work. He glanced over his shoulder at the aft deck ladder. A small bobbly head of brown curls was peeking up over the edge.
“C’mon,” he heard another voice say. “One more!”
The baby was boosted up over the lip of the deck. It pulled itself to its unsteady feet and started to toddle furiously, to nowhere in particular. Mr. Airedale did not seem to exist in its eyes. It ran in circles, and fell over, and got up again, and ran some more. The limp stuffed tiger in its hand flopped like a flag with each step.
Mr. Tiller came up the ladder next, keeping a close eye on the baby. He hovered near the precarious edge as he spoke.
“Mornin’, Mr. Airedale. Hope we’re not disturbin’ you.”
“Not at all, Mr. Tiller. The company is most welcome.” The baby completed another arc across his field of vision. Though he did not mind terribly, he was reminded why he had avoided having children of his own. While resilient and resourceful, they did look rather foolish. “Lovely to see you again. It has been far too long.”
“Certainly has,” agreed Tiller. He leaned against the railing. “I’ve been busy with this little tyke.”
Airedale contemplated the child, currently slapping a baluster repeatedly for no apparent reason.
“As I can imagine. Has he been behaving himself, Mr. Tiller?”
“Oh, very much so. He’s a lovely little boy, this one.”
“I am very glad to hear it. I do feel awful, keeping this mite from his parents, especially so young. But, he has found a friend in you, I see. That makes it a bit more bearable.”
Tiller beamed proudly. He tried to ruffle the baby’s hair as it ran past, ignoring him completely.
“Certainly does,” he agreed. Then he gave a little chuckle. “Like havin’ my own little first mate!”
Mr. Airedale did not return the chuckle, but he smiled curtly.
“Amusing,” he agreed. That was the closest one could get to a laugh from Timothy Airedale. The baby toddled over to Tiller and demanded to be picked up. Tiller swept him up in his arms like he’d been doing it for years.
“You don’t have kids, do ya, Airedale?”
“No,” said Mr. Airedale, after a moment of silence. “No, I do not. I had a brother,” he reflected. “Six years my junior, though he died in infancy.”
“Oh,” sighed Tiller. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Inevitable, I am afraid. He fell ill, and would have suffered the effects for the rest of his life. It was a mercy, really.” He paused to take a sip of tea, staring at the sloshing ocean. “Other than that brief interlude, I have not spent much time around children.”
Mr. Tiller was about to respond when the boy suddenly wrenched his arm loose from Tiller’s chest, pointing urgently at the eastern horizon.
“Wa!” he shouted.
“Yeah, yeah,” assured Tiller. “Lots of it out there, little guy.”
“Wa!” insisted Damian.
Mr. Airedale twisted around in his chair, to see what all the shouting was about. He set down his teacup and stood, slowly. A sudden smile had taken his features.
“That is the boy’s word for ‘water’, is it?”
“Yeah. He can only do one bit at a time. Still a baby, really.”
“Wa!”
“We know, little guy! Lotsa water.” Tiller guided the boy’s arm away from the sea. “Mr. Airedale an’ I were talkin’, eh? Don’t interrupt,” he said sternly.
“Why, he was not interrupting at all, Mr. Tiller. Perhaps you should have a look where he was pointing.”
The boatswain turned slowly, and froze. Huge black stormclouds had gathered to the east. Though distant for now, the wind was a near guarantee that the ship would be set upon soon.
“Storm!” came the holler from the crow’s nest. “Storm brewin’ east! Batten down!”
“It seems your first mate is quite the seasoned sailor, Mr. Tiller. Perhaps we will have a crewman of him yet.” He bowed his head as he moved past them to the ladder. “If you will excuse me, I believe we have some maneuvers to run.”
Susan stood at the bow of the SS Cartleblat, her hands tight on the railing. She didn’t look up, even as the rain started to fall. Even as the sky darkened and the wind began to bite, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ship ahead.
The wind whistling in her ears grew louder as the tug’s engines started to fade. Startled, she looked back at the bridge. Adam was busy at the controls, ignoring her completely. The hull started to drag against the waves, slowing, drifting sideways.
Susan ran down the deck, now slick with rain, and charged up the bridge ladder. She busted down the door with some help from the ever-rising wind.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded.
“This storm is getting ready to let loose,” Adam said firmly. He pulled a lever on the console, and the tug started to turn in place. “We have to get to a port. St. Ander’s is only a few minutes away at full steam.”
“What?” she snapped. “Adam, we have to keep going. We can’t lose them now!”
“We don’t have a choice, Susan.”
“Why not?!” she barked. “Adam, you can’t do this. You said we would follow them!”
“I said that BEFORE the hurricane started, Susan! I don’t have time to argue about this because I’d rather live!” He readjusted the lever, and the tug began to grind forward through the wild waves. The sky outside was nearly black, now. The windows of the pilothouse were rattling in the gale. Susan took a deep, calming breath.
“If they can sail through—“ she began.
“They have a galleon. WE have a sardine can. We’ll be lucky if the wind doesn’t tear off the roof!”
“But—“
“Which is it, Susan?” snapped Adam. “You wanna risk losing them, or you wanna risk your life?”
She thought about arguing, and then she thought of the children at the home. The poor little things whose parents had died at sea.
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