Oh yes. I’ve said those words. I said them with sixteen other people, in fact.
“It hurts that you don’t trust me, Huck,” she said. “But you know, it hurts more that I can’t trust you now.”
“I get that,” he said. “You deserve better.”
She found a cage for him. It felt appropriate that she should put him back in one, and Crow had a couple of the appropriate size for keeping messenger birds.
It broke Tress’s heart to leave Huck inside, huddled against the bars, refusing to face her. But she had a crew to protect, and she couldn’t risk Huck doing something even more drastic to stop them. As it was, she barely contained her frustration. They were so close. Now they’d have to sail across the entire Crimson and restock.
Moons…could they afford to restock? How was she going to pay the crew? Would they continue as pirates? And if she did find Charlie, what then? Disband the crew? Give the ship to Salay and go home? Her focus on reaching the Sorceress had let her, so far, procrastinate addressing these questions. Payroll didn’t seem so pressing when you expected to get captured and turned into a marmoset the next week.
These thoughts weighed on her as she opened the door and found a collection of Dougs waiting outside.
By now, Tress knew them all personally. The one at the front, holding her cap, was a good-natured woman who had once explained that she thought birds were the souls of the dead, watching over sailors as they traveled. It had been awkward, considering Tress had been serving pigeon pie that night; the Doug had just laughed and said that was a way of helping.
They all had quirks like that. Personalities, dreams, lives. Human beings are like the shorelines of continents. The closer you look, the more detail you see, basically into infinity. If I didn’t practice narrative triage, you’d be here all week listening to how a Doug once got so drunk, she ended up as queen.
Today, fortunately for us, they acted in concert—and in service of the story. Because they had something to tell Tress.
“Let’s keep going, Captain,” the lead Doug said. “If you don’t mind. Let’s keep sailing, and go save that man of yours.”
“But, the food…” Tress said.
“Pardon, Captain,” another Doug said, “but we can eat verdant for a little while.”
“Agreed,” said another. “If it helps you, we can eat weeds for a few weeks.”
“Wait. You can eat verdant vines?” Tress asked.
The Dougs were shocked to hear she didn’t know this. You might be too, as it was mentioned earlier in the story as clever foreshadowing. But Tress had been distracted during that conversation, and had missed the point. Besides, few people who had grown up on islands had to know that the vines were technically edible. Because on islands, there was so much better food you could grow with far less danger, assuming you had access to soil or compost vats.
Even her family, poor though it had been, had always had normal food to eat. Regardless, people could survive on verdant vines, provided they were fully grown, a process that involved soaking them for a day. They provided some few calories and nutrients. Do it too long without supplemental protein and you’ll have a rough time, but they could manage to get to the Sorceress’s island and back on vines, plus what they had remaining.
Behind her, Huck looked at his feet. He was realizing that in the end, his betrayal hadn’t even accomplished anything.
“Thank you,” Tress said to the Dougs.
“Captain,” the one at the front said, “we spent a month eating Fort’s food. Then you started cooking dinners that didn’t taste like they were scraped off the bottom of a shoe and…well, we can survive a little verdant.”
“Besides,” another added, “it’s worth continuing. After this, we’re gonna be the only pirates who ever robbed the Sorceress herself!”
THE MALIGNED FASHION EXPERT
About that.
Tress knew that there was a hole in her plans. In fact, there were exceedingly more holes in her plan than there were wholes. For example, she couldn’t be certain she’d correctly guessed the island’s location. Even if she had, there was no guarantee their plans would work. She might not be able to get past the Sorceress’s defenses.
All of those issues, however, were secondary to the biggest one. Lurking like a shadow beneath the ocean. Her focus so far had revolved around getting to the island, then into the tower.
But what then?
How under the moons was she going to find, then rescue Charlie? How would Tress deal with the Sorceress? Their plan involved firing cannons at the metal servants on the beach. That would make a ruckus and certainly draw attention.
How would Tress, after making so much noise, secretly get to the tower so that…
So that Huck could let them in.
Her confidence wavered. Well, it had been wavering for days—not unexpectedly, considering its flimsy foundation. Now it threatened to topple right over. Their plans had relied on Huck letting them into the tower. Now that obviously wasn’t an option.
Tress felt sick about this, but no solutions revealed themselves over the next few days. The ship sailed inexorably toward the terrible Midnight Moon, until it reached the border. That place where spores mingled, like a scar that was festering and black on one side. A limb that had suffered full necrosis.
Black spores, stretching to infinity. Tress watched from the quarterdeck, feeling an unnatural quiet as the Dougs stilled and even the sails seemed to hold their breaths. It was here, the Midnight Sea.
Salay looked to Tress.
“Drop anchor, Helmswoman,” Tress said. “It’s nearly night. I shouldn’t like to sail that sea in darkness.”
“Agreed,” Salay said.
“Keep a double watch tonight,” Tress suggested. “I don’t fancy being taken by surprise—either by rain, or by something else coming up through that darkness.”
Salay nodded, visibly uncomfortable.
Tress moved to go down to her cabin, then paused. “Salay. Have you ever heard of anyone sailing it successfully?”
“The Verdant King keeps sending fleets to try to capture the Sorceress,” Salay said. “Some ships do survive the Crimson. That’s random luck, after all. I’ve never heard of one coming back from the Midnight though. They sail out into that, and are almost instantly overrun by dark creations of foul spores.”
Tress shivered. Did she really think she could do what those capable sailors had failed to do? What was she thinking? Why was she even here? She was a sham of a captain, playing dress-up.
Granted, Tress wasn’t giving herself enough credit—please act surprised—as she’d come quite far, all things considered. And it’s true that numerous members of the king’s court hadn’t managed to survive their first encounter upon the Midnight Sea. But then, you’ve met at least one member of the king’s court: he was the handsome fellow in the early part of the story with both the jaw and the intellect of a marble bust. So, you know, maybe they didn’t set the highest standard.
Regardless, Tress was suddenly very uncertain of herself. She fled below, to the familiar hallway of the middle deck. She passed her old room, and found herself nostalgic for a couple weeks earlier. Days when she’d sat reading about spores while listening to the comforting footsteps above. Those footfalls had sounded so confident. Random, but somehow still rhythmic. Beats indicating a song the crew all knew and played together.