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.”