With a few tips, he wasn’t so boring after all. Secretly, I’ll tell you that you aren’t either. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to lower your value. Don’t trust them. They know they can’t afford you otherwise.
The crew began to climb from the ship, excited for some shore leave, even if it was on the Rock. They all made an appearance, except for Laggart, who was currently in the brig for starting a bar fight at the last port.
You’ll be happy to know that, as I’ve kept track of the crew over the years, even he has shown some growth. It’s beginning to look like instead of following his family’s tradition of being an unpleasant snarl of misery until you get yourself killed, he’s on track to do…well, basically anything else.
As Charlie was getting dressed, Tress read his poem, the verse that broke the curse.
It is only for her. I’m sorry.
Once she looked up, she spotted something exhilarating. Her parents were stumbling down toward the docks, her little brother in tow. Tress’s mother had spent most nights since she’d left watching the sea for any signs, but even with the eventual letters Tress had been able to send, she hadn’t quite believed Tress would return. Neither of them had, until they saw her standing there.
Tress strode down onto the dock, then onto the once-familiar stone ground—salty and black. Odd, how foreign the place felt. How could something feel both familiar and foreign? As her family arrived to embrace her though, she discovered that was exquisitely familiar. Not foreign in the least.
They’d brought their luggage. And their cabin was ready. She ushered them toward the ship, but was interrupted as the duke arrived at last. Red faced. Bearing his scowl. He had only one, Tress had decided. For while you needed a smile for every occasion, a scowl needed no variety.
“What is this?” he said, slapping the writ in his hand. “What have you done?”
“I’ve rescued your son. The real one. Not the walking chin with a six-word vocabulary.”
“I meant what have you done to the island!” the duke said, gesturing at the king’s words. “Anyone can leave if they want? The island will soon be completely depopulated.”
“Read the next part,” she said, and took a sip of her tea, then walked off, not waiting for him.
He had to read it several times to put it together. The king had proclaimed that a generous stipend would be paid to anyone who lived and worked on the Rock for twenty years. If you’re so lucky as to get a job on Diggen’s Point, you’ll retire with a sizable nest egg.
But be warned, positions there are hard to come by these days. No one wants to leave. The beer is great, the company passable, and the pay…well, it makes up for the rest.
Tress stepped back onto the deck of her ship, meeting a newly beclothed Charlie. She nodded down toward his father on the dock. “Want to say hello?”
“No thank you,” Charlie said. “Did you leave Mother’s letter?” （The duchess, it should be noted, had moved away from the island—and more importantly from her husband—several months before. Turns out that abandoning your only son to certain doom is not a path to a healthy marriage.）
“It’s in the stack,” Tress said. “He’ll find it, assuming he bothers to keep reading. Ah, look. He’s scowling again.”
“Life is easier for him that way,” Charlie said. “He only has to maintain one expression.” He wrapped his arms around her and put his head on her shoulder. “It’s going to be annoying to no longer have fur, but the other perks are certainly going to outweigh that loss.”
“I wonder,” she said idly, resting her hand on his as he held her, “if there’s a maritime law against a captain dating her valet. What will people say?”
“They will say,” he replied softly, “what a lucky, lucky man he is.”
They didn’t stay long. Just enough time to gather some supplies and for Tress to give another thanks to those who had helped her escape all those months ago.
And then the ship left to sail the ocean with a girl and a rat on board.
The rat, it turns out, was not actually a rat. In more ways than one.
The girl, you may have discovered, was not actually a girl. She was seven ways a woman, regardless of her age.
The ocean, however, was now as you hopefully imagine it. Assuming you imagine it as emerald green, made up of spores, and bearing endless possibilities.
THE END