The morning dragged on, and Ikaris and I trekked around the docks. He left me to wait with a logkeeper while he disappeared to find a potential way to take us to wherever we're going.
I'm not sure if he trusts me enough to tell me where our destination is, yet trusts me enough to watch the Logkeeper until a potential ship is found.
For someone like me, it isn't too hard to stay out of sight. I keep myself tucked behind a stack of tarred rope and a crate filled with the heads of chopped salmon.
The Logkeeper leans on a large ledger, thick enough to weigh about as much as two cannonballs. A bell hangs beside him on a hook to call in case of any trouble.
Harbor noises roll and break: winches squeal, gulls argue, dockhands curse about ropes and pay, and the sea breathes in and out, heavy as a sleeping animal.
The Logkeeper yawns, tapping his quill against the ledger. The port is waking up slowly.
Then, the sea goes quiet.
The gulls stop their endless screeching. Even the ropes stop creaking, like the harbor itself is holding its breath.
I peek from behind the stack of rope, my hands sticky with fish and tar. The sea darkens, no, the horizon darkens.
A shadow slides across the water.
A ship.
Something vast and silent.
It glides through the mist, cutting through the waves like a blade. The hull is black, swallowing sunlight. Only streaks of sea foam along the ribs break the void like they were painted on the side of a beast. The sails catch no wind, yet they move. Just a gentle billow, ghostlike, breathing.
The Logkeeper stands straight, his face drained pale.
"What in the Saints'?" he mutters, squinting.
I rise a little, enough to see the ship's name etched into the prow in tarnished silver letters:
THE ALBATROSS
The Logkeeper fumbles for the bell as his hand trembles.
Before he cab ring it, a single figure came down the gangplank like he was walking off a stage. A long coat flaps behind him, boots clicking sharply against the wood. He tips a tricorn hat low over his face with a bright grin.
"Mornin', mate!" the stranger calls out. " Lovely day for bureaucracy, innit?"
The Logkeeper's hand is still on the bell's rope. "Identify yourself, Captain."
"Identify? Oh, splendid. Cap'n Morgan Black," the man smiles, sweeping the tricorn from his head, giving a deep bow. "Master of the Albatross, Drinker of devils, dodger of debts. The pleasure's mine."
I see the captain, Morgan Black, grin as the ship settles in the harbor. He kicks the pawl and drops anchor into the water, and he hops on the dock as if he owned it.
Morgan lands on the dock, the wood creaking loudly. He straightens, dragging his fingers along his sea-soaked cloak.
He's tall.
Too tall. The sun catches him at the worst angle, and for a second, he's not a man—just a silhouette stitched together by shadow and flare.
His dreadlocked beard swings as he saunters. The man's got a belly, not fat, but substantial. I can see he likes to eat, drink, and sailor.
"Paperwork," Morgan says, "A man who brings paper to the water, expects not to get wet. It isn't kind, y'know. Asking a sailor for paper as he docks from such a long voyage, facing harsh storms and weather, just to face bureaucracy."
Morgan doesn't wait for a reply. The man strolls up, licks his lips, reaches into his cloak, and tosses something to the Logkeeper onto the massive logbook.
The Logkeeper's eyes widen. "What's this?" He stares at a tied pouch packed full of what I assume are coins. Morgan reaches into his coat once more and flicks another coin into the air.
He catches just as it falls back down. "Replacement for papers."
Morgan cracks a grin as the Logkeeper keeps his grip tight on the bell rope. "What kind of man do you think I am?"
"Someone who understands the hardships of seafaring," Morgan replies. He opens his hand and shows the logkeeper a gold coin. The Logkeeper gasps, taking a glance at the pouch, then back to Morgan.
"What do you think? Better than those flimsy Marks your bosses give you, eh?"
The Logkeeper stares at the coin pouch, coughs, then pockets the pouch. "You've mentioned your ship is named the Albatross?"
"Aye, mate," Morgan pats the Logkeeper's on the shoulders. "Pleasure doing business."
Just as he's about to leave, the Logkeeper asks one more question: "Where's your crew's Captain Morgan?"
"Taking a sabbatical."
The Logkeeper gulps, turning back to his book, jotting in it. "Sabbatical, aye, Captain."
Then he walks away.
I keep watching the Captain as he moves toward the seawall and out of the docks. But he stops, he turns, and gazes directly into my eyes.
He sees me.
"Oi," he calls, nodding to me. "You. What's your name?"
I slowly stand up, leaving my hiding place. "Cole Sear, sir."
"I see you're an unlucky fellow."
"A what?"
"Unlucky," he points to his eyes, "I know what's fortunate and not. You, boy, are without any sort of luck, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," I answer hesitantly.
"Good," Morgan reaches into his coat and flings a coin at me. I barely manage to catch it. It's silver. I look up at him, and the man is wearing a wide, toothy grin.
"I'm going gambling. There's more where that came from. Show good places, won't you, boy?"
I'm unsure how to respond to Morgan. I'm supposed to wait for Ikaris. Yet, he's taking a long time. And it's still day. I could earn some money from this man so that we can buy ourselves out of Bruis.
Those are my thoughts, but that's why I'm joining Morgan.
I'm not sure how to put it, but there's something more than meets the eye with him, something that's drawing me toward him.
"Aye, Aye, Captain," I say.
"That's a good lad. Now, show me where a man like me can go get the best drinks, cards, and whores around."