My father taught me well

To sail my way to hell

No fish of mine to sell

So I sail

So off to see the world

Oh I sail, oh I sail

So off to take the seas

Oh I sail

Most wickedly I sail

Oh I sail

I buried the caterwauling in a mug of ale. A right mess I had gotten myself into. The crew Marlowe had picked up had seemed keen enough while I had set them to work readying Levity for the sea, but the moment they had a drop of ale in them? Madmen. Their gods-awful howling set my teeth on edge. I was sore tempted to dismiss them all on the spot and sail out on my own in the morning.

“Nervous?” Marlowe asked, dropping into the seat beside me. Even in the dim light of the Lady’s Corset, I could see the exhilarated flush in his cheeks. He swigged his own mug of ale and thumped it on the bar.

“No,” I said stubbornly. “But I am regretting many, many things. Specifically, letting you hire my crew.”

He laughed, a little too carefree for my tastes. It almost put me in mind of a much younger version of him, and I resented that. “You’ve hardly met them, Owen. Do you even remember any of their names?”

I scowled at my ale.

“You’ve not so much as looked at them this week past,” he prompted. “You’ve had McCrea giving orders and you’ve been poring over that book of yours. The men don’t know you yet, and they ought to.”

That was because Marlowe had kindly selected men who were mostly older and larger than myself. I wasn’t short, but I was hardly beyond average, and a bit gangly, if I was honest. I wasn’t Captain Searly. I was not an iceberg, and this was not a conversation I wanted to have. “Where is McCrea?” I deflected.

Marlowe gave me a look that said he was aware of my redirection. “Sleeping, I hope. Now, will you please meet your crew?”

“I have met them,” I protested. Having spoken, I found myself unable to stop. “You paraded me around my own ship and rattled off a list of eighteen names that I cannot recall half of, never mind which belongs to who. They listen to McCrea way better than they will ever listen to me because I’m nobody, Marlowe, and I don’t know what I’m…” I screeched to a halt, glancing behind me at this frivolous, rambunctious crew. My voice dropped to a murmur. “I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.”

Marlowe eyed me for a moment, as though I had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard and he was considering the risks of calling me out on it. “Owen,” he said, his voice tinted with…was that really an attempt at humor? I could barely believe the gall of this man, even when I saw a flash of teeth. “I know that. I know that very, very well.”

I dropped my head onto the bar, hitting it a few times before leaving it to rest. Marlowe slapped between my shoulderblades.

“You’ll live,” he told me, “once you get to know them. They’re canny lads, Owen. Smart enough to spit.”

I didn’t look up. “When they’re sober,” I muttered. The singing had stopped at long last, only to be replaced by raucous chatter and laughter. At least they got along with each other, I supposed. Irksome as they were when they were getting along.

“What was that?”

Lifting my head off the bar, I said, “If we’re measuring intelligence by the ability to spit, the world truly is coming apart at its seams.”

“Mighty words,” Marlowe remarked, in easy humor. “I remember a skinny little greenhand by the name of Owen Peige who couldn’t read but loved the stories told when we were frozen in the ice with nothing else to do.”

I fixed him with my most withering gaze. He had an uncanny knack for finding all the conversations I did not want to have and trying to start them.

“You know,” he continued, pointedly ignoring my silent plea to shut up, “I do wonder sometimes what happened to him.”

I looked behind me. The pub was filled with the exuberance of the lively and the ignorant, and all at once I was trying to shut out the memories of a time when I was both. I could scarce remember my life before I was gripped by a splatter of blood and thrown headlong into a six-year obsession that was only now becoming a reality. I looked at the frivolous gathering over my shoulder and a throb of guilt clutched my throat. How many more splatters of blood?

“He died,” I said quietly.

Marlowe met my eyes very solidly, and I was strangely grateful. There was an understanding in his gaze. I found myself relying on it to remain upright.

“Dixhe,” Marlowe said suddenly, waving a hand over his head.

If McCrea tripled his rather inconsiderable body weight, aged ten years and lost an eye, he would have been a decent copy of the man who detached himself from the crowd in heed of Marlowe’s beckoning. His pointed chin cradled his charming grin quite well, in spite of a few missing teeth. I remembered meeting him on Levity. Dixhe. Sal Dixhe. He had a strong accent and stronger hands, I recalled as he shook mine. Those hands made him perfect for his combined roles of medic and cook.

“Perhaps you can give Captain Peige a rundown of the galley inventory? Just to put his mind at ease that we won’t starve.”

“No worry of that,” Dixhe boomed. “Koshka will guard the food.”

“Koshka,” I repeated, glancing at Marlowe for help. I couldn’t remember an introduction involving the name.

Marlowe’s eyes glittered with mirth. “Cat,” he said.

I laughed. Of course. Merdagh’s blessing on Marlowe and Dixhe and the cat with a name I had already forgotten. I prayed that it was a competent feline and that I wouldn’t see a single rat on Levity. She deserved better, and I wasn’t sure my composure could bear the sight of the little beasts. I nearly feared them more than I feared the gil’he-moahr. After all, a thousand small deaths were surely worse than one grand one, right?

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the night.” Marlowe slid off his chair and paused beside me. “Gain their favor,” he murmured. “You’ll thank me a week from now.”

“Alright?” I said, not entirely sure what he expected me to do overnight to garner love and adoration from men I had admittedly ignored thus far.

He sighed. “You need help, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I reminded him in an undertone.

A wicked grin reshaped his face. “Drinks for the crew of Flux Levity!” he crowed. “On the Captain’s tab.”

--

“So,” Marlowe asked me the following morning as we stood on the decks of my beloved vessel, shielding our eyes from the early morning sun as our crew began trailing in from the port town, “What have you learned?”

I huffed. Conversation was the last thing I could hold today, closely rivaled by my liquor and my money. But Marlowe had been right, of course, and I was newly convinced that this crew would serve my purpose.

“Sal Dixhe is physically incapable of being unprepared. Paul Ronan is the big one who doesn’t talk much but he can kill you with a look and will keep my ship in working order. Kiran Freyne is the greenhand, he can’t hardly look in my eyes for more than a second and has the demeanor of a beaten cur.”

“Reminds me of someone,” Marlowe interjected.

“Shut up,” I said. Pointing, I continued, “There’s Clive Herriott and… oh, what was his name? Grady?”

“Good man,” Marlowe complimented. “See, I told you you’d…”

I cut him off there, aghast as an upright figure approached the gangplank of Flux Levity. He wore a sturdy coat of oilskin and bore himself with incredible dignity. Ghastly thin, still, but his hair was washed and his eyes clear, and I was incredibly astonished to see him looking so… alive.

“Is that McCrea?”

Marlowe’s mouth turned up, but he wasn’t looking at me. His pride was directed entirely at McCrea. “I do believe so,” he said.

“How in the world did you manage it?”

Maintaining his proud, stubborn smile, Marlowe lifted an eyebrow. “Groveling,” he told me out of the corner of his mouth.

“Captain on deck,” McCrea said in that sarcastic way of his, sweeping a dramatic bow.

I eyed McCrea. We had never been friends, and I had no delusions that that would change. But I appreciated his effort, and in the long run it would be easier if we could respect each other. I tilted my head to him, and he looked down his nose at me and greeted me with a customary, "Trog."

The mutual respect would come, I was sure.

I hoped.

“I do believe we are all here,” I said, taking a quick count. Twenty-one stalwart, stubborn, stupid men who would see me to the edge of the world. “Shall we set sail?”