The coast was behind them. Now, Owin could see nothing but swollen blue, and the ships atop it. Vessels some hundreds of feet away, fleet together but keeping clear.

Owin swabbed the deck as hard as he could, determined to get Cloud out of his wooden prison. Sloshing and scraping, the ropey bristles of his mop slathered the planks with muddy water, dragging off a layer of grime one could only see after getting it wet.

“Look at him, mate!” said one of the crewmen, nudging another. “Put your back into it, lad! Scrape off of that gunk, get her all nice and squeaky!”

The men laughed. Owin shook his head, scowling, grunting with each forward heave. It was impossible to wash this thing. Each stroke only pushed the dirty suds around and around, staining the wood worse than it had been just seconds beforehand. It was starting to really piss him off—standing around, swabbing the ship… this wasn’t what he wanted.

But he put himself into this mess. He realized that, and now Cloud was getting punished for his mistake. So he swabbed harder. He covered more ground. When he thought he was done with one bit of the ship, he moved to the other side and started again.

The crew, which consisted of only a few dozen men, did their duties. Lookout, readjusting sails, tightening the ropes over the beams and general busywork Owin didn’t know much about. But he was the only one swabbing the deck; Captain Caspia had made sure of that. Sometimes, when he finished one spot, someone would trod through it and snicker at him. He didn’t say anything when that happened… he just kept swabbing.

Today, a crewman he had come to know as “Happy Ken” sat atop a barrel and waited for him to finish. With the ship rocking gently, breeze not strong but noticeable, Owin could feel the cold seep through to his skin after washing down a bit of the deck. Happy Ken, smiling under his crop of messy brown hair, gargled up a nasty bit of phlegm, swished it around in his unclean mouth, and lobbed it right at Owin’s feet. “Missed a spot, lad,” he said.

Roiling, Owin dipped his mop into the bucket and dropped it on the spit, scrubbing back and forth. When he was done, Happy Ken giggled and did it again.

“If ye have a problem with me, say it to my face,” said Owin.

“A problem?” Happy Ken was grinning with big yellow teeth. “A problem, you say?”

Owin shoved the mop into his bucket. “Yeah. Ye heard me.”

Happy Ken plopped his palms to his knees, leaning forward. His orange vest, torn in places with missing buttons, was open to reveal his hairy chest. “You wanna know somethin’ boy?”

“What?”

“There’s supposed to be thirty people on each of these ships. Captain. First mate. A mage, perhaps. And then the rest, the twenty-seven rest of us, to do various deckhand duties. Hoist the flag. Lift the sails. Scrub to swell the boards, like you’re doin’ right now.”

Owin just listened.

“There’s a cook, too. So let’s say twenty-six rest of us. That’s food for the thirty of us. But now you come along to take a bit of food. Take a bit of our jobs. You even brought a wee pup. That’s not another job, but that’s more food. More food we don’t get to eat.”

There was nothing Owin could say to refute that.

“So you deserve this, lad. It’s the least I could do.”

Happy Ken smiled at him and stood, walking off. Owin was left standing there, watching him trail away past other members of the crew to go below deck. But Owin didn’t care about his mistake. He only cared about seeing the edge of the world for himself—and in this moment, getting Cloud back.

So he scrubbed. He bit his lip, his head flared with heat, and he scrubbed.

...

“So,” said Caspia, looking him up and down when he went back below deck. “You think the deck’s good enough now that you can stop and come down for supper?”

“You said to come back when I was finished with the deck from bow to stern,” he said. “I want Cloud back.”

“Ahh, but bow to stern with my standards may be different than yours. If I go out there will I be happy?”

They aren’t gonna throw me off the side, he thought. “I dunno,” he said. “Maybe you should check.”

Some of the crew “oooh’d” at that, standing firmly behind their captain. She looked down at Owin, grinning. “Getting’ smart with me?”

“If I am?”

“We can throw your pup off the side,” she said. The crew behind her laughed.

Owin froze. “You… you wouldn’t…”

She pursed her lips. “One less mouth to feed.”

Owin struggled to keep himself contained. He wanted to lash out and shout, scream, kick until they gave him Cloud back. But if he made the wrong move, they may uphold their word. He wouldn’t know what he’d do without Cloud.

“I’ll keep cleaning,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

She backed off and laughed, crew laughing with her. Their shadows looked like a puppet theater of silhouettes, painted on the wall behind them with the bright lantern light of the dining hall. “Jarra!” she said. “Bring him his pup.”

The door to the deck opened, and a man came walking down.

This man wore robes of deep violet, fringed with gold and white. His hat, rimmed and pointed, was crafted in similar vein. His eyes very blue—his flesh very pale—his beard long and graying. Yet one last thing of note, before Owin realized something, was the mage’s amulet.

Along the coin-shaped face of the amulet were small runes, six circling the center, and one in the center. At the top, a small red flame—clockwise beside it, two pink circles, one atop the other—then a white half ring—a green X—an orange triangle, a line crossing through it—and a blue triangle without one. The charm in the center was a very bright, very yellow swirl.

But Owin only vaguely noticed the man’s garb, because this was the same man who insisted he give up the bottle… who said it was from another world.

“As you wish, Captain,” he said. Putting his hands together, Jarra closed his eyes and opened his arms just a tad, as if to grip a small invisible ball. The pink circles on his amulet glowed brightly.

“God Dwen—allow me to bend the realm,” he said.

His arms opened more. Suddenly, materializing before him, was Cloud. Only a faint whisper of an image at first, but soon coming into focus. When Jarra was done and Cloud was standing out before him, he put his hands together and nodded his head.

“Cloud!” Owin said. The rainwolf lunged for him, spinning in a circle and barking.

“Every day, Owin,” Caspia said, “You will swab the deck from bow to stern. And every day you will pick up that pup’s shite and lob it into the sea. Do you understand?”

Cloud had wormed into his arms, licking his face. He was too happy to respond.

“Hey! The Captain asked you a question, lad!” said someone.

Caspia shushed him. “Leave him be. He’s learned his lesson.”

Owin stood from Cloud’s affection and let the rainwolf go about the room. The crew, mostly together, disbanded and roamed themselves, two men walking past Owin to say things like “Make sure he don’t piss on me sheets,” and “Wee dog better keep to himself.”

“BENNI!” Caspia shouted. “IS SUPPER READY?”

“Yes!” came a shout several rooms away. The crew gave a collective cheer, moving to the tables. Unsure of what to do, Owin found Brann and tried to sit beside him.

“Nah. You gotta earn the right to sit here.”

An urge to spit on the man like Happy Ken had spit at his feet bubbled up in Owin’s chest. But he let it be, found a quiet corner, and sat alone.

The crew at numerous tables, grouped in threes, held their forks, knives, and wood mugs for the cook to come around. The back door opened, and a man carrying three closed platters came out. One of the crewmates Owin hadn’t yet learned the name of followed him with a barrel of mead. The crew cheered again, waiting to get their share of the food.

And it looked delicious, even from Owin’s spot in the corner. Cooked lobster, platters of steamed vegetables, fish and meat and rolls of bread. Owin’s mouth watered, as did Cloud’s—he had to hold him back by the fluffy wool scruff of his neck.

The last person the cooks got to was Owin, of course. By the time they’d come around, they had no more lobster, fish, or vegetables.

“Sorry lad,” said the cook, a tall man with fat cheeks and black hair. “We have only a bit left.”

Putting a plate on Owin’s table, the cook dropped a tiny cut of beef and a single bun atop it. Altogether, the portion was only half a snack, let alone a whole dinner.

“This is it?” said Owin.

“Afraid so,” he said. “And for the pup…”

He dropped a smaller cut of uncooked meat on the floor. Cloud snatched it, tearing it apart.

“Thanks,” Owin said, despite his disappointment.

The cook nodded. When it came time to fill up his mug, however, the other crewmember filled it with water. When Owin gave him a look, he simply shrugged. “Crew would be livid if they found out I was takin’ mead from them to give to you. Good Gadha, I’d be knocked.”

He took off without letting Owin get a word in edgewise.

Owin looked down at his plate, hand drifting over Cloud’s soft ears as the little fiend tore his meat and kneaded it between his tiny puppy teeth. “Well,” he said, “I guess I can’t complain if I have food…”

He bit into the bun. It was warm, the fluffy white bread inside hot and steamy. With such a small portion, he expected it to be bad—but realized he truly had no basis for the assumption. It was wonderful. The beef, too—it split like butter, juicy and cooked pink, trimmed in tender brown. Delicious, lovely, heaven-like—

“Hey.”

Mouth stuffed and cheeks puffed, Owin peered around. Captain Caspia was sitting at a large table with the others, telling a story the crew was thoroughly engulfed in. The mage, Jarra, and the cook, Benni, were sitting with the crew as well. He didn’t know where the voice had come from.

“Behind you.”

Owin turned around, food still in mouth. Down a short hall (that one that led to the bunks) was a sharp left corner. Shrouded in darkness, a man sat against the wall. He wore a black cloak, hood pulled down, shadows concealing his face. His boots were tipped in steel, gloves fingerless and made for combat.

Owin’s eyes went wide. Cloud, still tearing at his meat, paid the man no mind. Slowly, he reached into his cloak, and for a moment Owin thought this man would throw a knife at him—the thing he withdrew was certainly long and slender… but it was wrapped many times over in parchment.

He unwrapped it once, looking at the object and then turning his gaze up to Owin, eyes piercing gray in the dark. He unwrapped it twice. Three times. When he pulled the last bit of paper from the shape, Owin started chewing again. This was no knife.

The man stuck the stick of jerky in his mouth and bit down. “Nothing beats it,” he said, mouth full.

Owin swallowed. “Who are you?”

The man gnawed on his bite of meat. He chewed openly. “Narlan. Narlan Blackhood.”

Owin could only stare.

“Fits, doesn’t it?” The man grinned, bits of jerky stuck in his teeth. He chomped down on the stick again, enjoying it. Owin turned back around to try to eat more of his food, wanting quite a bit just to forget he was even there. It was almost easy—Caspia and her men were cheering, she standing up and projecting her voice throughout the room to rile her crew.

“The look on his face as I twisted his arm around,” she said, crew shouting, “he screeched like a monkey!”

Mugs slammed against tables, mead spilled to the floorboards, men howled with laughter. Owin pictured himself sitting with them all, mead in mug and smile on face. It made his ears go hot, scalp go itchy. He looked away.

“Hey. Kid. You just gonna ignore me?”

He turned around again to look at Narlan. The man had finished his jerky, licking bits of it off his lips.

“What do you want me to say?” Owin asked.

Narlan shrugged. “It’s not about that. You just decided to ignore me.”

“Because I don’t have anything to say to you.”

Narlan’s brows lifted. “You sure about that?”

Owin was silent.

“You snuck aboard. Well, so did I. Except, you were caught. I was not.”

Eyes widening, Owin looked over the man with a bit more than intrigue. “They don’t know you’re on board?”

Narlan grinned, shaking his head. “Nope.”

Owin considered the implications of that—Narlan would have to steal food every day, which could be a while… there was no telling when they’d see something. They could be on the water for years. Could he evade detection for years? Owin thought it unlikely. But in this man’s smile was something… unique. A bit strange. As if he knew things no one else did.

“So that thing I wanted you to say—you can say it.”

Cracking his fingers in a bit of newfound stress, Owin said, “What did ye want me to say?”

Narlan pursed his lips. “’I promise I won’t tell no one you’re on the ship, Mister Narlan,’” he mimed in a high voice.

“Like Gadha,” Owin said, turning back around.

Narlan chuckled. “I knew I could count on you.”

“I didn’t say I’d help ye with anything.”

Silence. Owin turned around, and Narlan was gone.

...

“Swab the deck from bow to stern every day. See sludge? Mop it. See a fish that fell from the baskets? Put it back. Your wee dog takes a piss? Mop it. A shite? Toss it overboard, then mop it.”

“For how long?” Owin asked Caspia.

She readjusted her hat, the high summer sun beating down behind the main mast. Wind blew, whipping their clothes about. “Until I say you can stop.”

Cloud sniffed the boards beneath them, waddling over to Caspia’s boots. She knelt down and scratched behind his ears. “Little fella’s a tiny thing, ain’t he? You better keep an eye on him. He could fall right through the rails and be lost at sea for good if you’re not careful.”

“Cloud’s smarter than that,” Owin remarked.

At the sound of his name, the rainwolf waddled over to his master. Caspia stood, breeze billowing through her long black hair. “Let’s hope you’re right, kid.”

Should he push back against Caspia? I have a name, you know, he thought of saying, but shoved the temptation away. Attitude could get him strung up by his undergarments, he supposed. Not even the Hooded One would be able to save him then.

“I ain’t payin’ you to stand there, get your arse moving!”

And so he did. Cloud at his feet, mop in his hands, bucket beside him, Owin went to work wiping down the decks once more.