Swashbuckling in the Dark

Chapter Thirty

The regular music of the chinks and scrapes made by his tools filled the silence of his workroom, giving him the illusion of company and making his time at work pass a little bit quicker. Hours easily passed this way as he absorbed himself in the process, in the art of creation.

Carlos used the fine blade in his palm to carefully etch out the hollow of the eyes, the soft wood giving way in slivers and floating down to join the rest covering his clothes in a thin dusting. He blew air on the carved wooden face, examining her features a moment before taking one last shave off her nose to add dimension.

There; she was perfect. The ship maker whistled softly to himself, sitting back to admire his work. The figurehead maiden had transferred perfectly from his mind and into existence. She had sprung as if alive from his consciousness and into reality and now stood before him, forever sealed to her ship, her arms outstretched and her eyes looking forward to some unknown horizon.

Carlos descended his ladder and rummaged through his work bench until he found his trunk. The inside was littered with dozens of small, glass jars, each meticulously labeled but hazardously sorted. He plucked several from their spots, as well as a few handmade brushes.

With these in hand, he climbed back up, setting the pots of paint before him. He observed the maiden's features, deciding on which colors would best suit her. Her wooden eyes were strong; they demanded something striking. Carlos tapped his brush handle rhythmically against the ladder's shelf as he carefully mixed his paints, trying to create just the right color.

He laid out the colors for her hair and dress—a rich brown and a vivid green—as well as for her skin, mouth, lashes and brows. Beginning with the face, he delayed as long as he could until he reached the eyes. Carlos hummed to himself, idly mixing paints, searching for the right color.

A spectacular crash from below interrupted his peaceful work time, and he growled in annoyance when he spotted Ned stumbling around his warehouse. The shipbuilder clambered down from his perch, ready to give Ned a stern lecture, when he noticed the paper clutched in the man's hand.

"Ned," Carlos said, "Do ye have it?"

Ned mumbled something incoherent, but he handed over the note before stumbling off. Carlos unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning the sketch of the key and lock. The details were meticulous; Sykes had a fine hand for sketching. Carlos would easily be able to reproduce it.

Ned had wandered into the storeroom, and was making quite a racket. "Ned," Carlos barked. "Ye know I've nothing to drink back there, ye dog, now leave it be!"

Ned protested, insisting on a drink for his services. Carlos shook his head, claiming he had nothing for him. Eventually, the drunk lumbered off the way he had come. Carlos pulled out the drawing and studied it a moment longer. By his best guess, the others would return within a day or so, if everything had gone well.