Riven Isles

21 | A One-Way Trip

We are just past halfway along the Giant's Ring, and the captain has brought us nearer again to the current. The rock wall eerily looms in the distance, surrounded by the mist of sea spray.

The wind has slackened, and the sails are constantly being adjusted to account for luffing. Positively consequential to this frailness of wind, the sea has eased to gentle rolling waves. It has been twenty-one days since Simon's accident, and as predicted by the doctor, the professor had recovered enough from his injury to be walking about unsupervised with the doctor's consent by the fourth day.

He is still sore on the occasion that he moves too quickly or bumps into things, but it is little enough now that he has dumped his tainted tea overboard and stopped taking anything to take the edge off. He has described the pain nightly since the accident, for the doctor's assessment, and last night, he had described it as a dull ache, with occasional throbbing, and a pain rating of no more than two at the worst (ten being the most unimaginable pain possible). He has taken to short walks around the ship to exercise himself after being bedridden for three days, but dares not enter the brig. He did so on his second day on his feet, and I'd laughed very hard at his description of the odor and the utterly disturbing behavior of the Aquians, who have claimed the area for themselves. I almost thought to explore the place for myself, but the idea of seeing those weird creatures (could they actually be called people?) swimming in fish barrels, slurping barnacles, and clicking and humming to each other in their creepy tongue reminded me that I have a keen interest in avoiding the beings. Especially Rootwig.

The werewolves skulk in a cell in the brig, now, too, and are little more inviting.

When the professor is still, reading either on the deck, in the mess hall, or in our cabin, Dr. Oswald and Lydia annoy him endlessly with periodic checkups. Truly, Simon is indefinitely fine, and I think they know it just as well as I do. I think they're just bored and caring for him gives them something to do.

I pick at an orange and watch Harvey Cobbe angrily putting together a batch of plug—the tobacco that he's constantly chewing and spitting. He's been disarmed, and for good reason. Since the captain had privately reprimanded him, he has been consistently agitated, and even more ready to claw the eyes out of anyone near him.

Increas Langley puts a hand on the goblin's shoulder, and Cobbe throws a punch at him. Langley catches his fist easily and takes away the gunner's bowl of tobacco leaves and molasses. They exchange a few words. It's an order, I can see that much. Langley is giving Cobbe an order.

Harvey bitterly obeys. Reclaiming his tobacco, he slinks sullenly for the captain's cabin, where Captain Clarke greets him at the door with a warning. I don't need to hear him to know it is a warning. It's written all over his face.

Langley then makes his poised and graceful way to Simon. The officer gestures him towards the cabin, too.

At the stern, Leslie is chatting up Dr. Oswald and Lydia. All of them, to the cabin.

Because we're almost there, aren't we?

The captain promised us he'd spill his secrets when we were halfway along the Giant's Ring, and he is a man of his word. Troubled, I watch the adults make their ways to where he graciously waits to invite them inside. The officers don't come to get me. I feel wounded.

I'm in the open, they can't have missed me. My frown deepens.

Insulting.

Taking action for myself, I hop off the cannon that has been acting as my seat, and purposefully march towards the party. Officer Langley holds out his hand to stop me from barging inside.