ON A BLACK MOON SEA ~A Halloween Anthology~

Lady Lovibond

The day was overcast. Fat-bellied clouds hung low and sullen, their reflections painting the ocean gray. There was no wind. The water ran as smooth as glass, undisturbed but for the ripples that formed around the hull of a lonely boat.

Lady Lovibond sailed the sea with a grace worthy of her title. The schooner glowed in the dim light, her white sails like the skirts of a maiden on her wedding day. As Lady journeyed the high waters in celebration of precisely such an occasion, the comparison was fit indeed.

The main deck was deserted but for a single soul. There was merriment to be had elsewhere, song and food and good company. John Rivers wanted no part of the ongoing celebration. He flinched at every cheer and burst of noise, like a cornered beast wary of a blow. At intervals he would pause his mad pacing to scan the ship with eyes that saw nothing.

It was during one such moment of introspection that Rivers became aware of the boat. A small vessel it was, unfit for travel so far from shore. Yet travel it did, and at great a speed; the sea split about its hull and turned white in its wake. The man who sat at its helm was stranger still. He was of moderate stature and foreign dress, and seemed involved in conversation with someone Rivers couldn't see. The boat sailed without the man's aid. Rivers concluded that he had gone mad, or was otherwise bearing witness to an otherworldly happening.

"Ahoy!"

The man didn't respond. Rivers hailed him again and again, taken by a sudden need to have the stranger answer. It took a threat of cannon fire to tear the man from his banter with the sea. The boat slowed to a stop a stone-throw away, burbling like some living creature. Its master glared at Rivers with eyes as blue as the ocean in midsummer.

"What?"

"From whence do you hail?" Rivers asked. He was much too curious to be bothered by the man's discourteous manner.

"None of your business," the stranger drawled. He spoke English, but with a queer accent Rivers couldn't place.

A peal of feminine laughter startled Rivers from his contemplation. The mystery of the man in the boat had distracted Rivers from his misery. It overwhelmed him anew, too heavy to bear.

"Where're you going?" the stranger called.

His voice dragged Rivers back from the depths of grief and anger. "None of your business," he spat, without any real ire. He knew not where he meant to go himself.

The man spoke softly, his words not meant for Rivers but whoever he imagined beside him. Rivers paid him no mind. There were matters of greater import he needed to address, and soon.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot, Captain."

Rivers whirled on the man. "That, I am not, and I will thank you not call me by another man's title!"

"What should I call you, then?" the stranger asked.

"John Rivers," Rivers answered stiffly.

"And the ship?"

"The Lady Lovibond." The schooner's name was inscribed along her hull, in plain sight. The man was obviously an illiterate. Rivers wondered if he were not a scoundrel on top of that, pirate scum sent out to scout the waters for good ships to pillage. The boat didn't look so otherworldly now that it was still. Perhaps it had all been an elaborate sham, some sort of trickery meant to ensnare an observer's mind.

"State your name and purpose," Rivers demanded, and checked his belt for the pistol he carried as subtly as he could in plain sight.

Waves rose in the sea, rocking the stranger's boat. "Calm down," the man grumbled. He raised his voice, overriding Rivers' indignant reply. "Ray Wingate. I'm not here for you, Mr. Rivers."