Lost Boys

The rime of the 33-year-old mariners

The river roared hungrily as it surged past the two men, the noise reminding Ford of some of the monsters he'd had to deal with. The surface was covered with white foam, and little waves were being kicked up where there were evidently rocks under the surface. It looked about as tame as a herd of wild horses during a lightning storm.

For a moment, all they could do was stand there, catching their breath and staring at the vast expanse; then Stan turned his head downstream, and his eyes suddenly lit up. Ford's eyes followed his to find-

A boat.

An old, kind of decrepit-looking, wooden boat, tied to a tree on the shore, with a sailless mast and a cabin area in the center.

A somewhat bigger boat than theirs had been, and more functional, and clearly not a full-fledged sailboat, but still similar enough that his throat was starting to close and his hands were clenching and-

And Stan was marching towards it, splashing purposefully through the mud puddles.

Ford let out an annoyed growl and hurried after him; by the time he reached his twin, Stan was checking the boat over with some kind of gadget (Ford wondered just how heavy that vest of his was, since he seemed to keep everything but the kitchen sink in its pockets), and with a satisfied nod he was climbing aboard.

"Stanley!" Ford scolded, coming up to the side of the boat, "you had better not be thinking what I know you're thinking!"

"...That's not contradictory at all," Stan retorted, opening the door of the cabin and peering inside.

"You don't know if this belongs to someone!" Ford caught himself before he could go any further with that lecture, remembering Stan's previous comment on glass houses and stones. "And-and do you even know how to sail well enough to use it on this kind of water?!"

They'd spent time reading books about sailing when they were kids-or at least, Ford had read them aloud and Stan had possibly been paying attention-but the Stan O'War had never quite reached the point of being sea-worthy, and Ford had certainly never bothered to carry his education on the subject any further after that fight.

Stan actually seemed to be considering his words, but then he said in a tone that was trying to be indifferent, "If you'd rather just walk, that's your business. I can sail this thing myself."

I can make it on my own! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!

Ford took a deep breath and banished the echoing words from his mind, noticing the slightly defensive posture his brother had taken, and the way his jaw was set like he was getting ready for them to have another (admittedly kind of unnecessary) fight. Or like he expected to be deserted again.

Things had been going so well between them, but they were heading back to square one all over again.

"That doesn't answer the question of whether you know anything about sailing," Ford insisted at last, trying to keep his tone as non-condescending or confrontational as possible. "Because I certainly don't."

Stan blinked, then made a mock gasping noise. "You don't know something, and you're actually admitting it?"

"Don't change the subject!"

Stan held up his hand placatingly. "Okay, okay. I...know a little bit about it. I picked up a few things in some of the dimensions I went to, and I remember the stuff from those books you read."

Huh; so he had been listening all along.

"It looks like-" he crossed the deck and picked up a long pole which had been lying in a corner- "this baby's mostly controlled by using one of these to kind of steer and keep you from smashing into rocks. I doubt they use sails most'a the time because it rains so much here, so they mostly focus on manpower and the current to get them back and forth. Should be easy enough to handle. By the way, I think this thing used to belong to the smugglers." He set down the pole, crossed back to the doorway of the cabin, knelt down and pulled up one of the deck's boards, revealing that it was actually a hatch above a storage space. "I doubt they're gonna need it back; it looks like it hasn't been used in a long time." Gingerly he batted at some cobwebs.