Kane laid in his hammock, flipping the map up and down like a sick game of peek-a-boo.
It had all been to no avail. The same ugly blank sheet, every time.
He really was trying. He thought hard about the senses metaphor Lucian had given him. And he did feel that magic sense, but just barely. It was like attempting to taste with your tongue while you weren’t eating — the taste of your tongue was technically there, but far too easy to miss.
Kane thought back to when he had been in the Sea with Esau, treading water, about to become a fish’s lunch when out of nowhere, everything became incredibly hot. He couldn’t fully recall it, but Kane vaguely remembered that sixth sense flaring up, as if he’d bitten down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood and taste it fully.
He still wasn’t sure if it was some kind of power, or just some other magic shenanigans. It had been impossible to replicate the effect since then, his attempts only serving to send Esau into uproarious fits of laughter. But Kane could only assume magic and this theoretical power were connected or similar in some way.
So here he was, focusing on the yellowed parchment, straining himself to the point of turning red in his hammock. Saul was sharpening his scimitar, listening to a smooth instrumental jazz record, his file playing the part of an accompanying instrument as it slid to the beat. Esau, meanwhile, sat quietly in his own hammock, reading, doing a horrible job of hiding the amusement in his eyes behind the cover of his book.
“I wish I had a camera,” Esau said, clearly finding Kane’s failure so interesting as to make yet another comment on it. “You look like an idiot.”
Kane exhaled sharply, just now realizing he had been holding his breath. The buzzing behind his eyes lingered as they flicked to Esau. “If it’s so easy, come over here and try it yourself, asshole.”
Esau pushed himself up and off his hammock and strolled over to Kane, peering at the map. “Oh shit!” He raised a hand to his mouth.
Kane flinched. “Huh? You see it?”
“Holy shit, yes!” He pointed excitedly at the edge of the map, near where Lucian had placed them earlier that day. “This is you…” He dragged his finger inward, tapping firmly. “And this over here is Stupidville! You’re right on course!”
Kane shoved the cackling man aside and got to his feet. “I need some fucking air,” he said as he stormed out of the room.
—
He wandered the entire ship. When he’d been with Esau, it had been an entirely different vibe — the guy constantly yapping in his ear, no time to actually stop and really look at anything, and with Esau’s flames to light up the dimmer spots. Now, Kane explored in silence and near-darkness, an enchanted lantern in one hand. He pulled his jacket tighter over his shoulders, only now realizing how much warmth Esau and Lucian’s flames provided.
He took his time, exploring every space, all of the hidden nooks and crannies, nearly getting lost on a few occasions. The ship was big and old — duh — but Kane had yet to ask himself why it even existed in the first place.
The first possibility was that it used to belong to pirates in Limbo long ago. That would mean that it had been manned by a crew, and that there had likely been other vessels on the Sea to plunder. But no one in the crew had ever seen another soul, another boat, or land of any kind. Not to mention there were no human remains on board, meaning it was likely anyone had died here.
The only real signs that the ship had been lived in were the quarters and the equipment. Lucian’s clothing, which had been in the ship when he’d arrived, was somehow still of decent quality. So were the hammocks Kane, Esau, and Saul used. The galley had no foodstuffs of any kind stored away — only utensils, tools, and empty pots and pans.
After all of that, the next biggest clue to the ship’s origin was its considerable collection of books. As Kane had discovered earlier, most of the books were in magical gibberish — likely the same situation as the map — and a few were in Spanish. However, Esau had mentioned that at least one was in English.
So this train of thought had Kane make his way to the room adjacent to the captain’s quarters, the one lined with bookshelves. He began to search through them one by one, hoping to find the sole English one. It wasn’t too hard to hear Tal’s snores filtering in from the other room.
The foreign glyphs in the books had been random, unknowable marks earlier. To Kane’s astonishment, now they seemed to shift, dance, and twist under Kane’s vision. It was dizzying, just as staring at Saul’s coin had been.
Kane grinned wide, excitement flooding him. This meant that it wasn’t all bullshit after all. He was actually on the edge of unlocking some sort of ability — finally — and he was no longer going to feel as powerless as he always had, in life and in death.
It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Perhaps he had indeed been banished to Hell for whatever he’d done in his life — none of which he could remember, which didn’t really help. Yet in this strange place, he was already feeling more in control of his destiny than he ever had. Like his fate was actually in his hands.
He could hardly wait to deal real damage to foes like Esau, to be able to walk around with unbreakable confidence like Saul, to be powerful enough to not give a shit like Tal, and to be able to finally be listened to like Lucian.
The letters stopped shifting and twisting, and Kane’s eyes widened. The text was now in good old legible English.
Kane read the first line, his heart pounding. “… escaping to infinity. This situation arises because the ‘strong’ force confines Source-charged particles such as—”
The letters turned to jumbled mush once again. Kane cussed loudly, slamming the book shut. A cloud of dust flew into his face, causing him to cough.
Tal’s snores halted abruptly, and Kane froze. Grimacing, he slowly placed the book back into its place on the shelf and tiptoed away.
Tal began to snore once again.
—
Kane rubbed his eyes hard and looked up for the fifth time.
The portrait of the shadowed figure hurt his eyes something fierce. It was as if it was pulling in all of his vision, attempting to suck his eyeballs out of his skull.
He looked away once again. Kane didn’t know if there really was a point to what he was doing. At this point, he was just fucking around, hoping anything worked.
The thing was, this was the only painting like this on the entire ship. Of course, there were marks on the walls, darker spots where frames had previously been hung up, and there were still several empty frames here and there. To Kane’s knowledge, the portrait of this figure was the only full piece that remained.
At this point, when it came to anything that didn’t quite make sense, Kane would simply chalk it up to magic. Which meant this portrait was definitely some sort of magic. But why? What purpose did it serve?
Why was the figure in the painting wearing Lucian’s tricorne? Lucian had said he’d found all his clothes aboard when he boarded it; thus, there was a nonzero chance that the hat — the one that Kane wanted so bad — was originally this person’s.
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Some part of Kane wondered if Lucian had snuck aboard a populated ship, killed the entire crew, and taken it — along with any spoils that remained — for himself.
That would be equal parts badass and sinister; it would mean Kane was stuck with that same man, with no means of escape. Perhaps, if Lucian were to one day turn his magic on him, Kane would get to go out with a bang.
He made his way to the galley, the boredom in his gut doing that weird thing where it transmuted into hunger. Perhaps he needed energy in order to get the map to work.
—
Before he had even breached the threshold of the galley door, the pungent scent of torrafin hit him like a truck. It was nearly dinnertime, which meant the galley chest should have been available for Esau to grab ice and stash away the fish meat. But the chopped pieces — at least the pieces that would fit in this room — were pressed to one side of the galley, as well as upon any available surface. Any health inspector on the scene would shoot himself on sight.
Despite his stomach’s protests against the stench, Kane still felt himself compelled to grab a bite of something. So he thought thoughts of Doritos, of chips and dips, of burgers and fries and shakes and good old American grub.
Of course, he reached out to the chest with a broom handle. From behind the half-closed galley door. If the chest chose to attack him, he’d have plenty of space to escape.
He’d watched his fair share of horror flicks. He would even go so far as to consider himself a bit of a Final Girl. Without the girl part.
“Oh wise chest of yore, I beg of you more, spare junk food or good food for this food-loving whore,” he proclaimed, leaning around the door and waving the broom like a magic wand. Using the broom’s tip, he landed an almighty smack on the chest’s lid, then quickly retreated, shielding himself from a potential counterattack.
Nothing happened. The chest didn’t budge.
But Kane was no sweet summer child. He wasn’t about to let his guard down just yet. The man waited, staring at the chest, knowing it was just a matter of time before it pounced — likely the one second he least expected it.
He furrowed his brow. The chest sat motionless .
Feeling his stomach growl, he tried again. “Dear chest of wood, if only you could, bring me food that’s good, as only you should… fuck, shouldn’t have dropped that poetry class…” This time, he pressed the tip of the handle below the chest’s lid, lifting it up and—
And it fell open with a clunk. No razor-sharp teeth. No long, dripping tongue. Just a regular chest interior with one lone item inside.
Kane cautiously approached it, his trusty broom gripped tight in his hands, ready to defend himself. Carefully, he peered inside, just barely making out the small spice jar nestled within.
In one swift motion, Kane reached in, grabbed the jar, and backed away. The chest didn’t snap shut, nor make any other movement.
Peculiar.
The glass bottle contained some sort of white powder within — seemingly salt. Kane frowned, holding it to his lantern with squinted eyes.
This wasn’t junk food at all.
He fully doubted that the chest provided foods one at a time, and salt was a strange opener in any sense. Perhaps the chest was preparing them for the torrafin they were going to cook tonight?
Disappointed that he wasn’t getting a pre-supper snack, he placed the jar back into the chest and nudged it shut.
—
“When I said ‘sixth sense,’ I didn’t mean magic,” Saul insisted.
He and Kane trudged up the stairs to the main deck. Someone above — likely Lucian — had rang that blasted, loud-ass bell. Kane had inferred there was some sort of communication system in place, with certain numbers of tolls meaning different things. But no one had bothered to explain it to him yet. Typical.
“So what did you mean?” Kane asked, wringing his hands. “I mean, it’s an oddly specific choice of words.”
The older man huffed in exasperation. “It’s a completely regular choice of words. You see, now Lucian’s going ahead and putting all sorts of weird ideas in your head. You’re going to turn into a second version of him,” he slapped Kane in the back of the head, “and we don’t need that.”
Kane rubbed the spot where Saul had hit him, pouting. He wanted to say that Saul’s strength had surprised him, but while Esau was the biggest person on the ship, Saul was no slouch either. He was still big and broad, although his physique was closer slightly closer to “dad bod” whereas Esau’s was “that one guy you don’t want to fuck with.” And the older man’s scimitars were hefty things at the end of the day.
He decided to put a pin in the topic. Kane had quickly discovered that talking with Saul wasn’t typically the most productive, enlightening act.
They reached the deck, where Lucian and Tal were discussing something in hushed tones and muted gestures. As soon as the pair arrived, Lucian pointed straight at Kane. “You. Over here. Now.”
Despite the odd behavior, Kane walked over promptly, remaining nonchalant. The captain made a “give me” gesture, and Kane handed him the folded-up map.
“Were you able to get it working?” Lucian asked, unfolding the parchment.
“Not yet,” Kane said, determination creeping into his voice, “although I was able to see something in the boo—”
“Sh!” Lucian pressed a finger to Kane’s mouth as he stared down at the map, eyes narrowing.
Tal blinked twice, staring down at the spyglass he held in one fist. He was leaned against an invisible wall, arms crossed, eye bags pronounced despite the sleep he’d managed to fit in earlier. “Let me guess. It’s on the map but not here in the real world,” he muttered in a deadpan.
“It’s on the map but not here in the real world!” Lucian growled, squeezing his fists tight. He yanked the spyglass from Tal, made of rough leather and smooth brass, and lifted it up to his eye, scanning the horizon frantically. “The land’s disappeared.”
Saul stormed up to Lucian, anger flashing across his face. “The fuck do you mean, ‘the land’s disappeared?’ You mean the land you’d promised us we’d hit by this time today?”
Kane surveyed the scene. The sun had nearly fully set, the world around them painted various shades of gray. Yet in the darkening waters, Kane could see no land at all. Just endless Sea.
“I’m going to lose it,” Saul growled, already having unsheathed a scimitar. Tal also looked pretty pissed, snatching the map from Lucian and peering at it closely.
“This has never happened before,” Lucian mumbled, holstering the spyglass.
“So you can see us on the map, in front of the land mass. But it’s nowhere to be seen.” Tal slowly slid down his forcefield, trying to get the story straight.
Lucian took the map back, looking down at it, then up to the horizon, then down and up and down again. His expression shifted from frustration to something darker.
“Lucian?” Kane stepped in closer. “Is that the case? You sure we didn’t miss a turn or…”
The captain said nothing, haze fixed on the roaring waves of dark-crimson beyond. He held the map in front of him, unmoving, statuesque, as if locked in some internal battle. He took a tired, shaky breath, and for a singular moment, he looked like the most tired man in the world. More tired than Tal ever had.
“What’s the big deal?” Kane asked, genuinely confused. “The map is probably just slightly off or outdated or plain wrong.”
Saul shoved Kane, sending him stumbling into a barrel. “Easy for you to say! You’ve been here all of one fucking day. Not months on end, with no solid land in sight. I am genuinely about to kill someone.”
“I must have done something wrong,” Lucian whispered.
The words were not Lucian’s. They couldn’t have been. Because they were quiet and weak and barely audible over the din, lacking his telltale confidence and flare.
His eyes were glazed over. “I— I did something wrong.”
Saul whirled around, fury painted on his face. “You bet your ass you did.” He stalked towards Lucian, scimitar blade sparkling in the sunset’s dull light, but fell backwards to the deck, Tal’s gravity forcefully yanking him away.
Lucian broke out of his daze, refocusing on Tal. There was weariness and doubt in his eyes, two things that had never been there before. Tal, meanwhile, wore an equally peculiar gaze — eyes narrowed, piercing into the other man’s soul, as if he was watching the man’s next actions very, very carefully.
The captain closed his eyes, reaching into his cloak. Kane’s sixth sense flared like crazy, alarms going off in his head.
The stern door burst open, and Esau’s grinning face appeared. “Who’s ready for d-d-d-dinner?!” the man announced, spreading his arms wide to the gray sky. “Huh?” He scanned the crew’s faces, his smile faltering as he noticed the tense atmosphere far slower than he should have.
Lucian’s eyes flew open, turning around to see Esau. “What did you say?”
Esau seemed taken aback, retreating halfway through the door. “Dinner. As in, the torrafin we caught earlier. I’ve cooked it up like ten different ways.” He scrunched up his lips in concern, rubbing at his bare arms as a chilly draft blew over the deck. “Should I be worried?”
The overwhelming pressure emanating from Lucian began to decrease rapidly as he exhaled. “No. I think we’re good.” He looked around at his crew, who were all watching him intently. “I think I just need a bite to eat, calm myself down, and then we can… do whatever.” He nodded once, glancing at Tal, who was biting his lip, appearing uncertain.
The captain pushed past Esau and made his way down below deck, leaving the dumbfounded group of men behind to pick up the pieces.