image [https://i.imgur.com/IggvDYO.png]

At first sight of land, swells of celebration lifted from aboard Ye ‘Ol Marigold. When they came to port that morning, the crew was at a merry tremor. The sounds of their merrymaking brought many eyes upon them.

Fisherman were just prepping their boats for the day. Yet despite the hour, a crowd had quickly gathered. People on the docks called for others to come and see the damage the ship had taken. But moreso for the gigantic, grey-scaled behemoth they were dragging behind them.

A shiver of admiration rippled through the crowd as Valgur and his crew disembarked, many men still singing. Picaro stepped out from behind Grit and onto the dock. Memories of his time here in the Squal slipped past him. He looked at the specks of the fisherman floating out on the bay. They were milling about the great catch in just as much awe as the rest of them.

“I need three things,” said Valgur. “A shipwright, a fishmonger, and a place to wet my beak,” Valgur said to the dockhand, flipping him a coin. The man nearly saluted and sped off after finishing his knot.

“Shipwright and fishmonger are on their way, and y’can find the inn up the hill when yer ready,” said the dockhand to Valgur when he returned. The captain nodded and tucked his thumbs into the folds of his trench coat. They waited several minutes.

Then, a balding man pushed his way through the crowd. Picaro recognized him. It was Archibald, the shipwright. He looked older and wearier since he last saw him. “Pleasant morning to you,” said Archibald. He looked up and saw the giant fish for the first time. “By the high seas, what a monster that is.”

“Aye, ‘tis,” said Valgur, grinning.

“You come down out of the channel?” Valgur nodded. Archibald whistled. “She’s a bit worse for wear,” he said, massaging his chin as he surveyed the ship.

“What can ye do for her?”

“It’ll take time, but I can get her shipshape for you.”

“How long?”

“Tenday, but probably more,” said Archibald.

“I don’t have that long. There’s somewhere I need to be,” said Valgur. The situation seemed oddly familiar to Picaro. Memories of Mister Goffrey flashed across his mind. Here he was now, with another grumbling captain abject to his having to remain in Squal Parlor to endure the repair of his ship.

“Well, I can get her to float for you, but-”

“That’s fine by me. Patch her up, it’s all we need. I know she’s in good hands,” said Valgur, clapping the man on the back so hard he shook. “Now, where’s me fishmonger?”

Just then, another man pushed through the crowd wearing a bloodied apron. He had a thick mustache. “Who caught this?” The fishmonger asked, motioning to the monstrous fish floating in the bay.

“Me and me crew,” said Valgur, wading towards him through the group of mingling onlookers.

“Never have I seen such a magnificent specimen,” said the fishmonger.

“Truly,” said Valgur. “What’ll ye pay for it.”

“I can’t possibly afford to buy the whole animal. It would be impossible to weigh. But I can bring on some more help to butcher it for you. Keep what you wish, and I will sell the rest for you at a modest percentage.”

“What are we talking?”

“Three copper per pound.”

“Make it two and y’got a deal,” said Valgur, and the pair shook hands.

Picaro followed behind Valgur and the crew, and felt eyes upon him. Those closest onlookers seemed curious, and for a moment Picaro thought they might recognize him. The shame of his youth nearly swallowed him up in that moment until he remembered his place among the crew. He puffed out his chest. He was a free man now, he thought, and he met their eyes as they stared, wholly unafraid and without the shame of his former days stealing food just to survive. He could see the curious fear in their faces, and it gave him power.

The merry troupe wound their way to the inn, the same one Picaro had followed captain Coldblue into those years ago. They opened the doors ceremoniously and spilled over to the bar. Picaro followed behind, a bemused smirk on his face. He ate some food with the crew. Some regarded him jovially, their former issues forgotten. He sang a few songs and laughed a few laughs. It was, for the first time, as if he belonged. He basked in the exultation.

In time, he retreated to a stool where he watched them all continue their merrymaking. Then a stirring thought crossed his mind, and he returned to himself. He looked around implacably, then stole quietly out of the inn, crossed the top of the hill and found his way to a row of grave markers that edged the forest. He found a particularly crude one that looked like it had been made by a small pair of hands. A series of shells were packed into the dirt. Some had been blown away by storm, but a few remained. Picaro picked up a small oyster shell from the bunch and sat down beside the place Uncle Oyster, the kind old fisherman, lay.

Picaro padded the dirt gently. “Guess what? We just caught a huge fish, the biggest you’ve ever seen. Nearly sunk us out there. We sailed right through the Tormented Channel. I’m telling you, I’m not a lying. We beat it, and it brought us here.” Picaro said quietly. He laughed awkwardly, and fell silent. Tears welled in his eyes. “I made it back. I still can’t believe I ever left. I went out the same way I came in, but this time on a boat. From the sea, back to the sea, as ye always said.” The tears fell. He didn’t stop them. He sat and sobbed there a little while, flipping the oyster shell over in his fingers.

“I’m a free man now,” he said at last, sniffling. “It’s not everything I imagined, though, or I guess the people aren’t. But it’s not all bad. Don’t think it’s all bad. I got what I wanted. At least I got the sea. That beautiful blue marble. It’s really something. It really is. I’m going to find some treasure, just like I said I would. That’s where we’re going now. You’ll see, I’ll bring it back and show you.”

He heard the rustle of leaves behind him, and turned to see a flash of orange in the bush. He turned curiously, and saw the tuft of a white tail. A pair of yellow eyes stared back at him. He and the fox held each other’s gaze for so long that Picaro thought the animal was trying to say something. Then it moved away, fading into the depth of the forest. For a moment, Picaro wanted to follow it. Somehow, it felt like a sign.

“Was that you?” said Picaro, glancing at the grave marker. Then, he sighed. He had cried all his tears, so he sat there in silence, gazing out across that sparkling blue marble until the sun set and the stars twinkled. He slept beside the graver marker that night, as close as he could be to someone he loved in this world, shivering slightly in the cool night breeze. He found himself awake when first light came, and he rose to meet the sunrise.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It was the same view he was accustomed to throughout his life, all save for one thing. The proud new lighthouse shone from afar, out on the rocky point of the bay. Its watchful eye advised the waves, their white foam subdued in the dimness of early morning. There were other new buildings dotting the slipping hillside, too. Squal Parlor was different to him now. He began to realize it had outgrown him. Or he had outgrown it. Either way, the place didn’t like feel like home anymore.

It was then the first rays of dawn struck the sky like a sword. Picaro blinked in the new light, following the beams as they illuminated the lighthouse. Its stone tower stood proudly. Its own light fanned the waves a few more times and then dimmed, allowing the sun to take over in its stead. Curious, Picaro ventured out to inspect the lighthouse more closely.

The stone tower was smooth-faced, save for a few windows that looked out like portholes situated periodically about its face. At the top was what looked like a small parapet encased in metal grating. Inside, a magnificent, inverted lens could barely be seen. The boy needed a better look.

He tested the handle of the lighthouse door, finding it unlocked. He crept his way in. Despite his care, the door creaked on salty hinges. A sliver of light pierced the shadowy belly of the lighthouse, fighting against the darkness. Picaro’s crouched shadow slipped inside. There were no torches about. The only light came from the portal at its very top where sunlight shone.

When his eyes adjusted, he found a small, stone staircase hugging the walls of the lighthouse, going up to its very summit. Warily, he eased along the walls. Someone must be here, he thought, to have put out the light. Yet where were they? He ascended, beginning to wonder if he was truly the only one there.

When he was nearly to the top, the staircase opened onto a stone platform. There were two doors opposite the stair. He heard a faint shuffling, and then the scratch of metal as one of the doors opened. A small form carrying a lit lamp appeared in the doorway, and Picaro froze. There was nowhere for him to hide. The form jolted in alarm, nearly dropping the lamp. “Who goes there?” Then, they held up the lamp to illuminate Picaro’s face.

“There’s no visitors here. What are you-wait a second, I know you. Picaro?”

Picaro blinked, completely stunned. The voice came forward, and Picaro stood frozen, completely powerless at the sound of hearing his own name voiced by a stranger. It was surprisingly pleasant to him.

“By the high seas, it is you. What are you doing back here? It’s been so long Look, it’s me, Russell.” The lamp rose to illuminate the features of another boy, shorter, yet close to Picaro’s age. He could not mistake the mouselike features of the small boy that used to run with Jack and antagonize Picaro at every turn. It was Russell. All the air escaped Picaro’s chest.

Russell laughed. “You’re the last person I would have suspected to sneak into the lighthouse. Or maybe you should have been the first. But I thought you left Squal Parlor. What are you doing here?” Russell asked.

“I’m back with my crew,” Picaro said sheepishly. It felt like a lie. But he reminded himself it was true. “We went through the Tormented channel and-”

“Wait you’re the ones that caught that huge fish? I saw you pull into the bay. And-I, wow. You really are a free man now, aren’t you? That’s amazing.”

Picaro was taken aback by the sincere interest in Russell’s tone. This was his former nemesis, yet he found he was not angry with him anymore. That was back then. “Yeah, I guess so.” Picaro laughed. “It sounds better when you say it, though.”

“And wait, how did you make it through the channel? I hear it’s nearly impossible to get into, let alone cross. How did you beat the place where the two currents meet?”

“Silvertime must be a really good navigator,” said Picaro. “He took us through. It felt like the sea was going to grind us to pieces, but he took just the right angle and we squeezed through.”

“But how did you get out?”

Picaro frowned. “It’s honestly a blur. We just rode that big fish through the storm and suddenly the water was calm.”

“You used the fish to get out? How in the world did you do that.”

Picaro just shrugged, and laughed. “When I know, I’ll tell you. But look at you, too. Yer a lighthouse keeper now, aren’t ya?”

Russell grinned. “Not yet, but maybe one day. Come up to the top with me, check out the view. I know that’s why you snuck in here, right? That’s why anyone ever sneaks in. I really should lock the door better. Eugene’s going to kill me. He had to go take care of some things in town. We’ll have to be quick, he might be back soon. But, come see what it’s all about.”

They climbed the rest of the way. Picaro blinked when his face when his eyes met the horizon again. They were higher up than he had ever been, and the surf below looked almost insignificant as it lapped against the stones. Compared to the swells he had seen in the Tormented Channel, it was practically serene. The calls of gulls were their closest neighbors, and the clouds looked close enough for him to touch them. Behind him, sunlight refracted from the great lens that called sailors in from sea. Below them, sunlight winked off the white stones of buildings in Squal Parlor like a jewel. It was the first time Picaro had seen the town look so beautiful. It truly was a different place to him now, and he appreciated it for its newfound magnificence.

They stood there a long while at the rail. Russell quipped his lamp, and they soaked in the sunrise until something nagged at Picaro’s mind. He remembered again that this was Russell standing beside him. It was odd to share such a moment with him. “Wait, but what happened to Jack? You two were always together, weren’t you.”

Russell looked crestfallen. “Yeah. Things ain’t been the same since, he, died.”

At first, Picaro didn’t know what to say. Then he was surprised to find that he was saddened by the news. “I’m sorry Russell. I understand. When was it?”

“Two, maybe three years ago. A disease swept through here. Lots of people died. After that, I didn’t want to stay out there alone anymore. Then they started building the lighthouse. When it was finished, I begged Eugene to take me on. Staying in town felt odd. I didn’t want to be around people anymore. So I came here. Been apprenticing here ever since.”

Picaro nodded. He felt for the oyster shell in his pocket. “Yeah. Sometimes you gotta move on in the only way you know how. It’s like something you just know you gotta do, y’know?”

Russell nodded. “That’s right. And listen, I want to tell you, I’m sorry for how we treated you back then. It shouldn’t have been that way.”

The sudden apology took Picaro by surprise, and he felt his face grow hot. His heart beat like a drum, and he felt all the years of resentment he held for both of them wash away with the morning tide. He put his hand on Russell’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Russell. That was then. This is now. Life is hard enough. We don’t gotta carry that around anymore.”

Russell smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Listen, I’m glad you came back. It’s good to do something like that, you know. What do ye think? The town’s come a long way since we were kids. I like to think it’s ‘cause of the lighthouse. Ships can find us better now. They can trust the light even when they’re getting pushed around by the squall.”

Picaro returned the smile. “Yeah, it’s nice to see the it in this new light. Thank you for showing me.”

It was then they heard the groaning of the salty hinges down below. Russell froze in shock. “That’s Eugene. I thought you were him at first. Quick, follow me. There’s a metal ladder going down along the outside of the east wall, for emergencies.”

Picaro followed Russell back down to the stone platform. Russell opened a smaller, shadowed door by the base of the stairs. A wind whistled through.

“What’s that, Russell, what ye doing up there? Light a blasted lamp, will ye,” came Eugene’s gruff voice from below.

“Sorry sir, I meant to. I just dimmed the lens and was watching the sunrise,” Russell called back as he ushered Picaro out. The metal ladder was slick, and its rungs had little hold. Picaro caught himself and adjusted his weight on the bars. The wind flew past him, billowing his clothes. Part of him wished he could just float away.

“Why do ye never lock that blasted door, either? Anyone could come in here, and remember the last time. Best be more careful,” said Eugene as he mounted the stairs. “And what y’got the port exit open for, y’trying to fall to yer death?”

“Sorry sir, I thought I heard a bird caught in the grating again,” said Russell quickly.

“Well, was there?”

“No sir,” said Russell as he closed the port exit door, and Picaro was left alone on the ladder in the chill breeze.

Picaro descended, and when his feet touched ground he looked back up to see if Russell or Eugene were staring back at him. But there was no one, and all was calm. He will be a good lighthouse keeper, Picaro thought. He smiled to himself, and wished Russell well.