I woke up when Lucas did. I unstuck my eyes, to find myself face to face with Lucas who had let loose a yawn of foul, alcohol scented morning breath directly into my face. I immediately began to cough, which sent spittle flying into Lucas’ face, who rolled off the bed in a heap. I tried to stand up, I was sleeping on my shot arm which throbbed like hell, but one of Elma’s filed claws had apparently gotten itself hooked in my pajama shirt and she grunted, surprised, yanking me back down as I woke her from her slumber, trying to get out of bed.

“Ha! Good morning!” Melody said, stepping out of the bathroom. Her hair was wet, but she was fully dressed and completely sober.

“Sorry.” Elma said, declawing my shirt. There was a sizable hole in the fabric, now, and I strangled an exasperated sigh, turning it into a yawn. “I need to file them down again.”

“Why do…” I paused, looking for the right words. “Fish… adjacent… people…?”

“You tried, Sam. That’s what counts.” Melody said, trying to catch my eye, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Have claws at all?” I asked, “Most fish don’t.”

“Well, we aren’t fish, for one.” Elma said, “And also, who the fuck knows? Water Folk come from a ways deeper into the Ocean. Evolution ain’t the only thing that holds sway out that direction.”

I tried to get into the bathroom to take a shower, but Lucas was already in there, looking like a zombie, brushing his teeth.

“I should have rented my own room.”

“This place is expensive!” Elma said, “Don’t whine. Just feel that bed! It’s like a goddamn cloud, and if these sheets are below a 300 thread count I’ll eat them.”

“You get to counting, then. After last night I think I’d take a vindictive pleasure in watching you try.”

Elma snorted, and then walked into the bathroom. She prodded the still half asleep, other half hung over Lucas out the door, and then shut it, before he could finish brushing his teeth.

“Ah. Damn it.” Lucas said, eventually realizing that he couldn’t get to think sink anymore, and then spat in one of the paper cups that sat next to the complimentary coffee maker.

It was more of a struggle than it should have been, but eventually everyone stepped outside of the room clean and dressed. Or, as ever in Elma’s case, half dressed.

“Nothing to report. Package secure!” Elma mock saluted First Mate when we met her having breakfast with Thatch on the first floor. I assumed I’m the package?

“Lovely.” First Mate said, busy with her hashbrowns.

“Quiver should have finished loading everything before the sun came up.” Thatch said, “We can go whenever everyone is ready.”

There was a chorus of ‘Yea, let’s go’s’ and ‘I’m ready’ from the others.

I was tempted to go see the ruins of the Chapter house. But I wasn’t sure what that would accomplish. I doubted some clue would magically surface at the ruins, if I’d even be allowed near them. And that was probably the place anyone looking for me would have watched. So I just nodded my head in agreement.

Povold was waiting for us at the docks. His chest was puffed up, and the gleam was almost triumphant when he spotted me.

“I see you’ve returned with the scofflaw.”

“The what?” Elma asked,

“Nobody says that, Povold.” First Mate said, and moved to walk past him. He made as if to stop her, but at the last second deflated, and stepped out of the way.

“I’m going to need to inspect your ship one more time.” He said to First Mate as she passed.

“Povold. Don’t be such a prick. You’re being petty.”

“I’m the dockmaster! I have the right to inspect the cargo of any ship I deem suspicious! And now that you’re traveling with a known criminal, I deem your ship suspicious.”

First Mate rolled her eyes, but motioned for Povold to follow us onto the ship. He did so, practically quivering with righteous indignation.

It was a painful two hours before he was satisfied. I didn’t go down into the cargo hold with him, but after a while Lucas came back on deck, his expression a cross between someone frustrated into unreason, and someone who had been hit very hard on the head with a stick and was only now recovering.

“I hate that man.” Lucas said.

“Not a fan myself.” Hawthorn said, lying in a chair under the shade of a big umbrella. There was a soda on a little table next to him, with a curly straw long enough that he could just turn his head to drink.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

It was midday when the boat set off again. I saw Lucas breath a sigh of relief, his eyes brightening as we got underway. I felt some of that relief myself. Less for a love of the Ocean, and more because First Mate had promised I’d be safe there. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but the assurance was comforting.

“That ship is heading the same direction as us.” Hawthorn noted a few hours later, in between puffs of cigarettes. He pointed his hand, and now that I knew what to look for, I could see the movement beneath his sleeve, like still water distrubed by something deep inside it. I tore my eyes away and followed where his limp hand was pointing. It took me a little while, but eventually I spotted it. A dark fleck on the ocean. How Hawthorn had spotted that I had no idea, there was no way I would have.

“So? People can go where they please.” Lucas said,

“In light of recent events, I’m wary of folks following us. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

It was following us, as it turned out. Two days later it was on the exact same spot on the horizon. It was following us, keeping the exact same distance from our ship at all times. Nobody else seemed worried.

“They won’t follow us through the sea of tongues.” First Mate told me. “Now, in preparation I’m going to need you to help Elma, Quiver and Lucas paint the bottom of the ship.”

Apparently, in preparation for the Sea of Tongues, we needed to coat the bottom of the ship in a tar-like, foul smelling black substance. It was extremely unpleasant work. Lucas and I tied ourselves to the side of the ship, with Melody and Thatch lifting or lowering us as needed, and coated that part of the hull with whatever was in these buckets.

Quiver and Elma were in charge of applying whatever this was to the base of the ship, below the water line.

“And we’re doing this why?” I asked Thatch, who was looking down at me, safe and sound on the deck of the ship, leaning over the railing. I, on the other hand, was getting quite wet, and my fingers were caked in the putrid fluid I held in what looked like an industrial paint can. Once it left it’s container it seemed to coagulate and stick to whatever it touched. It felt like I had dipped my entire hand in dirty glue and let it partially harden.

“We don’t want anything to like the taste of us.” Thatch said, “It’ll make a lot more sense when we get there. “

When we finished, three or four hours later, it looked like the entire hull of the boat had turned moldy black, like food left out for too long.

It was the next day, at around noon, that I saw the first tongue.

I was leaning against the railing, staring out onto the ocean, when it passed by. A long, black tendril ascending from the deep blue depths of the ocean. I blinked, and stared at it until it fell behind the boat and passed out of sight.

Maybe it was because I’d already been told that this was the Sea of tongues, but even though it was like no tongue I’d ever seen, I was certain in its tongueiness.

Over the next hour the tongues increased in frequency. They were all manor of colors. Red, black, blue, but they were all identical in shape. Long, drifting tendrils in the water.

I watched as one suddenly froze, and then faster than a blink, was gone, sucked down into the water leaving not much more than a faint wake behind it.

“Must have caught a big fish or something.” Elma said,

“What are they?”

“Tongues!” Elma said, “Duh.”

“Of what?”

“No idea.” Elma said, “Nobody has been able to get down there. These tongues belong to the big ones. If you keep going down you eventually just hit a wall of tongues, where the smaller ones feed. Or maybe it’s just one big creature with lots of tongues. I don’t know.

“So there’s… a wall of tongues somewhere below the ship?”

“Yep.”

“What happens if the smaller ones all grow long enough to make it to the surface?”

Elma laughed in a way I didn’t like.

“Why don’t you look up ahead and tell me?”

The answer was simple. If a wall of tongues grew long enough to reach the surface…. That’s just what they did. That evening the ship beached itself on a literal mound of tongues. I looked ahead and the only thing I could see were piles of curled, twisted tendrils of flesh. I had the strangest feeling of being above the clouds. It looked like I could step onto the mass of flesh, but I also knew with the same certainty that stepping on a cloud wouldn’t offer you any support, that I’d be sucked down just as fast if I tried to step off the boat here.

“Welcome to the Ocean, Sam.” Hawthorn said,

“What are we… how are we going to make it through?”

“Carefully.” Hawthorn said, “We’ve got advantages that most ships don’t.” He glanced in the direction of our hanger on and smiled. “Most ships, see, have to slow down. If you slice up a tongue with your rotors, your ship will sink just as if you coated the bottom of it with chocolate. They have to move slow. Give the tongues time to taste them and get out of the way. We don’t need to worry about that.”

There was a ‘SCREECH’ as the ships intercom system turned on.

“Alright everyone.” First Mates Voice said, “Get drunk and have a party. That’s an order.”

Soon most of us were in the Rec Room. Bottles of Vodka and wine were laid out on the center table, and there was music playing. First Mate and Selimy weren’t there, and neither was Lucas. But everyone else was, and even Hawthorn had been moved down from his usual position on the deck.

I stood in the door, as Elma began pouring drinks for everyone, and Melody was messing around with the speakers, trying to play music.

“I’m getting tired of asking why.”

“Lucas’ emotion engine.” Hawthorn said, lighting up a cigarette that was immediately snuffed out by a pair of wooden fingers.

“No smoking inside.” Thatch said, “We’re going to have a party, Sam. We’re going to have fun, hopefully. The machine will drain the emotion from us and propel us forward without having to use our rotors. You will all drink a lot. More than usual. When tomorrow rolls around, you will go to work as normal with splitting headaches and upset stomachs. The misery generated will also power the machine. If we’re lucky, we’ll be out of the Sea of Tongues by tomorrow evening. "

"Fun without fun." Elma said, shaking her head. "Misery without misery. It's the worst thing I've ever felt. I hate it." Though I noticed she was drinking the alcohol with all of her usual gusto.

"I don't feel anything." I said,

"It's not on yet." Elma said, "They'll wait till we've got a bit more steam. A bit more alcohol in us, then they'll turn it on."