Dance to your daddy,

My plucky laddie,

Dance to your daddy,

My little man.

When you are grown,

And set for a wife,

A plucky lass you'll wed,

And love for all your life.

She shall be your dearie,

You shall be her swain,

Dance to your daddy,

You plucky man.

- as sung by the Captain Amard

If his crew found it strange that Jori didn't like being addressed as Captain most days or slept with them instead of the Captain's quarters that he avoided like the plague then they kept quiet about the matter. Sleeping with the crew was the least of his oddities. He doubted anyone of them knew the entire truth of his family's history and why it led to his search for his father and the Sea Goddess. Most of them could hazard a guess though, the majority of them knew him before he set his heart on sailing. There were three people aboard that definitely knew and kept Jori's secrets.

Even though Giersa would drop an exasperated sigh or three when Jori threw a tantrum, it had been Giersa who came into Captain Amard's quarters with Jori earlier where no one else dared ventured, except maybe Ralphye. The man, if pressed for answers on Jori's curious behavior would simply grunt and assign the offending party to more tasks. Hari, on the other hand… Hari loved to hear himself talk. Hari had been old when he first met the man, and sometimes Jori wondered if the older sailor clung on to life out of both spite and desire for it. He did not venture into Amard's cabin because his knees were weak and his eyesight often failed him than not. So he spent his days either on the deck after a laborious journey up the stairs or in the sleeping quarters. But his mind was sharp as ever and it was him that Jori went to for advice on how best to chart the Plucky.

Tonight though, the old sailor would be busy regaling Alez with stories. This was what he did to any new crew member who boarded the Plucky. Jori should be annoyed, truly the old man knew what embarrassing story to tell and conveniently left out the names of the offending parties — it was Jori, of course it was always about him — but he didn't have the heart to tell Hari off. He didn't have to board the Plucky, Jori was certain Hari would have had a grand old time in the tavern with the other retired sailors. But Hari had insisted, shoving Ralphye aside with his walking stick and making his way laboriously up the plank. Most nights, like most days, Hari kept to himself. Jori would find him in a corner, whistling softly under his breath as he carved wooden figures and flutes with his knife, using muscle memory rather than eyesight to whittle the little wooden animals and boats.

"You read Amard's book?" said Hari, pipe wobbling up and down, and positively shaking with excitement when Alez made his halting introduction. He ignored the irate look Jori sent his way.

There weren't many sailors asleep at this hour, they were still singing and drinking up on the deck, so it was just him, Alez and Hari. At least someone had aired out the sleeping quarters and the laundry had been done recently. The last time they'd sailed through a storm it smelled of damp and sweat. Maybe fear, but none of the sailors, including Jori would ever acknowledge that. He shrugged away the thought, and the lingering feeling that maybe it was his fault that they dared chart that course. He had thought it was a lead, it turned to be a dead end that nearly killed everyone except for Plucky being what she was. A lucky ship, he thought, but sometimes luck was not enough.

"I did?" Unlike Hari who ignored Jori's glare, Alez glanced nervously at Jori out of the corner of his eye.

What, did he think Jori would eat him? Cannibalism was bad for crew morale. Come to think of it the Plucky were always in good spirits. Even when they were captained by someone as inexperienced as he was. It confused him at first, then he chalked it to their loyalty to his father, and then their determination to bring their lost captain back from where he was lost. But the longer he sailed the more he wondered why the crew were there in the first place. Giersa could jump ship and find themself a better employment, he knew. It was the same with Ralphye, and he would be made first mate not second. Possibly even paid better. Perre wasn't there for the pay but for the adventure, which he surely could find elsewhere, though it wasn't everyday a ship was chasing Olysa so it made sense why the man had not jumped ship. As for Robaus... he really had no idea where the man came from or how he was so good at doctoring. Though if he was that good at being a surgeon, Perre could leave anytime and enjoy the peacefulness of life as a country physician. And Hari... Jori glanced over to where the old man sat with Alez.

"Wonderful!" said Hari, clapping his wrinkled hands together."I can't read that scoundrel's hand. Piss small letters he liked to write in. Savin' paper! Pah!" He huffed out a breath of smoke for emphasis. "Do you remember what you read, lad?"

Hari couldn't read the letters if you held it a finger's length beneath his nose, his eyes were that bad. But fine, Jori knew people liked to keep their pride and no doubt Hari in his prime could have read any number of journals. He wouldn't press him about it, it would be rude.

"Yes?" said Alez, haltingly. "It was numbers though, just numbers? Like… navigation? But it can't be, because they're not from a nautical almanac?"

Was it the newfangled fashion to punctuate your sentence with questions that were not questions? The part of Jori that wasn't irritated at Alez's speech perked up. Yes, he knew it wasn't almanac numbers, he had tried looking at every book his father had in his quarters and those numbers didn't match up so it couldn't be. He had even taken Giersa on a wild heist to borrow some chained up books in the church's library to see if the numbers would match. They didn't, of course, because it was just his luck.

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

When he told Hari of this the man had been dismissive, openly questioning why Jori had consulted with church prophecy. 'They make the numbers however they wish boy, why did you even think to ask them?' Though he hadn't been interested in looking at whatever Amard wrote in his books either. Jori thought it was because of Hari's pride. The man didn't like being reminded that he was slowly going blind, and that numbers needed to be read aloud to him, and that his usual method of scribbling out notations did not work anymore. Hari still did his job, but he had no interest in being consulted about written things.

This was the first time Hari had ever shown interest in the journals, and Jori had half the mind to interrogate him on what was the difference between Alez and all the other crew members, including himself. But he doubted he would get anything from the old man, he was one of the few members on the ship that could out stubborn Goatsby.

Maybe Alez would be useful after all, he mused, getting onto his own hammock. It was his because he kept a tin of spices his mother used to make cookies with inside the pillow. On nights when he couldn't sleep he would pull it out and run the tin over and over in his palm before opening it and taking a whiff. It was good to pretend that he was a child, back in her kitchen and not on some wild goose chase. No, it was at sea, so perhaps a purposeful porpoise chase would fit the situation. Porpoises were more intelligent than geese.

"They are very long," Alez continued, stammering out, "I don't think I remember them."

It was irritating listening to someone who stopped every so often to question their every word, or spoke as if someone held a whip and gun both to their head. He had enough, he took a deep breath, pushing his leg up against the wall to rock his hammock, and decided to speak up. "Get some paper and copy it out, and write it in all big letters, so that dear Hari can see them."

"You are so kind, Captain," said Hari, and he made to salute.

It was no royal salute, and if Jori had been a simpering Captain abroad any King's ship no doubt he would have the man flogged for such insolence. But there was no King here to enforce propriety so he smiled and returned the gesture. Two fingers to the forehead and tilted slightly at an angle. They were the gestures the archers had given to the former Sun King's father, his royal Sunniness the First or whatever before running him out of his castle. Of course the leader of said archer group was captured and made a painful example of, but the gesture still lived on. We salute you, lord of none, the archers had called out, come and cut off the fingers that rain death upon you and your men.

Even in the dim light he could see Alez was scandalized. Jori scoffed, clearly the man had only been taught the best about the esteemed royals and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. The nail holding the hammock to the wall creaked worryingly at the motion, and for several heart stopping moments he thought he would come crashing down but it held still. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then another, for he was an expert in faking sleep. After several moments of steadying breaths from him, it convinced Hari that he had no eavesdroppers and the old man started spilling, prompted by Alez's question;

"Captain Amard is Jori's father right?" said Alez, "Giersa said something about him, but ah… Giersa spoke very fast."

It was very politely worded in a way that could be freely interpreted. Either that Giersa told Alez everything and Alez understood nothing, or, he supposed, if Alez could make sense of his father's notes, Alez was merely making sure he understood. Though it could very well be Alez understood nothing of what Giersa said. That was entirely possible, given his own earlier conversation.

"Giersa does have a way of speakin' that leaves one confounded," agreed Hari.

"Is Captain Amard boarding soon?"

Jori took in a deep breath and let it out. He did not clench his fist or jump out from his hammock. It wasn't Alez's fault that neither Giersa or he had made it clear that Amard was nowhere to be found. Not that Jori didn't try first, because he had been young and stupid and had first thought it was an elaborate prank that the crew and his father were in on.

"No, 'fraid not," said Hari, letting out a sad sigh. "I don't think anyone's seen him in a while. How long? Oh, when you reach my age any year is like another. I don't quite recall. But y'know, lad, it's not my place to be telling Jori that. Every man has to have a dream or somethin'. Otherwise what's the point in it eh? Oh? You ask me?" A laugh, "I dream that I wake up on the crow's nest and see the horizon in the distance, then the damned goat butts me out of bed and it all comes to me that I'm old and tired." Another laugh, "Perhaps I should dream of being a goat."

There was a laugh from Alez, soft and bright. Their banter reminded Jori of the time his mother had invited his father's crew all to dinner at their tiny house, the chaos that resulted, and the bewildered look she'd given his father when her kitchen was bedecked with flowers, purple and white sea daisies. Giersa had even placed a garland of them upon her head. At her question, Amard had taken her hands and swung her into an impromptu dance that knocked several bouquets off the table and ended with her belly-laughing, breathless and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His father had given Jori a wink over his mother's shoulder.

More than anything, Amard had wanted Jori to pursue his dream. When he'd confessed, half-afraid of being told no, that he did not want to be a Captain but to learn how to cook things he was not greeted with disappointment. Instead, Amard had declared that Jori was to be apprenticed, but not to any cook, the cook for the Sun King himself. But when it came time for him to leave for his apprenticeship and he came to whisper his thoughts into his father's ear that he didn't really want to cook for royalty, he just had to satisfy his curiosity, his thirst, Amard had nodded in understanding. Jori had been relieved that at every turn in the corner his father had accepted whatever decision he'd made, even if it did not quite match with the path his father would have chosen. But deep within his heart, Jori wasn't sure if Amard really wanted his son to join him on his journeys. Amard never offered, well, had never offered explicitly. Back then, Jori was so fixated on being the best cook that he didn't quite think of anyone else.

"... I want a family," said Alez, with a note of wistfulness to his voice that Jori could taste.

But that was a typical enough dream that Jori shrugged it aside. Everyone wanted a family, and if they didn't want one then they wanted something close to a family, like a crew of sailors. Even Jori himself, who never showed any of the cooks and tavern girls that batted their eyes his way, even he wanted a family. He wanted his father back, so it was a common ground he had with Alez wasn't it? Though he supposed, Alez wanted children and all the joys and sorrow that came with it. He scowled, and crossed his arms under his blanket. He would never treat any sons of his the way his father had treated him.

"Oh? A lass then?"

Alez coughed, "No lass would have me. I think. It wouldn't be... fitting. No. I just… want a family. I want… I want a home."

"Ah," Hari's pipe was no doubt bobbing furiously as the man himself nodded sagely, "you needn't worry lad, your wish is more get-at-able than most."

Attainable, Jori thought irritably, shifting in his hammock. There was a clunk and a curse as the pipe hit the floor, but Hari's soft chuckle was certainly directed Jori's way.

"Every man should also have an att-in-able wish," Hari said, too loudly.

Jori let out a too loud snore in answer and when the next day came, refused to acknowledge the wink Hari gave him.