Jeremy sank into his chair, letting the tension fade from his body. He looked at the calendar above his cluttered wooden desk, red crosses marking the passing of days.

"Three fucking months," he sighed.

Closing his burning eyes, and resting his forehead on his palms, Jeremy let out another heavy breath — it was as much rest as he could get, after the Kraken attack. He didn't remember when that had happened, but that was beside the point.

"Three fucking months, Tyche! You've fucked us for THREE MONTHS!"

His abrupt shouting had a crew member by the door within a minute, panting from the rush to his cabin. The man was about to say something, but when he saw Jeremy's scowling face, he quietly retreated to the hallway.

Jeremy knew his scowl could be intimidating, but he couldn't help feeling satisfied that the man had backed down. It was probably for the best, anyway, he thought. He was in no mood for conversation.

Jeremy was restless, frustrated, and angry. They had miraculously survived the assault of a Kraken, only to be left high and dry for what felt like an eternity. Lady Luck had abandoned them with their last meal, and he was sick of it, sick of it all: sick of the tough and rubbery taste of Kraken meat, tired of the weary faces of the crew members, and exhausted from staring into the sea, searching for whatever else was out there.

No, it wasn't the sea. What did Delia call it again? The ocean. Jeremy didn't know the difference, nor did he care. All he wanted was to set foot on solid ground. And he wasn't alone in that sentiment.

Delia and the captain looked like hollow shells of their former selves. The captain's stoic demeanour in front of the crew couldn't mask the truth from Jeremy. He saw through the carefully crafted façade: the forced smile and the rigid posture, how he occasionally stared into the distance, his eyes glazed over, and how the man muttered under his breath. Gregory was down in the doldrums, weighed down by the same despair that gripped them all.

The ship was a floating casket, drifting them to the underworld, and Jeremy wanted no part in that. What Jeremy wanted was a break. He needed a break.

The intended rest between the current trip and the journey to Lexnor — and whatever other cities the captain had planned — had all but vanished. There was no telling when they would find land, and even if they did, he wouldn't be able to take an extended break, despite his desires to; not with the vision of Jonah's lifeless body ingrained in his mind.

The ship guard had held a heavy burden by himself for far too long. By all rights, Jeremy should have been the ship's defender. Jonah was 5 foot 8 and of lean build, whereas he was a bulky figure. He didn’t have the athletic physique of Jonah, but he was a barrel of a man, and in no way out of shape, just... not sculpted like a martial arts fighter. Muscle showed easier when you had less fat, he supposed.

The second mate was undoubtedly no swordsman either, but he could learn. Maybe not a sword, but an axe? That felt more like him. Or perhaps a spear.

"It would need to be enchanted…"

Jeremy shifted the scrolls and books that lay on the desk, looking for clean parchment. He had to write the ideas before they vanished — the fatigue from the last few days had made him increasingly forgetful.

“Jeremy.” The sudden sound of the captain made him flinch.

“A little jumpy, are we?” Gregory chuckled.

“What do you want?” he groaned in response.

“Easy now. I’ve just - ”

“- I’m sorry,” Jeremy said. “I’ve… I’m just tired.”

“You and me both,” the man muttered. He shook his head, the semblance of the captain evinced. “You know, that’s two strikes. Your attitude, and then interrupting me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said again.

“And that’s your third.”

The second mate stiffened.

Captain Gregory was a well-respected man. A veteran who liked to run a tight ship.

Three strikes on the same day meant extra duties, but that wasn't Jeremy's concern. Gregory was lenient towards him, being part of the leadership team had granted him some privileges. He knew he was skirting those borders the last few days, and the fact that the captain had finally called him on something so trivial meant he was fed up.

“Relax, I’m kiddin’. Like I was sayin' before you interrupted -” Jeremy wilted at the gentle rebuke, “- I’m just here to talk.” The captain smiled at Jeremy from the doorway. “Are you going to let me in?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Of course, captain.” Jeremy stood up as the captain walked in and locked the door.

“Sit your damn buttocks down. You’re actin’ like you’re fresh on the deck.”

He did as instructed, plopping onto his wooden chair and adjusting it to face the captain who sat on his bed.

“No need to hatch the lock, you can speak, you know. Not here to discipline you. I was just tryin’ to lighten the mood.”

The second mate simply nodded.

The captain looked the second mate up and down and sighed. “You need to sleep, Jeremy. You look like a shipwreck and you’re becoming a loose cannon as the days go by.”

So much for not being disciplined.

“How am I meant to sleep when Raijin is out there slicing Krakens up and sending them our way.”

“Worryin’ about whatever did that doesn’t matter. We haven’ met it, and probably won't. Besides, Jonah could cut it. It doesn’t mean it was a flyin’ god.”

“You didn’t see it, Cap,” he said louder. “The octopus was half dead before it even came to us!”

“Tone, Jeremy.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve…” he sighed. "I need a fucking break.”

“Yes, you do. We all do."

Jeremy's hand started fidgeting in the ensuing silence. The Captain wanted to talk, but he was never a hesitant man. So why wasn't he saying anything? Jeremy's eyes danced, trying to glean information from the stone-faced man before him. Was the food finally finished? Did something happen-

"Listen, I need you to hear me out," the captain interrupted. The man's façade cracked, giving way to the weariness in his sunken eyes. "I’m… I'm relieving you of your duties, Jeremy. I’m no lo-”

His mind was a broken radio, replaying the words again and again. He blinked at the man in confusion before the words sunk in.

“What the fu-”

“Hear me out, Jeremy.”

“-ck. Relieving me?”

“Jeremy. SIT!” The shout of the man reigned in Jeremy's rising temper and he sat back down, his brow furrowed.

“Just hear me out, ok? Carefully. And quietly, if you would.” The captain waited for Jeremy's acknowledging nod before continuing. “I’m resignin’ as Captain.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to protest, but the captain forestalled him with a raised palm.

“This trip will be my last. I’m not dyin’ so don’t worry about that. No food poisoning. I’m just…” He exhaled deeply, his posture deflating with each second. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it for about the last two months now. Or however long ago since that thing attacked."

He paused, searching for a way to explain. "When I commissioned this ship, I intended to use it until I retired. Then pass it on to Calgur. Delia was too love-struck by Jonah to leave his side, and too into her books to bother learnin’ how to sail the ship. Calgur would’ve been an excellent captain, but…well you know how that went.”

Jeremy nodded. The first mate had left them just before they set sail. Officially, he was too ill to travel. In reality, he decided to charter his own crew. Gregory had given him his blessing, so there was nothing to say in that matter.

“I now offer this ship to you. Hear me out,” he said, raising his arms to placate Jeremy once more. “You can do what you want with it. You’re not obliged to sail it. Not obliged to take the helm of captain. It’s up to you to sell if you’d like.”

The man let the offer hang in the air as the second mate processed the information.

“I don't understand. Why not Delia? Why not just sell it yourself then?”

Gregory smiled. “Delia would never accept it. Well, she’d take it but let it rust by the shore. Not sellin' it for the sentimental value and not using it because she’d have no interest. Me? I’ve made enough copper. I’m satisfied with what I have.”

Jeremy’s mind was blank. He didn’t pray to Tyche for fortune; he wanted safe passage.

“It’s time for me to move on, Jeremy. This old bird has sailed with me through it all, even when caught between the devil and the deep blue.”

“I-I… I don’t know what to say, Cap.”

“Greg. You can call me Greg.” The man got up from the bed and walked toward the door. “Think about it, Jeremy. About what you want to do." He opened it, belatedly adding, "And meet me at the deck. It’s about time we splice the mainbrace.”

Greg left Jeremy with his mind whirling.

Was it all over? If he didn't take the helm, would the crew all just disband? Did he want to stay on the ship? It was just moments ago he was begging the gods to give him a break. He was reluctant, sure, but only to help out Greg. But if he didn’t have to, would he want to stay aboard?

“Move on,” he muttered, echoing the captain's words.

Well, he could figure it out in due time. He needed some rum. Jeremy walked his way up to the main deck, now crowded by the crew. The captain stood by the bow and he approached the man who stood staring into the ocean.

“That was quick,” he said, not turning.

“I’ve… I’m still thinking about it.”

“Good.”

Jeremy stared into the distance along with the captain, listening to the sloshing of waves and the animated talks of the crew behind him. Did the captain already tell them? He looked back at Greg, who stood with his back straight and chest puffed out; his doubt diminished. The captain was a straightforward honest man. He wouldn’t have. Not without Jeremy giving him an answer.

But what would he do?

“Captain, don’t take offence, but what will you do?”

The man chuckled. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not one to sit still. Retirement doesn’t suit you. What will you do?”

The captain turned to him with a wide smile. “I’ll open up a bakery."

"A bakery?"

"A bakery."

Jeremy was, once again, speechless. "What will you call it?" he asked, filling the awkward void.

"I think I'll call it Greggs.”