(no subject)
As a welcoming Caribbean sun rises upon a black ship with black sails --
(when light from the lost landshallreturn)
-- it is high in the sky over another ship, out on the open sea.
The men of the watch are hard at work, the men off-duty are sleeping or making time to snatch a bite to eat. And between the crash of waves and the creaking of the rigging, the sound of the lock snicking shut on the door to the captain's cabin goes entirely unnoticed.
Odd bits of parchment, quill pens, and navigational instruments are abruptly swept aside as Merriman clears a wide space on his desk, with little care for what falls on the floor. All that he leaves in place is a large navigational chart of the Caribbean Sea, which he weighs down with two ledgers to keep it from sliding or shifting with the rocking of the ship. With one hand planted firmly on the bottom of the chart, he uses his other hand to take out his pocket watch. He establishes a firm grip on the knotted bracelet attached to the chain, letting the watch dangle over the map like the weight of a pendulum.
As he takes hold of the bracelet, his fingertips brush another ornament that has been attached to his watch chain: a little wooden charm of a curled-up Fox.
'Any moral support in this would be greatly appreciated, Ako-ue,' he murmurs, closing his eyes and bowing his head over the chart.
Then, he lets out a long breath, clearing his mind of all extraneous thought.
The watch at the end of the chain rocks gently, back and forth, following the movement of the ship. The movement starts out small and slight, but with each successive swing it begins to take on a regular, even rhythm.
Back.
(up)
Forth.
(down)
Back.
(up)
Forth.
(down)
Back.
(up -- )
Finally, after what seems like an age of waiting, the lines of the chart shiver, latitudes and longitudes and place names and coastlines blurring out of all recognition --
(on a course that is set, though not of your devising)
-- and a small circle of light, about the size of a piece of eight, flickers into existence in the middle of the waters of the Caribbean.
It wavers for a moment, hesitantly, but the little disc of light quickly steadies itself. The glitter is not very bright, but it shines with a warm and deliberate glow.
'At last.' The look of grim satisfaction on Merriman's face is tempered by visible relief. 'There you are, Mister Wellard.'