Where The Sky Is High
Maverick and his crew departed at dawn as planned, without delay and without either of his crew members commenting on the unusually prominent searing-sullen shine in his eyes.
It was nearly noon when Lujayn finished cleaning the Medea’s antique guns. Deciding to idle for the time-being, she took up the captain’s bounty log and flipped through it while standing next to her sister at the gunwale.
“The captain’s been acting strange today, Lita,” said Lujayn after her perusal of the log failed to provide any further entertainment.
Lita only nodded vaguely, keeping her eyes on the clear sky ahead. Lujayn waited for her to respond in some more meaningful manner, but she only shifted to glance at the sky map before returning her attention to the wheel.
Finally, Lujayn sighed. “I know you’ve noticed. You notice everything about him, so don’t think I don’t reali-”
“Lu, I’m trying to get us safely to the next port.”
Lita glanced again at the map unfurled beside her, then looked anxiously back at the clouds ahead, her gaze darting between them as though praying to find the route to their destination written there. Crossly, Lujayn said, “Well, you wouldn’t have to look so hard if this thing had a sky map projector like everyone else’s.”
Lita sighed. “He’s old-fashioned.”
“He’s just old. Trapped in his ways, what,” Lujayn retorted, her voice taking on the rough, boyish edge that had become habit. Never mind how Lita turned to look at her, clearly scandalized.
“Lu! He’s younger than Father!”
“Everyone is, if you ask me. By God, I have not the slightest clue why you fancy him so…”
“I do not,” Lita said with unusual firmness. Her eyes remained fixed toward the horizon line all the while. So steady were her hands, and so steady was her gaze that for a moment, Lujayn almost believed her.
She returned to the bounty log, rifling the well-worn pages so that they snapped like far-off gunfire. Suddenly, the very last page caught her eye. She pushed the pages back to read the entry she had missed.
Lord Gavin Sigilus Edmund III
Eirhel, Eirlheel
Wanted for illegal practice of magical arts
A lord? An important one, no less. Lujayn was aware of Lord Gavin, but distantly. Their families had obviously never been well-acquainted. Still, a bounty on the head of such a man was exciting news. Lujayn was about to bring the new entry to her sister’s attention when the captain’s cabin door creaked open below them and Maverick emerged onto the deck.
Even from the bridge, surrounded by tempered glass and old but well-waxed panels, the trepidation in his manner was apparent. Lujayn watched as he raised that odd brass contraption before his eyes - an astrolabe, was it called? - and stared into the sky, straight up into the sun, it seemed to her, before he lowered the thing and tromped up to the bridge. There, he deposited the antique brass thing on the desk and proceeded to jot down a few numbers on a scrap of parchment. Lujayn tilted closer to read the numbers, but as before, she did not quite grasp their meaning. So, she merely watched as Maverick leaned over the sky map and marked it, somewhere in the middle of the East-Eirlian Cloud Sea.
He was silent for a moment further, calculating, then he said, “Mister Lander. Four clicks north to northwest, if you will. We’re to blow past it at this rate.”
“Aye, cap’n.”
Lita adjusted her grip on the wheel and nudged the Medea back on course, her fingers naturally settling over the smoothed grain with the habit of long months spent in the skies.
“Mister van Dreck,” Maverick continued, his eyes not leaving the chart. “If you have time to stand around idle, then go swab the deck. After that is done, the engine needs checking.”
Lujayn restrained her sigh as Lita, her back to them both, allowed herself a smirk that was not entirely feminine.
“Mister van Dreck.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
Lujayn placed the leather-bound bounty log back on the desk, securing a corner of the sky map, before she left the bridge to carry out her orders. Maverick glanced sideways at the log but did not touch it.
After what seemed like hours spent in nothing but the groan of the planks, the creak of the sails, and the steady metallic thrum of the engine, Maverick straightened and turned to face the skies. The sun was directly above them, shining silver-bright on the bleached sails and dark, wind-worn panels. Here on the bridge, the rush of air past the ship was but a whisper colouring the silence, almost imperceptible underneath the multitude of other familiar ship sounds, and the beat of one’s own thoughts while at the wheel.
Suddenly, Maverick was behind Lita, having melded the sound of his footsteps with the rhythm of the ship. He reached out and, with a firm authority roughened by the calluses under his fingers, corrected her grip around the smooth wooden spokes.
“Keep her on course, Mister Lander,” Maverick said, his tone unchanged. “We should reach Victoria by nightfall.”
“Aye, captain.”
Satisfied, he left the navigation to her and left as, below, Lujayn began to scrub the planks.
It was nearly noon when Lujayn finished cleaning the Medea’s antique guns. Deciding to idle for the time-being, she took up the captain’s bounty log and flipped through it while standing next to her sister at the gunwale.
“The captain’s been acting strange today, Lita,” said Lujayn after her perusal of the log failed to provide any further entertainment.
Lita only nodded vaguely, keeping her eyes on the clear sky ahead. Lujayn waited for her to respond in some more meaningful manner, but she only shifted to glance at the sky map before returning her attention to the wheel.
Finally, Lujayn sighed. “I know you’ve noticed. You notice everything about him, so don’t think I don’t reali-”
“Lu, I’m trying to get us safely to the next port.”
Lita glanced again at the map unfurled beside her, then looked anxiously back at the clouds ahead, her gaze darting between them as though praying to find the route to their destination written there. Crossly, Lujayn said, “Well, you wouldn’t have to look so hard if this thing had a sky map projector like everyone else’s.”
Lita sighed. “He’s old-fashioned.”
“He’s just old. Trapped in his ways, what,” Lujayn retorted, her voice taking on the rough, boyish edge that had become habit. Never mind how Lita turned to look at her, clearly scandalized.
“Lu! He’s younger than Father!”
“Everyone is, if you ask me. By God, I have not the slightest clue why you fancy him so…”
“I do not,” Lita said with unusual firmness. Her eyes remained fixed toward the horizon line all the while. So steady were her hands, and so steady was her gaze that for a moment, Lujayn almost believed her.
She returned to the bounty log, rifling the well-worn pages so that they snapped like far-off gunfire. Suddenly, the very last page caught her eye. She pushed the pages back to read the entry she had missed.
Lord Gavin Sigilus Edmund III
Eirhel, Eirlheel
Wanted for illegal practice of magical arts
A lord? An important one, no less. Lujayn was aware of Lord Gavin, but distantly. Their families had obviously never been well-acquainted. Still, a bounty on the head of such a man was exciting news. Lujayn was about to bring the new entry to her sister’s attention when the captain’s cabin door creaked open below them and Maverick emerged onto the deck.
Even from the bridge, surrounded by tempered glass and old but well-waxed panels, the trepidation in his manner was apparent. Lujayn watched as he raised that odd brass contraption before his eyes - an astrolabe, was it called? - and stared into the sky, straight up into the sun, it seemed to her, before he lowered the thing and tromped up to the bridge. There, he deposited the antique brass thing on the desk and proceeded to jot down a few numbers on a scrap of parchment. Lujayn tilted closer to read the numbers, but as before, she did not quite grasp their meaning. So, she merely watched as Maverick leaned over the sky map and marked it, somewhere in the middle of the East-Eirlian Cloud Sea.
He was silent for a moment further, calculating, then he said, “Mister Lander. Four clicks north to northwest, if you will. We’re to blow past it at this rate.”
“Aye, cap’n.”
Lita adjusted her grip on the wheel and nudged the Medea back on course, her fingers naturally settling over the smoothed grain with the habit of long months spent in the skies.
“Mister van Dreck,” Maverick continued, his eyes not leaving the chart. “If you have time to stand around idle, then go swab the deck. After that is done, the engine needs checking.”
Lujayn restrained her sigh as Lita, her back to them both, allowed herself a smirk that was not entirely feminine.
“Mister van Dreck.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
Lujayn placed the leather-bound bounty log back on the desk, securing a corner of the sky map, before she left the bridge to carry out her orders. Maverick glanced sideways at the log but did not touch it.
After what seemed like hours spent in nothing but the groan of the planks, the creak of the sails, and the steady metallic thrum of the engine, Maverick straightened and turned to face the skies. The sun was directly above them, shining silver-bright on the bleached sails and dark, wind-worn panels. Here on the bridge, the rush of air past the ship was but a whisper colouring the silence, almost imperceptible underneath the multitude of other familiar ship sounds, and the beat of one’s own thoughts while at the wheel.
Suddenly, Maverick was behind Lita, having melded the sound of his footsteps with the rhythm of the ship. He reached out and, with a firm authority roughened by the calluses under his fingers, corrected her grip around the smooth wooden spokes.
“Keep her on course, Mister Lander,” Maverick said, his tone unchanged. “We should reach Victoria by nightfall.”
“Aye, captain.”
Satisfied, he left the navigation to her and left as, below, Lujayn began to scrub the planks.