Page 1 of Found at Sea
1
Fletcher
“They say Poseidon cursed him,” the old crewman said to those who listened. “You can see it in his eyes. One blue and one brown. Creatures and man, both in the sea and on land, fear him.”
I rolled my eyes as I listened to him weave his tales, even though a part of me was intrigued. I’d always loved stories.
The sea demon was who he spoke of. Every sailor—and the men in the taverns they visited—knew the myth of the captain whose heart was as icy as the seas he sailed upon. A man so cruel that death wouldn’t even claim him. The tale was rubbish to me.
No matter how cruel, a man was just a man, and he could be defeated like any other.
I kept my thoughts to myself as I refilled the pitcher of ale. It was not my place to voice my opinion on such matters.
“Have another ale, old timer,” a younger man said from the back of the room. “This captain is no greater than you or I. Legends always make ordinary men out to be more than they are.”
The older man focused on him. His face was weathered and a patch covered one eye. “You speak from experience, lad? Have ya ever seen him?”
“Have you?” the younger man countered, displaying insolence.
“Aye, as a matter of fact I have,” he answered before downing the contents of his mug and slamming it on the wooden table. “You’d do well to heed my words. All of you.” He looked at the men sitting beside him before trailing his gaze throughout the half-full room of patrons, most of which had stopped to listen to him. “The sea’s a dangerous place with him sailing its waters.”
“Then, I suppose I am fortunate to be on land,” I said, unable to stop myself from butting in, raising my own mug and downing a mouthful of the potent ale.
The surrounding men chuckled, and my smirk didn’t falter even though my heart plummeted at my words.
My life was good compared to most. I worked in the tavern and slept in the loft above it. I didn’t have much coin in my pockets, but I had enough to get by. My belly never went hungry for long. In the winter, I had warm clothes and boots without holes.
And yet, I felt incomplete, as if I merely existed instead of lived.
“Boy!” a man at the table in the corner yelled. “Fetch us another round.”
After placing my ale on the bar, I brought the pitcher to the man’s table, refiling their mugs. They were a robust bunch who talked louder than necessary and flung their hands around, spilling their drinks. Most of them were drunk, and the ones who weren’t were close to it.
The old man who’d told his story about the captain watched me as I moved around the room, topping off other’s mugs and wiping down tables when they left. I tried to keep my focus elsewhere, but I felt his eyes burning into me.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I looked at him.
Even with a patch covering one eye, his stare was intense, and his downturned mouth only added to that intensity. He lifted a hand and motioned me over.
After a moment of hesitation, I obeyed.
“You dare insult me, boyo,” he growled, clinching his fist. “A mere boy who’s never known life outside this place.”
“It was not me who insulted you,” I corrected him. “My statement was a fact and nothing more. Still, I do not believe your tales…as enthralling as they are.”
I was smaller than most men. At nineteen, I barely stood above five and a half feet. No matter how hard I worked, my muscles were small and my torso remained thin. However, I refused to buckle when confronted with those bigger than me.
“Your belief means little to me, boyo. If you’d seen what I’ve seen, ye would not be so quick to dismiss my words.”
“You’re right about me being inexperienced in the ways of the world,” I confessed, not knowing why I continued to talk to him, but unable to stop. “But what Idoknow? You thrive off instilling fear into other men.”
The man took a long pull from his mug, keeping his one eye fixated on me. Just as I was about to walk away, he grabbed my arm. “You have spirit. Good. You’ll need it in the world of man and among the men who aren’t men.” Chills spread along my arms. “Remember this. If you’re ever lost…your heart will guide you home.”
Puzzled, I stared at him for several seconds too long before finally shrugging him off and walking away.
I’d sensed a threat in his words—or a warning—but after a while, I disregarded it. Not able to overpower men with my size, I had learned how to read them instead, to pick up on their body language and behavior. The old timer used fear as his weapon.
Ned, the tavern owner, clapped me on the back as I returned to the bar.
