A shiver of admiration rippled through the crowd as Valgur and his crew disembarked, many men still singing. Picaro stepped out behind them onto the dock. Memories of his time here in Squall Parlor washed over him. Here he was now, part of a triumphant crew of Free Man to dock unexpectedly in the paltry port, to the amazement of all. He looked at the specks of the fisherman floating out on the bay. They were milling about the great catch, as much in awe as the rest of them.
“I need three things. A shipwright, a fishmonger, and a place to wet my beak,” said Valgur to a nearby dockhand who dared to come close enough, flipping him a coin. The man nearly saluted as he sped off on his errand.
“Shipwright and fishmonger are on their way, and y’can find the inn up the hill when yer ready,” said the dockhand to Valgur when he returned. The captain nodded and tucked his thumbs into the folds of his trench coat. They waited several minutes. Then, a balding man pushed his way through the crowd, one Picaro recognized. It was Archibald, the shipwright. He looked older and wearier since he last saw him. “Pleasant morning to you,” said Archibald, who then looked up and saw the giant fish for the first time. “By the high seas, what a monster that is.”
“Aye, ‘tis,” said Valgur, grinning.
“You come down out of the channel?” Archibald asked. Valgur nodded. “She’s a bit worse for wear,” he said, whistling softly and massaging his chin as he surveyed the ship.
“What can ye do for her?” Valgur asked.
“It’ll take time, but I can get her shipshape for you.”
“How long?”
“A tenday, but maybe more,” said Archibald.
“I don’t have that long. There’s somewhere I need to be,” said Valgur. The situation seemed oddly familiar to Picaro. Memories of Mister Goffrey flashed across his mind. Here he was now, with another grumbling captain abject to his having to remain in Squall Parlor to endure the repair of his ship.
“Well, I can get her to float for you, but-”
“That’s fine by me. Patch her up, it’s all we need. I know she’s in good hands,” said Valgur, clapping the man on the back so hard he shook. “Now, where’s my fishmonger?”
Just then, another man pushed through the crowd wearing a bloodied apron. He had a thick mustache. “Who caught this?” The fishmonger asked, motioning to the monstrous fish floating in the bay.
“Me and me crew,” said Valgur, wading towards him through the group of mingling onlookers.
“Never have I seen such a magnificent specimen,” said the fishmonger.
“Truly,” said Valgur. “What’ll ye pay for it.”
“I can’t possibly afford to buy the whole animal. It would be impossible to weigh. But I can bring on some more help to butcher it for you. Keep what you wish, and I will sell the rest for you at a modest percentage.”
“What are we talking?”
“Three copper per pound.”
“Make it two and y’got a deal,” said Valgur, and the pair shook hands.
Picaro followed behind Valgur and the crew, feeling eyes upon him. The closest onlookers were quite curious and for a moment Picaro thought someone recognized him. The shame of his youth nearly swallowed him up in that moment until he remembered his place among the crew. He puffed out his chest. He was a Free Man now, he thought, and he met their eyes as they stared wholly unafraid and without the shame of his former days stealing food just to survive. He could see the curious fear in their faces and it gave him power.
The merry troupe wound their way to the inn, the very same Picaro had followed captain Coldblue into those years ago. They opened the doors ceremoniously and spilled over to the bar. Picaro followed behind, a bemused smirk on his face. He ate some food with the crew. Some regarded him jovially, their former issues forgotten. He sang a few songs and laughed a few laughs. It felt, for the first time, as if he belonged. He basked in the exultation.
When he had his fill, he retreated to a stool by the wall where he watched the crew continue their merrymaking. He was sipping on a mug of warm mead when a stirring thought crossed his mind, and he returned to himself. He looked around implacably, then put down his mug and stole quietly out of the inn, making his way out of town to the top of a hill until he found his way to a row of grave markers that edged the forest. He found a particularly crude marker that looked like it had been made by a small pair of hands. A series of shells were packed into the dirt. Some had been blown away by past storm, but a few remained. Picaro picked up a small oyster shell from the bunch and sat down beside the place old Uncle Oyster, the kind fisherman of his youth, lay.
Picaro padded the dirt gently. “I'm back. Hey, guess what? We just caught a huge fish, the biggest you’ve ever seen. Nearly sunk us out there as we sailed right through the Tormented Channel. I’m telling you, I’m not a lying. We beat it, and it brought us here.” Picaro said quietly. He laughed awkwardly then fell silent. Tears welled in his eyes. “I made it back. I still can’t believe I ever left. I went out the same way I came in, but this time on a boat. From the sea, back to the sea, as ye always said.” The tears fell. He didn’t stop them. He sat and sobbed there a little while, flipping the oyster shell over in his hands.
“I’m a Free Man now,” he said at last, sniffling. “It’s not everything I imagined, though, or I guess the people aren’t. But it’s not all bad. Don’t think it’s all bad. I got what I wanted. At least I got the sea. That beautiful blue marble. It’s really something. It really is. I’m going to find some treasure, just like I said I would. That’s where we’re going now. You’ll see, I’ll bring it back and show you.”
As he spoke he heard the rustle of leaves behind him and turned to see a flash of orange in the bush. He turned curiously, spying the tuft of a white tail. A pair of yellow eyes stared back at him. He and the fox held each other’s gaze for so long that Picaro thought the animal was trying to say something. Then it moved away, fading into the depth of the forest. For a moment, Picaro wanted to follow it. Somehow, it felt like a sign.
“Was that you?” said Picaro, glancing at the grave marker. Then, he sighed. He had cried all his tears so he only sat there in silence, gazing out across that sparkling blue marble until the sun set and the stars twinkled. He slept beside the grave marker that night to be as close as he could be to someone he had loved in this world, shivering slightly in the cool night breeze. He found himself waking when first light came, and he rose to meet the sunrise.
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It was the same view he was accustomed to in his youth, all save for one thing. The proud new lighthouse shone from afar out on the rocky point of the bay, its watchful eye advising the waves, their white foam subdued in the dim light of early morning. There were other new buildings dotting the slipping hillside, too. Squall Parlor was different to him now. He began to realize it had outgrown him. Or he had outgrown it. Either way, the place didn’t like feel like home anymore.
It was then the first rays of dawn struck the sky like a sword. Picaro blinked in the new light, following the beam as it illuminated the lighthouse. Its stone tower stood proudly as its own light fanned the waves a few more times and then dimmed, allowing the sun to take over in its stead. Curious, Picaro ventured down the hill to inspect the lighthouse more closely. The stone tower was smooth-faced save for a few windows that looked out like portholes situated periodically about its face. At the top was what looked like a small parapet encased in metal grating. Inside, a magnificent inverted lens could barely be seen. The boy needed a better look.
He tested the handle of the lighthouse door, finding it unlocked and crept his way in. Despite his care, the door creaked on salty hinges. A sliver of light pierced the shadowy belly of the lighthouse, fighting against the darkness. Picaro crouched and his shadow slipped inside. There were no torches about, the only light came from the portal at the very top where sunlight shone.
When his eyes adjusted he found a small stone staircase hugging the walls of the lighthouse going up to its very summit. Warily, he eased along the walls. Someone must be here, he thought, to have put out the light. Yet where were they? He ascended, beginning to wonder if he was truly the only one there. When he was nearly to the top, the staircase opened onto a stone platform. There were two doors opposite the stair. He heard a faint shuffling and then the scratch of metal as one of the doors was opened. A small form carrying a lit lamp appeared in the doorway, and Picaro froze. There was nowhere for him to hide. The form jolted in alarm, nearly dropping the lamp. “Who goes there?” Then, they held up the lamp to illuminate Picaro’s face. “There’s no visitors here. What are you-wait a second, I know you. Picaro?”
Picaro blinked, completely stunned. The voice came forward and Picaro stood frozen, completely powerless at the sound of hearing his own name voiced by a stranger. It was surprisingly pleasant to him.
“By the High Seas, it is you. What are you doing here? It’s been so long. Look, it’s me, Russell.” The lamp rose to illuminate the features of another boy, shorter, yet close to Picaro in age. He could not mistake the mouselike features of the small boy that used to run with Jack and antagonize Picaro at every turn. It was Russell. All the air escaped Picaro’s chest.
Russell laughed. “You’re the last person I would have suspected to sneak into the lighthouse. Or maybe you should have been the first. But I thought you left Squall Parlor. What are you doing here?” Russell asked.
“I’m back with my crew,” Picaro said sheepishly. It felt like a lie. But he reminded himself it was true. “We went through the Tormented channel and-”
“Wait, you’re the ones that caught that huge fish? I saw you pull it into the bay. And-I, wow. You really are a Free Man now, aren’t you? That’s amazing.”
Picaro was taken aback by the sincere interest in Russell’s tone. This was his former nemesis, yet he found he was not angry with him anymore. That was back then. “Yeah, I guess so.” Picaro laughed. “It sounds better when you say it, though.”
“And wait, how did you make it through the channel? I hear it’s nearly impossible to get into, let alone cross. How did you beat the place where the two currents meet?”
“Silvertime is a masterful navigator,” said Picaro. “He took us through. It felt like the sea was going to grind us to pieces, but he took just the right angle and we squeezed through.”
“But how did you get out?”
Picaro frowned. “It’s honestly a blur. We just rode that big fish through the storm and suddenly the water was calm.”
“You used the fish to get out? How in the world did you do that?”
Picaro just shrugged, and laughed. “When I know, I’ll tell you. But look at you, too. Yer a lighthouse keeper now, aren’t you?”
Russell grinned. “Not yet, but maybe one day. Come up to the top with me, check out the view. I know that’s why you snuck in here, right? That’s why anyone ever sneaks in. I really should lock the door better. Eugene’s going to kill me. He had to go take care of some things in town. We’ll have to be quick, he might be back soon. But, come see what it’s all about.”
They climbed the rest of the way. Picaro blinked when his eyes met the horizon again. They were higher up than he had ever been and the surf below looked almost insignificant as it lapped against the stones. Compared to the swells he had seen in the Tormented Channel, it was all quite serene. The calls of gulls were their closest neighbors and the clouds looked close enough for him to touch them. Behind him, sunlight refracted from the great lens that called sailors in from sea. Below them, sunlight winked off the white stone buildings, making Squall Parlor shimmer like a jewel. It was the first time Picaro had seen the town look so beautiful. It truly was a different place to him now, and he appreciated it for its newfound magnificence.
They stood there a long while at the rail. Russell quipped his lamp, and they soaked in the sunrise until something nagged at Picaro’s mind. He remembered again that this was Russell standing beside him. It was odd to share such a moment with him. “What happened to Jack? You two were always together, weren’t you.”
Russell looked crestfallen. “Yeah. Things ain’t been the same, since he died.”
At first, Picaro didn’t know what to say. Then he was surprised to find that he was saddened by the news. “I’m sorry Russell. I understand. When was it?”
“Two, maybe three years ago. A disease swept through here. Lots of people died. After that, I didn’t want to stay out there alone anymore. That's when they started building the lighthouse. A blessing in disguise, I suppose. When it was finished, I begged Eugene to take me on. Staying in town felt odd. I didn’t want to be around people anymore. So I came here. Been apprenticing here ever since.”
Picaro nodded. He felt for the oyster shell in his pocket. “Yeah. Sometimes you gotta move on in the only way you know how. It’s like something you just know you gotta do, y’know?”
Russell nodded. “That’s right. And listen, I want to tell you, I’m sorry for how we treated you back then. It shouldn’t have been that way.” The sudden apology took Picaro aback, and his face grew hot. His heart beat like a drum and he felt all the years of resentment he held for both of them wash away with the morning tide. He put his hand on Russell’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Russell. That was then. This is now. Life is hard enough. We don’t gotta carry that around anymore.”
Russell smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Listen, I’m glad you came back. It’s good to do something like that, you know. What do ye think of it all? The town’s come a long way since we were kids. I like to think it’s ‘cause of the lighthouse. Ships can find us better now. They can trust the light even when they’re getting pushed around by the squalls.”
Picaro returned the smile. “Yeah, it’s nice to see the it in this new light. Thank you for showing me.”
It was then they heard the groaning of the salty hinges down below. Russell froze in shock. “That’s Eugene. I thought you were him at first. Quick, follow me. There’s a metal ladder going down along the outside of the east wall, for emergencies.”
Picaro followed Russell back down to the stone platform. Russell opened a smaller, shadowed door by entrance to the stairs. A wind whistled through.
“What’s that, Russell, what ye doing up there? Light a blasted lamp, will ye,” came Eugene’s gruff voice from below.
“Sorry sir, I meant to. I just dimmed the lens and was watching the sunrise,” Russell called back as he ushered Picaro out. The metal ladder was slick, and its rungs had little hold, but Picaro caught himself and adjusted his weight on the bars. The wind flew past him, billowing his clothes. Part of him wished he could just float away.
“Why do ye never lock that blasted door? Anyone could come in here, and remember the last time. Best be more careful,” said Eugene as he mounted the stairs. “And what y’got the port exit open for, y’trying to fall to yer death?”
“Sorry sir, I thought I heard a bird caught in the grating again,” said Russell quickly.
“Well, was there?”
“No sir,” said Russell as he closed the port exit door, and Picaro was left alone on the ladder in the chill breeze.
Picaro descended, and when his feet touched ground he looked back up to see if Russell or Eugene were staring back at him. But there was no one, and all was calm. He will be a good lighthouse keeper, Picaro thought. He smiled to himself, and wished Russell well.
How it started:
- Samuel O. Ludescher