The Floating Island (11 page)

B
ALATRON! HO, TO PORT!” CAME THE SHOUT FROM THE CROW’S
nest.

Ven looked quickly off the left side of the ship. It was still just before daybreak, and the sky was still gray. He couldn’t see anything in the morning haze, so he took out his jack-rule and extended the glass. He peered through the side that magnified objects far away.

In the distance he could see a mountain peak, the palest of purple, frosted with snow.

“That’s Balatron, the largest of the three northern islands off Serendair,” Bill, the first mate, said as he passed Ven on the deck. “There are two others, Briala and Querrel, a little to the south and east of it. We should be landing in Kingston day after tomorrow.”

Ven nodded, struggling to not throw up.

He scurried around the deck, finishing his tasks, until Oliver finally came to the rail. Ven paused in his mopping.

“Captain,” he said, “are we sailing north now?” The captain nodded. “I thought Serendair was to the south.”

“It is, lad,” Oliver said, “but we have to sail north a bit to avoid the grave of the Sleeping Child.”

Ven’s eyes popped open wide. “Grave? Sleeping Child?”

Oliver pointed into the distance. “Do you see how there is steam over the sea yonder? That’s the grave. Long ago, a burning star fell from the sky. The Lirin, the race of people who live in the forests and fields, called her Melita. When she fell, she hit the sea with such force that the resulting tidal wave swamped the island, taking almost half of it to the bottom with her. For a long time, Serendair was known as Halfland. The purple islands you saw this morning were mountains before the Sleeping Child fell.”

“Why is it called the Sleeping Child?” Ven asked, curiosity starting to twitch inside him.

“Because it lies there, deep beneath the waves, quiet, but burning still,” Oliver said. “Sometimes the sea above it is still as glass, so that you would never know it’s there. And sometimes it boils with angry heat. But it has been there a thousand years now, and still it shows no sign of awakening.” The captain glanced back at the sea again. “Of course, if it ever does, now—” He shuddered. “Well, that’s why we sail around it. Out of respect.”

“I understand,” Ven said, staring at the steam disappearing in the distance. He returned to his chores.

By nightfall the
Serelinda
had turned southeast, and when the sun came up again, land was in clear sight.

“There she be, Ven,” Oliver said in a hushed voice. “The island of Serendair, one of the most beautiful places on earth. Look well, lad; you may see her many times in your life, but this is the only first glimpse of her you will ever have.”

Ven watched as the ship sailed ever closer to the island. The first thing he saw was a brilliant beam of light circling slowly in the gray haze of dawn, high in the air. A moment later he saw that it was from a giant tower that stood at the end of a long sandbar at the outer edge of the harbor. It was the tallest building he had ever seen, as high as the mast of the
Serelinda,
or higher. He looked up and down the coast and saw two more towers, not quite as tall, their lights circling as well.

Beyond the light towers was the harbor. Ven swallowed in amazement. The harbor was easily ten times the size of the wharf in Vaarn, with hundreds of docks lining the shore. Brightly colored flags flew from the end of each pier, flapping merrily in the ocean breeze. There were so many people scurrying about on the docks, loading and unloading ships, that it reminded Ven of an anthill with thousands of ants carrying crumbs.

The land beyond the dock seemed to go on forever. “I thought Serendair was an island,” Ven said.

“Aye, lad, it is. A right
big
island. It’s almost a continent all by itself,” Oliver answered. He handed Ven a wooden box. Ven looked at him questioningly.

“Sir?”

“In here you will find parchment paper, ink, a quill, and some sealing wax. Find a corner out of the way while the crew is making ready, and write whatever letter you wish to your family.” The captain’s blue eyes twinkled. “Of course, you might want to just wait a few days and take it to them in person.” Ven stared down at the letter box. “You do understand you will need to stay in Kingston at least a few days, Ven?”

“Why?” Ven asked.

“Well, I have to report your rescue to the authorities,” Oliver said calmly. “It’s just a matter of procedure. Most likely the harbormaster will sign off on it himself, but just in case he wants to send it onward, you need to wait around before you can get passage back on a ship home.”

“Onward?” Ven asked nervously. “Where might he send it?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about, lad. It might go to someone in the naval office, or even the Secretary of the Navy. In theory, it could go to the king himself, but I would doubt it. You never know, so until the report has been signed off on, you will need to stay in Serendair.” He inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry. I imagine you want to be getting home as soon as possible.”

Ven looked out over the rail, watching the bustling city wharf come ever closer.

“I’m not certain what I want, sir,” he said honestly. “Or, more rightly, what my father will want.”

“Why is there a question?” Oliver asked, his silver brows drawing together. “I cannot imagine any father not wanting his lost son to come home as quick as the wind can carry him.”

“Not a son who has destroyed the family business,” Ven said sadly. “Among the Nain there is no greater disgrace. Each ship we build is very expensive, and costs my father a lot of money in materials and labor. He does not get paid until the harbormaster signs off on the Inspection. I didn’t bring the ship back—in fact, I blew it up—so my father will never get paid. And he will be out so much money that it might cost him the business. My family might even have lost their home. They could be living in the street by now. And me being around would only embarrass him on a daily basis.”

“Be that as it may,” Oliver said pleasantly, “whatever loss he might suffer can’t begin to compare to how much I’m sure he misses you.” His face grew serious. “Trust me on this.”

Ven said nothing, but suddenly realized that there were more differences between Nain and humans than he had ever realized.

The sea captain reached into his coat pocket. “Until you are cleared to go home, you should probably go to the Crossroads Inn and ask for lodging in the youth hostel there. That’s where young folk stay when they have nowhere else.”

“How do I get to the inn?” Ven asked.

“Once you get to Kingston, go to the main gate at the eastern edge and follow the road until it comes to a crossroads. It’s about three miles to the inn. You can usually catch a ride with a farmer or merchant’s cart, or you can walk. You will know when you have reached the inn, you can’t miss it. The innkeeper is a lady named Mrs. Gertrude Snodgrass. She’s a—hmmm. Well, she’s a fine woman, yes, indeed. Tell her I said that she would be happy to put you up, and she will be.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ven said, his stomach turning over sickly.

“But don’t go today.” The captain glanced up at the sky. “It will be afternoon at least before we make port.” He looked intently at Ven. “You do not want to go to the Crossroads Inn at night. Do you understand what I am saying?”

The firmness in his voice made Ven shudder, even while his curiosity was tickling the back of his mind.

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “But why?”

The captain’s face hardened. “
Don’t start out on the road after the sun begins to go down.
Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Ven said quickly.

“Good,” Oliver said. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the crystal flask he had filled from the spring on the Floating Island.

Ven’s eyes opened wide as a beam of light caught the bottle. It sent rainbows flashing around the deck.

“I would be most grateful if you would deliver this to Mrs. Snodgrass for me,” the captain said quietly. “It’s extremely important that it gets to her.”

“I’d be happy to,” Ven said, taking the flask in his hand. It was cool to the touch, and hummed as if it were singing. “But why don’t you deliver it yourself, sir? Surely it would be safer with you.”

“Because I ship out in the morning, lad,” the captain said. Ven thought he saw a touch of sadness in Oliver’s eye, but when he looked again it was gone. “And as I already told you, one does not go to the Crossroads Inn after the sun begins to set. But I must get this water to Mrs. Snodgrass. Can I trust you to make certain of that?”

“You can count on me, sir,” Ven promised.

The captain clapped him on the back. “Good. Now, excuse me. I have to get the sailors’ pay ready. Go write your letter. You may use the desk in my cabin.” He turned and went belowdecks. Ven carefully put the flask into the pocket where he kept the jack-rule and buttoned it.

Then he went to the captain’s quarters and sat down at the small desk in the corner of the room. He took out the parchment paper, ink, and quill, and, after a good many squiggles and blots, began his letter.

Ven stared at the page, then shook his head, scratched out a few words and started again.

Ven fiddled with his quill, suddenly out of words. Despite what Oliver had said, he had no idea if Pepin would want to hear from him again once his father was assured of his safety. He took a deep breath and continued writing.

He blotted the ink dry, then added one more sentence.

The ink in which he had signed the letter suddenly smeared and ran. Ven blotted it quickly, then dried the eye that had dropped the tear onto it, looking around hastily to see if anyone had noticed.

Everyone on the ship was moving furiously, hurrying to get the last of their gear ready to off-load when the
Serelinda
was anchored in port. No one had seen him crying.

He quickly sealed the letter with wax and went back to work.

From then on everything happened in a blur. The passengers and crew darted hastily around the decks, lugging baggage up from the holds, getting ready to leave the ship as the docks came closer into sight.

Finally they came into port. The passengers and all their baggage were off-loaded. Then the captain came to the gangplank with a sea chest full of envelopes, and handed them, one by one, to the sailors as they left the ship. He shook each of their hands. Char and Ven were the last in line.

Oliver handed Char the second-to-last envelope. “Here you go, Char—ten gold measures of scrip. Pay for a mate, third class.” The captain patted Char’s shoulder. “It was good sailing with you. And if you decide you want to go back to sea, you’re welcome to serve on any of my ships.”

“Any except the
Serelinda,
unless you’re changin’ cooks,” Char said gloomily. “I need to keep what little of my ears is left untwisted.”

The captain laughed. “Aye, good enough,” he said, shaking Char’s hand. He turned to Ven and handed him an envelope of the same size, the last in the chest. “You, too, Ven. Ten gold measures.”

“Sir?” Ven asked, staring at the envelope in Oliver’s hand.

“Go on, take it, lad,” the captain said, pushing it at Ven. “You served as a deckhand. Deckhand’s pay is also ten gold measures of scrip, which is paper money that sailors use.”

“I—I know about scrip,” Ven said haltingly as Char tromped down the gangplank, his kite over one shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd of people. His father’s shop accepted scrip as payment for small things, like rope. All the other shops on the docks did as well. “But I don’t deserve to be paid. I was rescued.”

The captain’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “We put you to work as a deckhand, Ven. I have to pay you, and I have to pay you scale—what every deckhand makes—or I’m in violation of the sailor’s code. And that I won’t do. So take it, and good luck to you.”

“But I only served for a few weeks. Char was on the
Serelinda
for six months. And we made the same amount of money.”

Oliver exhaled. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it? But that’s the code of the sea, and we are bound to it.” He cocked his head as Ven looked down at his feet. “You goin’ to be all right, Ven?”