certainty.
* * * *
She awoke to the sounds of the sea. She could hear it caressing the hull of the ship just by her head, whispering through the planking in a language she did not understand. She got out of the bunk and found her clothes. It was a small cabin made smaller by the curve of the hull against which her bed was set, and the way in which it narrowed slightly. It seemed strange to someone who was used to square rooms and square houses.
Dressed, she went on deck and looked around. She could see that it was a fine day, and a breeze filled the ship’s great sails which strained above her head, looking crisp and clean against the blue sky. She heard the creak of the masts, the swish of the water, and the hum of the ropes held taut and played by the wind like so many strings on a giant lute. Men talked and from time to time an order was called out.
“Miss Felice.”
She turned at the sound of her name. Captain Pelorus was standing close to the stern of the vessel, close to the great wheel. He stood with legs spread, comfortable in the motion of the sea. His eyes were bright and he smiled broadly. She realised that she was seeing him in his natural environment for the first time. He was happy here, a happiness that was not family, not the love of another. This was something she had never seen.
“Captain, it seems a fine day,” she said.
“Indeed,” he replied. “If it stays like this we will be in Pek’s fine harbour within six days.”
She looked around, letting her eyes travel beyond the ship to the ocean. It seemed flat; flatter than any land she had seen; featureless and benign. But when she turned to the other side and looked out she saw the same, and that shocked her.
“Where is the land, Captain?” she asked.
“To the west,” he pointed. “It is thirty miles distant, and you cannot see it. You will not see it again until we turn to approach Pek itself.”
“How do you know where you are?” She was certain that the captain knew his trade, but being out of sight of land seemed dangerous.
“I have sailed these waters all my life. I know the winds, and I know the land that you cannot see. I see it still, here,” he pointed to his own head. “In my mind’s eye I see each headland and bay passing as though it were a short mile off the bow.”
She nodded uncertainly.
“And there is a reason to be so far from shore?”
“There is. The time of year. It is a season of quick storms that come out of the east, and I would not be caught without the sea room to weather them.”
“And how far is it that we sail?”
“A thousand and a half miles. It is fully half the span of the world for a sailor.”
“And what is out there?” She pointed to the east.
“The sea,” he replied. “Storms, dreams, death. It is all the same. Nobody has ever sailed out there and returned to tell us.”
The looked again at the calm ocean, at the east. It was so like looking into the future. No eye could see better than a few miles, a few hours ahead. No human eye, at least. She had heard stories of a race called the Shan, those with whom the captain’s friends had traded for the flower wood. They were supposed to see better than men, to see the hidden possibilities beyond the horizon.
She became aware that she was in the way. Sailors were altering their courses to pass her, and so she joined the captain on the raised deck at the back of the ship. She found the view of the ship better from here. She could see the sails clearly, and almost all the confusion of ropes that seemed to hold up the masts and brace the sails against the wind. She stood, rapt with fascination, as she watched Pelorus sail the ship. He stood and felt the wind, each change causing him to reappraise the setting of the sails and the course they cut through the water.
“A touch more to larboard,” he said to the helmsman. “Bring that mainsail a couple of
* * * *
She awoke to the sounds of the sea. She could hear it caressing the hull of the ship just by her head, whispering through the planking in a language she did not understand. She got out of the bunk and found her clothes. It was a small cabin made smaller by the curve of the hull against which her bed was set, and the way in which it narrowed slightly. It seemed strange to someone who was used to square rooms and square houses.
Dressed, she went on deck and looked around. She could see that it was a fine day, and a breeze filled the ship’s great sails which strained above her head, looking crisp and clean against the blue sky. She heard the creak of the masts, the swish of the water, and the hum of the ropes held taut and played by the wind like so many strings on a giant lute. Men talked and from time to time an order was called out.
“Miss Felice.”
She turned at the sound of her name. Captain Pelorus was standing close to the stern of the vessel, close to the great wheel. He stood with legs spread, comfortable in the motion of the sea. His eyes were bright and he smiled broadly. She realised that she was seeing him in his natural environment for the first time. He was happy here, a happiness that was not family, not the love of another. This was something she had never seen.
“Captain, it seems a fine day,” she said.
“Indeed,” he replied. “If it stays like this we will be in Pek’s fine harbour within six days.”
She looked around, letting her eyes travel beyond the ship to the ocean. It seemed flat; flatter than any land she had seen; featureless and benign. But when she turned to the other side and looked out she saw the same, and that shocked her.
“Where is the land, Captain?” she asked.
“To the west,” he pointed. “It is thirty miles distant, and you cannot see it. You will not see it again until we turn to approach Pek itself.”
“How do you know where you are?” She was certain that the captain knew his trade, but being out of sight of land seemed dangerous.
“I have sailed these waters all my life. I know the winds, and I know the land that you cannot see. I see it still, here,” he pointed to his own head. “In my mind’s eye I see each headland and bay passing as though it were a short mile off the bow.”
She nodded uncertainly.
“And there is a reason to be so far from shore?”
“There is. The time of year. It is a season of quick storms that come out of the east, and I would not be caught without the sea room to weather them.”
“And how far is it that we sail?”
“A thousand and a half miles. It is fully half the span of the world for a sailor.”
“And what is out there?” She pointed to the east.
“The sea,” he replied. “Storms, dreams, death. It is all the same. Nobody has ever sailed out there and returned to tell us.”
The looked again at the calm ocean, at the east. It was so like looking into the future. No eye could see better than a few miles, a few hours ahead. No human eye, at least. She had heard stories of a race called the Shan, those with whom the captain’s friends had traded for the flower wood. They were supposed to see better than men, to see the hidden possibilities beyond the horizon.
She became aware that she was in the way. Sailors were altering their courses to pass her, and so she joined the captain on the raised deck at the back of the ship. She found the view of the ship better from here. She could see the sails clearly, and almost all the confusion of ropes that seemed to hold up the masts and brace the sails against the wind. She stood, rapt with fascination, as she watched Pelorus sail the ship. He stood and felt the wind, each change causing him to reappraise the setting of the sails and the course they cut through the water.
“A touch more to larboard,” he said to the helmsman. “Bring that mainsail a couple of
Similar Books
