A moment later we reached a small opening in the cliff side. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, bowing as he motioned us inside. We ducked into the cave. It was damp but cozy, with a banked fire that Symon quickly coaxed to a warming blaze. Before the fire Symon had placed an old rag rug so he would not have to sit on the cold sand. A few cook pots and dishes were piled nearby.
At Luna’s urging, Symon pulled out a pot from the pile, filled it with fresh water that he had collected in a jar, and positioned it over the flames. The water boiled in a few minutes, and I sprinkled the devil’s shrub powder on top, brewing the tea. Then I drank deeply. Again I felt restored, and energy coursed through me. Symon watched without speaking, his eyes sharp and curious.
Then he said, “Supper!” and pulled a string of silver fish from the sack and a pan from the pile of cookware. We sat cross-legged on the rug and watched as he fried up a surprisingly tasty meal. We added bread and cheese from the food Luna had taken from the palace kitchen and ate every bite, burning our fingers on the crispy fish, for Symon had no forks. It was a fine feast, and we felt much better for it.
“That was not at all bad,” Luna said, patting her stomach, “though I’m sorry there’s no sweet.”
The boy burst out laughing. “Why, I’ll just bake you up a dessert, sir!” he said. “Would you like a cod pudding, or a sea bass tart?”
“There is no need to be rude,” Luna snapped, making him laugh again. She got up and stomped out of the cave, furious, and Symon looked quizzically at me.
“My . . . brother has a quick temper,” I explained. “He’ll be over it soon.” Symon raised an eyebrow, and I wondered if Luna’s disguise had entirely fooled him.
In fact, Luna was back again quite quickly, for the evening wind was chill. She sat close to the fire and listened as Symon explained why he fished alone.
“I’m an orphan,” he said matter-of-factly. “My father was a fisherman, and his father before him—as far back as any can remember. Father perished in the sea when I was just six, and I took up his nets and his boat as soon as I could. I caught enough to keep my mother and myself in food and clothing.” He paused for a moment. “This past winter Mother fell ill with ship fever and died. And so I fend for myself now.”
His voice was calm, though he described dreadful losses. I thought of Mama, so weak and delicate. I too could lose my mother. The terror she must be feeling over our disappearance could kill her. The idea made tears spring to my eyes.
“It’s not right, that you should have to live alone, and work so much!” I said, blinking hard.
“It’s the way it is,” Symon replied. “I love the sea. And there are those who watch out for me.”
“Who?” Luna asked, her anger forgotten.
Symon gave her a quick smile. “The fishermen of Vittray are kind, and are always willing to help me mend my torn nets. Their wives often have a loaf of bread or a pigeon pie extra. I do quite well.”
“Do you live in this cave? Do you not go to school?” I inquired.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Luna exclaimed. To live in a cave and not take lessons—that was her idea of bliss. But Symon shook his head.
“I stay here when the fish are running. I can reach them more easily—and earlier than the other fishermen—if I leave from this strand rather than the harbor. But I have a home in Vittray, my mother’s cottage. And though I don’t go to school anymore, I read. I learn from books. At home I have many, for my mother’s father was a schoolteacher. I love to read about the sea.” He closed his eyes and recited,
“A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!”
Luna and I applauded. I knew a few sea poems myself, from the days when one of our tutors, Master Orland, had forced us to recite long verses every week. So I
At Luna’s urging, Symon pulled out a pot from the pile, filled it with fresh water that he had collected in a jar, and positioned it over the flames. The water boiled in a few minutes, and I sprinkled the devil’s shrub powder on top, brewing the tea. Then I drank deeply. Again I felt restored, and energy coursed through me. Symon watched without speaking, his eyes sharp and curious.
Then he said, “Supper!” and pulled a string of silver fish from the sack and a pan from the pile of cookware. We sat cross-legged on the rug and watched as he fried up a surprisingly tasty meal. We added bread and cheese from the food Luna had taken from the palace kitchen and ate every bite, burning our fingers on the crispy fish, for Symon had no forks. It was a fine feast, and we felt much better for it.
“That was not at all bad,” Luna said, patting her stomach, “though I’m sorry there’s no sweet.”
The boy burst out laughing. “Why, I’ll just bake you up a dessert, sir!” he said. “Would you like a cod pudding, or a sea bass tart?”
“There is no need to be rude,” Luna snapped, making him laugh again. She got up and stomped out of the cave, furious, and Symon looked quizzically at me.
“My . . . brother has a quick temper,” I explained. “He’ll be over it soon.” Symon raised an eyebrow, and I wondered if Luna’s disguise had entirely fooled him.
In fact, Luna was back again quite quickly, for the evening wind was chill. She sat close to the fire and listened as Symon explained why he fished alone.
“I’m an orphan,” he said matter-of-factly. “My father was a fisherman, and his father before him—as far back as any can remember. Father perished in the sea when I was just six, and I took up his nets and his boat as soon as I could. I caught enough to keep my mother and myself in food and clothing.” He paused for a moment. “This past winter Mother fell ill with ship fever and died. And so I fend for myself now.”
His voice was calm, though he described dreadful losses. I thought of Mama, so weak and delicate. I too could lose my mother. The terror she must be feeling over our disappearance could kill her. The idea made tears spring to my eyes.
“It’s not right, that you should have to live alone, and work so much!” I said, blinking hard.
“It’s the way it is,” Symon replied. “I love the sea. And there are those who watch out for me.”
“Who?” Luna asked, her anger forgotten.
Symon gave her a quick smile. “The fishermen of Vittray are kind, and are always willing to help me mend my torn nets. Their wives often have a loaf of bread or a pigeon pie extra. I do quite well.”
“Do you live in this cave? Do you not go to school?” I inquired.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Luna exclaimed. To live in a cave and not take lessons—that was her idea of bliss. But Symon shook his head.
“I stay here when the fish are running. I can reach them more easily—and earlier than the other fishermen—if I leave from this strand rather than the harbor. But I have a home in Vittray, my mother’s cottage. And though I don’t go to school anymore, I read. I learn from books. At home I have many, for my mother’s father was a schoolteacher. I love to read about the sea.” He closed his eyes and recited,
“A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!”
Luna and I applauded. I knew a few sea poems myself, from the days when one of our tutors, Master Orland, had forced us to recite long verses every week. So I
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