Sarah Driver - Sea

‘What’s going on? Who’s that man?’ asks Sparrow, tugging on my cloak.

‘The king of the bleeding sea-cows. How would I know?’ I wrap an arm round Sparrow’s shoulders and rest my chin on top of his tangled hair. Sick longing for Da twists inside my belly.

Grandma’s hair swirls in the salt spray. There’s a green glint when she moves her head – she must be wearing her glass eye again. She stands arrow-straight and crosses a fist over her heart. Her sea-hawk, Battle-Shrieker, hulks on her shoulder, talons clutching a scrap of cloth. Quiet falls, leaving just the shrilling of sea-birds and the sloshing of waves against the hull. ‘Tribesfolk, this is Stag, a long-lost member of our Tribe. Some of you know him—’ Someone cheers, and Grandma grins broadly. ‘Some of you don’t. But all of you will make your captain heart-glad if you join me in welcoming him home.’

Welcoming him home ?

‘Blessings and thanks to you, Captain Wren,’ he replies. ‘As a hearth-gift I have brought the carcass of the bigtooth brute that’s been plaguing these waters, slain by my hand.’

As he speaks, Bear and a group of fishermen struggle up the plank, lugging the colossal shark. Its blood makes dark puddles on the wood. The world melts into deafening cheers, but I don’t care about the shark, cos the man called Stag slides his eyes over my face again. Then they dart away, across the deck. My guts wriggle, heavy and damp as a bucket crammed with slimy hagfish. Who is this Stag? What does he want with the Huntress ?

And other questions stab behind my eyes, in my chest, into the back of my throat, again and again and again. Where is Da? How could Grandma have returned with this strange man instead?

‘Stag!’ calls an oarsman. ‘Too many heartbeats have passed, good brother. Where have you roved?’ As Stag strides into the greeting, I notice something folded over his arm. It’s a sealskin. My heart jangles and Sparrow’s body tenses, cos he’s seen it too.

A sealskin cloak just like Da’s, stained with dark splotches of blood.

Sparrow presses his sticky little hand into mine.

‘This cloak was found by washerwomen on the riverbank,’ says Stag, passing the sealskin to Grandma. ‘As one of your own, I recognised the symbol of the Huntress sewn into the skin.’

My belly drops away. Grandma flashes a look at me and Sparrow before she glances at the underside of the cloak. She nods and her face grows flushed and slack. I grip Sparrow’s hand tight enough to make him whimper.

‘Bear!’ calls Grandma.

‘I believe it belonged to your navigator. His name was Fox?’ asks Stag.

A startled murmur swooshes around the deck. Grandma meets my eyes. Stag’s words fly between us. Was?

Bear appears, breathless, breeches smeared with tar and shark blood. He pushes past black-cloaks and carpenters and comes to stand behind Sparrow and me. His warm hands rest on our shoulders. ‘After all these years, he returns,’ he murmurs.

‘What happened at Haggle’s Town? Where’s Da?’ I ask. Bear shakes his head gently.

Before I can brace myself, the stranger speaks again. ‘I gift you a thousand heart-sadnesses for the death of your navigator.’

Bear’s fingers tighten and he pulls us closer to him. ‘Fret ye not,’ he whispers in our ears.

Am I going to have to cut out Stag’s stupid land-lurking tongue, just to shut him up? ‘Don’t you listen to this thundercloud in breeches!’ I shout. ‘We’ve got to search for Da!’

Stag’s eyebrows almost vanish into his hair when I shout, but it’s Grandma who speaks, in her no-messing voice. ‘Bear, get my grandchildren below decks. The rest of you, on with your duties. The Wharves are dangerous and empty of trade. The Hagglers blame us for bringing terrodyls close to their shores – land-lurking fools. So finish patching the sail quick-sharp – we raise anchor before sundown. We rove!’

‘We rove to trade, to meet, for the restlessness in our bones; we rove at one with the sea!’ cry the Tribe in answer. But I stay silent, cos even if we ent safe here, I don’t wanna leave without Da, and I don’t want my Hunter’s Moon celebrations without him.

I tip back my head to see Bear. His eyes are fretful, but kindness fills them when he looks at me. ‘Come, gentle-hearts. Word is Pip’s got a cauldron bubbling with his best squid tentacle stew.’ He steers my brother and me away but I duck under his arm and race to Grandma.

I clutch her tight. ‘A blood-soaked sealskin don’t mean nothing!’ I hiss, flicking my glare between her and the land-lurker. ‘We ent leaving here without Da!’

‘Enough, child.’ She tries to prise off my fingers but I dig my nails in. ‘Mouse!’ she snaps. ‘You heard what I said and I will not have you quibbling so. We sail and that is an end of it.’

I lower my voice. ‘Come with me, please , I need you in private.’

Grandma smiles sadly. ‘Go, dearheart. Fill your boots. A future captain must keep up her strength.’ She leans down and presses her forehead to mine in a Tribe-kiss. ‘Meet me in my medsin-lab after you’ve slurped your stew.’ Then she turns back to Stag. ‘Will you break hearth-bread with me?’

Below decks, I ladle some stew from a steaming cauldron into a bowl and sit next to Bear at one of the long wooden benches. My stomach’s clenched like knotted rope. Bear’s oar-scabbed fingers slip beneath my chin to make me look into his coppery eyes. ‘Happens your da’s a tough ’un, same as you. My silver’s on him being the one to find us , next time we dock.’

I drop my spoon with a splash and prop my head in my hands. ‘But he’s gonna miss my thirteenth Hunter’s Moon and he swore he’d be back in time. Da keeps his promises, so why ent he home? Ent no way he’s dead, I don’t care what that Stag says.’ My voice wobbles so I kick the table leg and swallow back my tears.

Bear wraps a huge arm around my shoulders and squeezes me tight. ‘So as you gathered, I didn’t find your da. But I did find this.’ With his other hand he brings a small, dark piece of wood from his pocket. It’s whittled into the shape of a ship. I’d know it anywhere – it’s a carving I made for Da, a tiny model of the Huntress. He takes it everywhere with him. A wave of sickness spreads through me.

I steel my heart and bite my lip, hard enough to tear the skin. ‘Where did you get it?’ I ask, running my thumb across the wood. I try to blink away my tears, but one escapes and drips onto the runes that Da and me etched to spell our names. Mouse and Da.

‘Now, don’t take your sails down just yet, Mouse. I found it at the Star, and I’ve half a thought it’s like a paw print in the ice – a trail your da’s left behind, to let you know all’s well.’

His words kindle a spark in my belly. Da knew we were meant to meet him at the Star Inn, so what if he did leave it there as a trace of himself ? That better be the truth of it. What with Ma gone, I can’t lose Da as well.

‘So who’s the sour-jowls, then? Why’s he here?’

Bear rubs his chin. ‘I don’t know why he’s come back. I was just a lad when he left, about your age, and the thing is, his jowls were no less sour then.’ He leans closer. ‘Some folks just don’t know how to have fun.’ Bear picks up his bowl, winks at me over the top of it and gulps down the rest of his stew. ‘Shall we remember the leaner times and gift our heart-thanks to the sea-gods for this food?’