68 Knots (39 page)

“What happened?” Arthur asked.

Jesse couldn't talk, his eyes dark with pain and his throat squeezed tight in anguish. BillFi came up the gangway behind him.

“It was all just too much for her,” BillFi said gently. “Just too much. Marietta's tantrum, crashing into the rock, she fell into the water again and again, the tilting ship and the noise and the fear and everything. It was all just too much for her. I think she was sick when we got her, but she was getting better. But she couldn't take all this.”

Jesse shoved past the others and sat alone at the bow, still holding Ishmael tenderly.

“She was alive when we found her under the stove in the galley,” BillFi continued. “She was alive, but she was acting strangely and sneezing a lot. She wouldn't come out. Then Jesse pulled her out and picked her up. She mewed once, licked his face, and then died.”

The crew was silent. Joy prayed softly. Tears trickled down Dawn's face. But there was nothing to say. The kitten—liberated from abusive owners, freed on board the
Dreadnought
, full of life and cuteness and spirit—was gone, replaced with stiff fur, glazed eyes, and a drooping tail. Joy whispered a prayer, in part for Ishmael but mainly for Jesse, asking God to ease his distress and calm his soul. Dawn let the powers of the earth and the sea wash through her and the ship, taking Ishmael's life force and returning it to the spirit energy that makes the world turn and the heavens shine. Crystal just stared out to sea; she never knew what to say or do when things like this happened. Arthur glanced forward, worried about his friend but wise enough not to intrude on the dark solitude he maintained on the bow.

Abruptly Jesse stood and stomped back below, carrying Ishmael with him. He returned a few minutes later with some scraps of wood and a small tin can. The crew watched as Jesse,
his face grim and his eyes red, tinkered with the wood near the bow. Then he came back to the main deck, carrying the product of his work. It was a small raft, just large enough for Ishmael's damp body. Jesse had built a tent of sticks on top of her. Looking at no one, he carried the tiny boat and the can down the ladder to the dinghy. He pushed away from the
Dreadnought
and let the dinghy drift through the waves. Then he poured kerosene from the can over the little raft, set it on the water's surface, and struck a match. The blazing raft bobbed slowly downwind, turning friendship into fiery light. Jesse sat by himself in the dinghy and didn't move. From time to time, a deep wail would rise from the sea, and Jesse would grip his own shoulders and rock against the tilting of the waves.

The others were quiet on deck, watching the ritual taking place below. The small flame grew distant, sputtered, and went out. They sat in silence for a long time.

Their thoughts were shattered when Dawn leapt to her feet.

“Oh, Goddess,” Dawn blurted. “Look at that!”

Off the starboard beam drifted a huge wooden ship, double-masted and old-fashioned—dark, silent, and deserted.

The ship seemed oddly out of place. It was tall with a squat hull, and it seemed to absorb all flickers of light—flashlights, lighthouses, stars—turning them back in a bleak, desolate reflection, like the ashes of a long-dead fire. Its stern was tall and nearly vertical, and its bow came to a blunt and chubby point. The detail work, including an ornately carved wooden railing and an elaborate bowsprit that resembled a large and desperate bird, offered evidence that this was once both the product and the symbol of wealth. Now, though, it seemed tired and overworn, a refugee that had drifted into another time.

Jesse was still in the dinghy, staring at the dark waves, but the rest of the
Dreadnought
crew crowded the starboard rail and stared at the derelict. “Ahoy!” Arthur boomed his low voice across the shortening gap of water between the two ships. “Anyone on board?”

There was no reply. The ship slid quietly closer to the
Dreadnought
. In the faint light of the stars and the glow from the distant mainland, the crewmates could begin to make out some details. The mainmast was broken. The mizzen-mast was angled sickeningly to one side. The ropes dangled
limply, some in knots and tangles, some just rotting away. The bowsprit was mangled. The glass of the portholes was broken and dull. And the wheel turned aimlessly, with no hand to guide it.

“A ghost ship!” Logan said.

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “Or maybe there are people on board who are sick or hurt. I think we should board it. As your captain, I—” He caught himself short. “Uh, I mean—what do you all think we should do?” Out the corner of his eye, he could see Dawn beaming a big freckled grin at him. He liked the way that felt.

“I'll go with you,” Logan said.

“So will I,” Dawn said. Crystal also volunteered, eager for some action to lift the oppressive sorrow of Ishmael's death. BillFi remained on the
Dreadnought
, waiting for Jesse's grief to ebb.

“Let's go,” Arthur said. Let's go, he thought. That's what leaders say, isn't it? Not “Get going.” At least, that's what he thought Dawn would say. This new approach still felt like he was wearing someone else's clothes. He called to Jesse gently and asked him to bring the dinghy over.

Jesse climbed over the ship's side and walked quickly below, speaking to no one. “Let's leave him alone,” Arthur said softly. “He needs to work this out on his own for a while. We can talk with him when we're back from that ship.” The others nodded.

Arthur, Dawn, Crystal, and Logan climbed down into the dinghy, and Arthur rowed them over to the strange ship. As they worked their way across the black undulating water, they could make out the name carved on the bow.

“The
Icarus
,” Dawn read. “I see a ladder built in over there.” She pointed toward the stern. Arthur pulled the dinghy in close.

“Halllooo!” Arthur called out. No reply. Only the sound of dripping water and creaking wood.

“Ahoy!” Dawn shouted. “Anyone home?”

Nothing.

“We're coming aboard!” Arthur called. “We're here to help you!”

“Yeah,” Logan said softly, “if there's, like, anyone here to help.”

They tied the dinghy to the wooden ladder and climbed up; the rungs were cool and soft with moss. Indistinct in the darkness, the deck of the
Icarus
looked like it had been abandoned a century ago. Planks were spongy in places, rotting underfoot and threatening to give way. The air was musty and mildewed. As the ship rocked in the waves, a door down below banged open and closed, open and closed.

“Look at this,” Dawn said. Carved into the ship's wheel were crudely shaped initials and a number: I.R.C. 92. “What do you suppose this means?”

Arthur shrugged. “Irving Rutherford Cronkheit, 1892?”

“In Royal Company?” Crystal guessed. “Maybe the ‘R' is for ‘Royal.'”

“Maybe it's ‘I'd Rather be Camping,'” Logan suggested with a grin.

“Cute,” Dawn replied, smiling. “I wonder if it is 1892, and whether that's the year the ship was made, or the year it was abandoned.”

A moment later, Logan called from the bow. “Over here! Look.” When the others arrived, he pointed to the deck. The anchor chain had been carefully placed to form a large black X.

“Creepy,” Arthur said. “I wonder why they did that?”

“Could be a warning,” Dawn said, “or a message to anyone who finds the ship.”

“A message like what?” Logan asked. “‘Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here'?”

“Maybe,” Dawn said with a shrug.

In silence the crew took in the mood of the ship: the grayness of the wood, the uneasy slope of the deck, the rich odor of rotten planks.

“I totally hate this place,” Logan said. “Let's get back to the
Dreadnought
.”

“In a minute,” Arthur said. “A ship like this must have had a crew of at least eight or nine and maybe a lot more. I wonder where they all went.”

“I don't know,” Crystal said, “but it doesn't look like a happy ending.”

As they surveyed the dank and crumbling deck, wondering about the events that led to the abandonment of the
Icarus
, Arthur found himself thinking about the end of their own voyage. Only twenty-four knots remained in his ropeline calendar; just twenty-four days before families would gather in Rockland expecting to meet McKinley and eight happy campers. What story could they tell to make it all make sense? What could they say that would make the summer end well?

His thoughts were interrupted when Dawn suggested that they explore the rooms below before returning to the
Dreadnought
. At first, Logan chose to stay up on deck, but he changed his mind when he realized he would be completely alone. He climbed down the gangway right behind the others.

Below decks, the rooms were dark, clammy, and vacant. In the beams of their flashlights, the crew could see that the beds
were damp and rumpled; no one had done any housekeeping before they all abandoned ship.

The captain's quarters was thick with the residue of ancient cigar smoke. The desk was collapsing in on itself, and the bed was greening with mold. Overhead, the low ceiling was streaked with cobwebs and darkened with spiders. Arthur poked through the damp rubble of the desk carefully, but he found little evidence that could answer any questions. No log, no diary, no coins with dates on them. The captain, it seemed, had time to gather his records. But only just barely. At the bottom of a shelf that had long since fallen down, Arthur found a small piece of ivory with part of a ship carved into its flat surface.

“Scrimshaw,” Arthur said as he aimed his flashlight onto the off-white treasure. “Nautical scenes carved into ivory. It gave sailors something to do during their off hours. The captain grabbed his logbook and stuff, but he didn't have time to take the carving he had been working on.” He looked around the small room. “This ship has been empty for decades,” he said with wonder in his voice. “What made them all leave in such a hurry?”

“Pirate attack?” Logan guessed.

“Maybe,” Arthur said, “or a sudden, hideous disease. Or starvation—they might have scrambled overboard at the first sign of land.”

“Maybe they were all swept overboard by a storm,” Dawn said.

“Or they, like, killed each other off,” Logan offered. “A mutiny, and then a counter-mutiny, and then another and another.”

“Whatever it was,” Arthur said, “it was quick, and it was complete—no one stayed behind to take care of the ship.”

The four
Dreadnought
crewmates continued their search of the ship. They found an old pair of leather shoes in one room, the moldering remains of a wool cap in another, but no indication that anyone had remained behind after the others had left. In the forward head, they saw a pair of black canvas trousers, soggy and shredded in small pieces scattered throughout the room.

“Rats did that,” Arthur said. “But I don't even think they're on board any more.”

“They ran out of food?” Dawn suggested.

Arthur nodded. “Or they knew she was about to sink,” he said.

The crewmates stood in silence for a moment.

“I, like, totally think it's time to go,” Logan said. The others agreed.

Jesse sat on the bowsprit all night, staring off at the point where he had last seen Ishmael's light. When the sun rose, he climbed down to the main deck and rejoined the stretching and yawning crew, speaking not a word about the loss of his little friend. Joy gave him a hug. Arthur patted him on the shoulder. Dawn whispered a blessing that was designed to brighten spirits. And BillFi just sat next to him in silence.

And in the rational light of morning, there was no sign of the
Icarus
.

The
Dreadnought
sailed gently downwind to Matinicus Island, a large tourist destination a comfortable distance out to sea. The crew pooled the cash left in their pockets to buy whatever they would need to repair the damaged hull. Most of the
crewmates toured the island, which was beautiful with trim cottages, wild blueberry bushes, and the rugged enchantment of rocky beaches and heavy tides—an odd contrast to the glooming hulk of the
Icarus
the night before. Jesse stayed on board, staring out to sea. While the others took in some sightseeing, Logan and BillFi hiked over to a marine hardware store.