Parabolis (35 page)

Just then a man jumped into the middle. “Dale Sunday! Is that you?”

He spoke in a lilting manner with a defining lisp. Dale recognized him immediately.

“It’s Leon. Leon Getty. I was just over there in that booth telling Cassiopeia,”—he pointed toward a booth on the other side of the tavern. All of the combatants straightened up and looked over at the booth. Cassiopeia smiled warmly and waved at Dale—“that looks like Dale Sunday. We couldn’t be sure. Here you are. What in the world are you doing out here in Muriah Bay? And what is this you’re wearing?” Leon turned to the big man holding the barstool. “I see you’ve met Ratto.”

The big man looked sedated, like he’d been put into a trance by Leon’s lilting voice and hisses.

“Ratto, this is Dale Sunday. A friend. He runs the breaker yard in Carnaval City. You remember.” And turning back to Dale: “Ratto is one of the best deckhands around. When you build a crew, you first find Ratto and then you get a crew. Isn’t that right, Ratto? He’s done everything there is to do on a boat. Knows everything. It’s good that you’re here, Dale. We’ve been wondering what’s become of Carnaval City. We’ve only heard bits and pieces.” He stepped over to Dale and put his arm around him. “You need to come over to our booth and tell us all about it.” As they stepped away from the bar, the tavern’s reveling tone was restored. Leon turned to the bar as he walked away with Dale and Valkyrie in tow. “Ratto, you boys sit back down. Bartender! A round for the boys on me.”

As they walked toward the booth, Valkyrie introduced himself.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Valkyrie,” Leon replied. “Leon Getty, Captain of the Saint Viljoen.”

“You don’t need to introduce yourself. I’ve heard much about you and the Saint Viljoen. To meet you in the flesh—I can’t tell you what an honor it is.”

Leon chuckled. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Valkyrie.”

Dale was still brooding. His hands still shaking from the confrontation.

“Thank you for what you did back there,” Valkyrie added.

“Please, do not mention it.” They reached the booth. “Cassiopeia, you remember Dale.”

“How can I forget?” She extended a hand.

“And this is his friend, Charles Valkyrie.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“Good to meet you.”

“Please, join us.”

They scooted into the booth. More drinks were ordered.

Late into the night, they sat sipping rum and smoking. Dale and Valkyrie told the Submariners about their journey. They listened, shaking their heads, stopping them on occasion to ask for details—details about things that, until then, were mere rumors. The story ended with how the two were now in Muriah Bay.

“That’s quite the story.”

“And what about you?” asked Dale. “What are you still doing here?”

“We’re stuck.” Leon sighed.

“Goddamn marks turned to shit as soon as the war broke out,” Cassiopeia added. “There was hardly enough funds to pay the crew.”

“So you’re stranded?”

“For now,” Leon replied. “Unless you know someone interested in a briefcase full of devalued currency. We can’t even afford the docking levy. They’re holding the Saint Viljoen as collateral.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” asked Valkyrie.

“The Bay House of Judicators.”

“No offense, but you’re pirates,” said Dale. “Why don’t you just leave?”

“Do not mistake pirates for thieves. A petty thief is dumb and reckless. We Submariners live by a code. The Judicators are appointed by the Pirate Lord Del Rasa. To defy them would be to defy Del Rasa himself. And making the wrong enemy is as costly as making the wrong friends.”

“Every horse-shitting second we stay aground, that levy adds up,” Cassiopeia bemoaned.

“As you can see, it’s a bad time to be here,” said Leon.

“It’s a bad time to be anywhere,” Dale replied.

Then he rummaged through his backpack and removed the certificate of ownership to the breaker.

“You think I can buy the Saint Viljoen back for you with this?”

After a quick perusal, Leon passed it on to Cassiopeia.

“This is a bad idea,” she said.

“Yeah, they can’t claim it now,” Dale conceded, “but the war won’t last forever. And the deed is universal. It’ll hold up in Balean courts.”

“The Judicators are opportunistic men,” said Leon. “They will not lightly dismiss your offer. Cassiopeia is not worried about that. She’s worried about you owning the Saint Viljoen—you being her captain. If we use your asset, then the boat will be released in your name.”

Dale smiled. “I have no ambitions of captaining a ship.”

“That is not a negotiable term with the Judicators. There is no room for misrepresentation. Every recorded book in the seamen’s codex will declare you the new captain of the Saint Viljoen.”

Cassiopeia scoffed. “That’s not going to happen.”

“If you’ve no ambition to be a captain, why exchange your business, such prized property, for a ship?” Leon then asked.

“I got family in Carnaval City. An aunt, uncle, cousin. I need to get them out.”

“A stop in Carnaval City is out of the question. You’d fare better strolling into Valorcourt.”

“The offer is good only if we head into Carnaval City and try to get my family out,” said Dale. “That’s it.”

“Good luck, then,” Cassiopeia replied. She looked at Leon imploringly. Seeing Leon deep in thought, she protested. “Leon! You’re not actually considering this, are you? We’re not pawning the ship to some random brimcake.”

“Which alternative is more preferable, love? Oh, that’s right. There is no alternative. We’ve been ashore too long and you said yourself, in more colorful terms, that our debt grows with every idle second. A drowning person has no say in what form the rescue takes.”

“There’s no way we’re going back to Carnaval City. We’ll all end up in a Balean dungeon if not dead at sea.”

“Cassiopeia, this is what we do. We take impossible chances to smuggle things out from under the noses of the powers that be. Dangerous? Yes. But I’m warming to the idea. Besides, what choice do we have? There are no guarantees either way.” Leon looked at Dale and gave him a nod. “Assuming I take your offer?”

“If we do this, I’m captain in documents only,” Dale replied. “Let’s get it quietly squared away with the Judicators, by the book, and let the papers say what they say. But we needn’t tell anyone else. This is your show, Leon. I’m just looking for a ride to Carnaval City. Take me and Charles on as hired hands and we’ll play it from there.”

Cassiopeia shook her head, but she took some solace in Dale’s deferential tone. Leon smiled and held his hands out toward Dale as if he were presenting Cassiopeia with a show prize. “You see, love. There’s more to this dove than meets the eye. He just might make a great captain after all.”

Valkyrie couldn’t keep his eyes off Cassiopeia. He watched her from afar as she reviewed the pre-departure schedule.

“I think I’m in love.”

“Get in line,” Dale replied. “You’ve got a boat full of competition.”

“You call those other brutes competition? She’ll be sharing my bed. You’ll see.”

Cassiopeia glanced over and met Valkyrie’s gaze. He winked. She returned it with a steely glare.

“Not before she castrates you,” said Dale, watching the exchange.

“Well, she’s worth the risk.”

Dale shook his head. “Good luck.”

With the Bay House Judicator’s approval, Dale was the official captain of the Saint Viljoen. A small crew had been assembled. They were hand picked from a number of trusted and able-bodied men—men who had organized their lives in a way that made them available at a moment’s notice. Once the paperwork was finalized, they were ready to embark. They had already settled into their bunks and prepared for departure. The crew did not need to be told what to do. Assuming their responsibilities, the boat took on a working tone.

Dale and Valkyrie went above deck where they walked around and took in the view. It was the only part of the Saint Viljoen not made of matted black steel. Instead, it was layered with wood, designed as a lounge deck for when the vessel was docked or cruising on the surface.

“How many days to Carnaval City?”

“Who knows,” Dale replied.

“Some
captain
you are.”

“Not so loud,
Sayeed Errai.
Or I’ll make you walk the plank.”

“Does this thing even have a plank?”

Dale removed the tattered copy of
The Walgorende’s Last Stand
and handed it to Valkyrie. “Here. To help you pass the time.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about this.” Valkyrie flipped through its pages. “Is it any good?”

“It’s sad.”

“My kind of book.”

The Saint Viljoen’s engines were activated, steam spitting before settling into its perfect purr.

“Guess we’re moving out,” said Valkyrie.

“Guess so.”

“You coming below?”

“In a bit.”

“Well, don’t get caught up here when we dive.” Valkyrie tucked the book under his arm and started toward the hatch. Then he stopped and looked back at Dale. “Hey, kid. Thanks for getting me aboard.”

“You’re my friend, Charles. You don’t have to thank me. Besides, you might not be so grateful when we come across a Balean armada.”

The ranger laughed heartily as he climbed down the hatch.

The Saint Viljoen began to move. Dale leaned up against the railing and looked out into the endless stretch of water. The air was crisp, the wind in his hair. Alone, riding on the wings of his childhood dreams, his thoughts began to roam. He thought about mortality, the origins of man, the longing heart. He thought about Darius, Sparrow, the Maker. He thought about Selah. Dale removed her note from his breast pocket. He unfolded it and read it twice over, relishing every word.

I pray you’ll find a measure of peace on your journey through life.

The alarms went off accompanied by a flashing red light on deck indicating the vessel’s imminent descent.

Dale held the note up. For a minute, he watched it flutter in the wind. It rattled violently, threatening to tear. Then he let go. A gust of headwind carried it over the rail and out to sea. It disappeared somewhere in the wake of the Saint Viljoen.

Dale smiled. Then he went below.

Editors: Kyu-Ho Lee and Deena Drewis

Beta-testers: Sam Nguyen, David David Katzman, Kyle Runnels, and Zainah Alrujaib

Special Thanks To: My Mom and Pops, the Merlo Family, Fred and Sarah Chun, Daryl Burney, “Airforce” Dan Kim, Jessup Pyun, Sam Joe, Eugene Kashida, Linda Peters, Vikram Advani, Brett Bozeman, and Jesse.

And our undying gratitude for the support of Cassie Marketos and the entire Kickstarter Community.

THE AUTHOR

Eddie Han was born and raised in Orange County, California. He has a degree in Studio Art from the University of California Irvine. He paints in acrylic. He writes in his boxers. His favorite movie villains are Roy Batty and Neil MacCauley.

Parabolis was inspired by lonely nights abroad, joyless jobs, window gazing, video gaming, good friends, good bourbon, faith, hope, love, and the music of Sigur Ros, John Coltrane, Blue Sky Black Death, Ulrich Schnauss, and Yann Tiersen.

Parabolis is Eddie’s first novel.

THE ARTIST

Curt Merlo grew up in Fresno, California. He graduated from the University of California Irvine with a degree in Studio Art and began his career as a freelance editorial artist shortly after. Since then, his work has been featured in several publications including the covers of L.A. Weekly, Businessweek, The Village Voice, and U.K.’s instrumental post-rock band, Minion TV’s third album, the Last Projectionist.

Curt’s influences include Constructivism, Euro Deco, Gerd Arntz, Charley Harper, David Plunkert, Goncalo Viana, Lotta Nieminen, Don Draper, Thom Yorke, NPR, podcasts, and a bunch of other cool shit.