The City on the Sea (City on the Sea Series Book 1)

by Heather Carson

  “Rowan.” My sister’s voice is ice.

  “I heard,” Rowan heavily sighs as he calls out from the kitchen. “Brooke come get your shoes on.”

  Numb and detached, I stand as Meghan reaches for my hand. The baby is still happily nursing away.

  “You’ll come stay with us,” my sister demands. “And you’ll repaint your mural here.” I nod, knowing she won’t take no for an answer, and quietly slip out of the tiny sleeping room.

  *

  Rowan is silent as we walk. I’m grateful for his steady company although I’m sure he’d rather be doing anything else but this. The wharf passes by too quickly and we reach the cluster of docks leading to my childhood home too soon.

  At the door I pause. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to knock now. Rowan takes over, patting my back reassuringly and opening the unlocked door before me. I force my feet to move, one step after the other, over the threshold that led only yesterday to my life.

  “I told you that you aren’t wanted here!” Her shrill voice screams as the metal creak of the rocking chair vibrates through the house. Rowan steps protectively into the room beside me and blocks the view of my mother with his large frame.

  “Go get your things,” he says calmly as a flurry of insults fly at his back. My breath hitches in my chest but I have no choice other than to hurry in order to save Rowan from the verbal battery.

  The broken shells that litter the floor crunch under my sandals as I race to my room. I roll up my bedding quickly, shoving what meager clothes I have inside of it. Then I gather what is left of my paints in the plarn woven basket. The screaming grows in intensity as I leave my room behind, yet Rowan stands there silently.

  “You stupid brute of a whale,” she hollers. “What are you doing in my house? You took one daughter. That wasn’t enough for you? You treacherous slimy sea snake.”

  “Is that everything?” Rowan asks. I look around the house wondering if this will be the last time I ever step foot in it. Everything I know is here. My father is here.

  The closet is still open and the twisted metal traps spill from the doorway. I didn’t have the heart to go through it all and now I’ll never have another chance. The fishing gear is ruined and so are the baskets. On the top shelf is his bag. I don’t know who put it up there. Maybe Meghan did after he died.

  “Don’t you dare take my husband’s things! He never loved you girls.” I can hear the saliva wetting her words. “He only loved me. Nothing of his belongs to you.”

  I ignore her hate filled cries and stand on my tiptoes to pull down the bag.

  “You don’t care that I am starving,” her screams grow louder. “I should have died at birth with your sister.” The rocking chair stops creaking and is replaced with the sound of her fists pummeling against Rowan’s back.

  I didn’t realize I was stuck internalizing the weight of her anger until Rowan places a large hand on my shoulder and pushes me toward the door.

  “Wait outside,” he says quietly. I’m too distraught to do anything but obey. He disappears inside the house and I’m left blinking at the sunset.

  “I gave her some food,” Rowan explains as he comes up behind me, “and I’ll ask Margaret to check on her. Maybe she can convince her to retire. That is all we can do, but you need to understand that this is no longer your problem.”

  He says it so matter-of-factly that I am stunned into submission. One foot after the other, I stare at my toes as we move forward. It doesn’t feel like this is over. Yet, everyone is telling me it is. I’ve always been good at listening. It’s the right thing to do. I always do the right thing.

  This feeling is so hollow and soul crushing that it’s making me lightheaded. Glancing up briefly from my trance, I see the watchman leaning against the post of the walkway overhang. He doesn’t bother to hide the disdain on his face as he glares at me. There he stands watching me like I’m a criminal or insane. I tried to do my best. I can’t understand why this is happening.

  Around me the world begins to shake and my vision blurs. There is a throbbing in my brain that begins to crack it. Make it stop. Pure panic distorts my perception of time and space. I struggle to get oxygen from the salty air into my lungs. Maybe he should take me away. I don’t belong here. Not even my own mother wants me. If I just disappear everything would be so much easier…

  “No,” I let the word roll off my tongue. The voice that speaks it doesn’t sound like my own.

  There’s a strength behind this resolution that escapes from me which competes with the spinning world. Rowan, gods bless him, stands as steady as a rock as he waits for the meaning behind my outcry to emerge. It’s still a puzzle to me, but this is the only thing keeping me anchored to the real world.

  “No,” I say again. More firmly this time, testing the power of it. “This won’t be my life.”

  *

  “Meghan is going to be angry.” The sun has set. A breeze picks up my hair sending chills down my spine.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Rowan shrugs. “I’ll get her to understand. Are you sure you’ll be alright in here?”

  “It’s just for the night.” I shiver as I step onto his crabbing boat. “I’ll figure out what I’m doing soon. Thanks for letting me stay here and for understanding.”

  He nods. “Promise you’ll come see your sister tomorrow.”

  At the edge of the dock a group of watchmen stand silently waiting. Rowan doesn’t seem to notice them, so I pretend they aren’t there. And who knows? Maybe they aren’t. Maybe I really am crazy, but I don’t have the energy to care about that right now.

  I hug Rowan goodbye and carry my bedroll down the steps to the small cabin. On the plastic bench seat, I unroll my blankets and snuggle deep beneath them.

  Now that I’m alone I expect to burst into tears. Changing the trajectory of my life wasn’t something I ever expected to do. It’s not exhilarating, I feel numb, but I’m oddly at peace with my situation. It is my life. I want to be in control of it.

  The water laps at the hull of the boat with soft splashing sounds. The gentle rocking carries me away to color filled dreams of the earth and sky.

  ‡ Chapter Seven ‡

  The sun has yet to rise, but the barks of the fishermen beginning their day pull me from the warm nest of sleep. Despite the early morning wakeup call, I feel more rested than I have in a long time. A smile spreads across my face.

  It quickly fades when I remember that I’m homeless and sleeping in the cabin of my brother-in-law’s boat. I keep the blanket wrapped around me as I walk barefoot across the cold floor. The storage cabinet is unlocked, and I raid it looking for something to eat.

  My search turns up a bag of Meghan’s dehydrated fish cakes. They taste awful. My sister is a horrible cook. Still, I gratefully munch away on the food Rowan must have stashed so he didn’t have to eat it himself.

  The rocking of the boat steadies my thoughts, keeping them centered in my mind. I’m done caring for my mother, that much is certain, and I need to find a place to live. My bag of paints stares back at me. I make a promise that I’ll use them again soon.

  The morning meditation lifts a weight from me, and a giggle escapes my lips. Sure, I’m not in the best situation and there is still the whole watchman thing, but for the first time in my life I’m free. The thought raises goosebumps on my arms.

  The sun’s rays light up the stairwell. I place the remainder of the food behind the bait box in the cabinet where Rowan had carefully forgotten it. I need to roll up my bedding and gather my things.

  Next to my paints is my father’s bag. I don’t know why I took it, but I’m happy that I did. For months I forced myself to ignore the grief. Going through his things seemed too difficult. Now that I’ve left my life behind, it’s nice to have this piece of him. I can leave the bad memories and take the good ones. He shouldn’t be forgotten. I pull the blanket higher on my shoulders as I drop to my knees to open the bag.

  As I unclasp the flap, moments of my life wash ove
r me in snippets of paintings. My father sliding the bag from his shoulder as he enters the house, holding out his arms for Meghan and me to run to. He stands tall on the dangerous rocks overlooking his invention with the bag hanging by his side.

  The scent of mechanical grease and tanned seal leather permeate the air when it is opened. It smells just like him. I lift the bag onto my lap to hold it closer, but I don’t cry. Meghan was right. He would have wanted me to be happy and right now is the happiest I’ve been since he died.

  Inside the bag is his worn jacket. I shrug the blanket from my shoulders and slip my arms into the sleeves. It’s too large but it engulfs me in a hug.

  “Thanks Dad,” I whisper to no one as I dig deeper into the pack.

  Metal tools, nuts, bolts, and a large gear lay scattered on the floor beside me. Just when I think the bag is empty, I feel a solid shape against the side. There’s a brass snap with a long pocket. Inside the pocket are thin sheets of fiberglass. I gasp as I turn them over in my hands.

  The squid ink. More memories come in waves. My father writing ancient letters on the wall. He wanted us to learn to read the forgotten language. We laughed about it. Learning to read when things are no longer written seems ridiculous. We all learned the tally system early in life to mark counting, but what use did we have to read?

  Our stories are passed down from the old ones and we remember them to give to our children. But he said it was important. His mother insisted he learn how to read and so we would learn too. Even if the other kids made fun of us, he painted those letters meticulously by hand. The squid ink on the plastic board.

  It was those lines that first gave me the idea to paint and when I wanted to try it, he gave me the brush. Then he learned how to make colors for me. The colors were never as vibrant as those I had on the earth, but it didn’t matter because they were mine.

  I trace my fingers over the lines. He never showed us that he could make pictures like me. Aside from the words he printed, I never saw him draw. In my hands I hold this secret. It’s a replica of his invention with carefully labeled parts and artfully painted lines.

  The machine he built to fix the earth sits in the palm of my hand. I wish more than anything that I could speak with him, but he left this instead of his words. The plans for his invention are right here. I study them closely, trying to make sense of it all. I’m not smart enough to continue his work but it doesn’t matter. He left these so that someone can follow in his footsteps and it’s my job to find the person that can.

  *

  “Are you looking for me?” The sun illuminates Tordon’s golden hair as he grins. In his hands is a crate of sardines for bait and the smell assaults my nose.

  In my haste to get to Meghan’s house, I didn’t think about who I’d run into down here on the fishing docks. “I, uh, had to get something for Rowan.”

  “Why do you have your paints with you?” Tordon sets down the crate as he looks me over. The bedroll and my father’s bag weigh me down.

  “Um.” I don’t know what to say except that I want to go see my sister.

  “Is something wrong?” He places his hand gently on my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The words come out snappier than I intended them to.

  “You don’t look fine.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You look like you just woke up and you’re all packed to run away.”

  “I’m not running away.” I roll my eyes. “My mother kicked me out and I slept on Rowan’s boat last night. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to…”

  “What?” Aegir’s voice booms from the bow of the Bara cutting me off midsentence. I didn’t even notice he was standing there. He leaps onto the dock beside his son.

  “She kicked you out!” Aegir yells as I’m internally willing him to be quiet. “After everything you’ve done for that heartless wench?” Yesterday those words would have stung, but today I don’t care. I want them to move so I can get to Meghan’s house.

  “This isn’t right.” The muscles on Aegir’s chest flex and it isn’t the first time I’ve wondered why he never wears a shirt. His eyes narrow toward me. “You’ll stay with us. We can clear out the spare room.”

  “Of course she will,” Endre calls as he pulls the fishing gear onto the deck. “You’re always welcome with us.” I give Endre a small smile despite the panic rising inside of me. He’s such a nice kid, but I really want to talk to my sister right now.

  “Dad, please.” Tordon looks me in the eye. He sees the horror on my face that his father is oblivious to. “She probably needs some time alone. It’s been a really rough year for her.”

  Aegir chews his lip as he listens to his son, then scratches his beard as he turns to the sea. I give Tordon an appreciative nod. He’s the only one that his father actually hears.

  “I’ve got it.” Aegir slaps his thigh, causing me to jump. “Gertrude’s Tavern. She rents rooms in the upper loft. I know for a fact that one tenant will never be returning.” I shake off the dark humor in Aegir’s voice. What happens at sea, stays at sea.

  “Perfect.” I smile brightly. “I’ll go speak with her right now.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Aegir places a protective arm over my shoulders and Tordon hurries to catch up with us. “I’ll sweeten the deal with some homebrewed beer. There’s no way she’ll say no to that.”

  *

  The tablets call to me from my father’s bag as the booming of Aegir’s knock against the rusted aluminum door echoes through the tavern. Gertrude unlatches the kitchen door with a sneer that quickly fades when she sees him standing there.

  “What brings you here this morning?” There is a flicker of flirtation in her graveled voice. I bite my lip to hide my smile.

  “I have a new tenant for you.” Aegir pushes me forward. It takes a moment for Gertrude to notice I’m standing there.

  “Brooke?” she asks as her confusion clears. “My goodness child. What happened?”

  “Nothing.” I raise my chin. “It’s just time for me to move out on my own.” She tilts her head to look at Aegir, but I refuse to acknowledge their pity. “I can work for my room and board, whatever you need me to do.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Gertrude steps to the side and waves me into the building. “I can use help in the mornings. Zoe is a lazy oaf.” Aegir lingers as she moves to close the door. She shoos him and he feigns a look of indignation, placing one calloused hand over his heart, as she shuts the door in his face.

  When she turns to me there is a slight blush to her wrinkled cheeks. “Let’s show you to your room. We open in an hour. You can start working this morning.”

  At the top of the metal staircase above the bar are four closed doors. The walkway connects to the loft on the far side of the tavern. There’s a simple handrail along the hall giving us a bird’s eye view of the entire place.

  “This is my room.” Gertrude nods at the first door. She taps door two. “Ben stays here, but you won’t see him much. He works the fishing fleet and leaves at sunrise.”

  “And this is your room.” She produces a key from the chain around her neck and unlocks the third door. The fourth door swings open before I have a chance to enter my room. Zoe emerges with her daughter in tow.

  They both have the same shade of curly auburn hair, but that’s where the similarities end. Whereas Zoe is slender and bird boned with a sharp nose and full lips, her daughter is stocky with wide shoulders. The girl’s thin pink lips are pressed into a flat scowl beneath the nose too big for her face.

  “I’ll be right back,” Zoe calls over her shoulder as she drags her stubborn daughter down the stairs. I’ve seen Zoe around and I knew she had a daughter, but I didn’t know she lived in the tavern.

  “She spoils that child.” Gertrude clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as Zoe pulls at the girl’s arm. “Get yourself settled in and then join me in the kitchen.”

  She hands me the key before she leaves. The door closes and I’m left alone in my n
ew home. There is a bed made from tanned walrus hide stuffed with strips of worn leather. It’s raised from the floor on a metal frame. A small nightstand leans crookedly beside the bed. A wash basin stands under a hanging shelf with a broken mirror attached to the wall and a plastic chair sits near the storm shutters.

  That’s all there is, but I can’t stop smiling. The feeling of freedom makes me lightheaded with joy. I drop my bags on the bed and go to open the shutters. The metal creaks and sticks as if it hadn’t been moved in a while, but with a little effort I’m able to push them back.

  Below me is the main wharf. The vendors are opening their shops. Parents are hustling their children off to the wall for the day. I’m right in the middle of the city sitting in a tower overlooking the world. The endless sea stretches out before me and I’m in awe at the beauty of it all.

  My father’s bag and the tablets wait for me as I stare out the window, but I ignore them for this moment. I’ll get to Meghan’s when I can. Right now, I have to go downstairs and start the first day of the rest of my life.

  *

  Mornings at the tavern are nothing like the evening shifts that I’ve helped with from time to time. The customers are few and far between which leaves me with ample time for the endless chores that Gertrude seems to pull from thin air. Zoe is flustered when she enters moments after the customers arrive but is all adoring smiles as she carries out each order.

  I try and speak with her, but she seems distracted. It’s only when she falls laughing onto Easton’s lap that I realize she prefers the attention of the paying customers over mine. Gertrude keeps us so busy that I forget to check the sun.

  Lunch time comes before I know it and she lets me go for the day. There are only a few hours before I need to go to the spinners. I rush to grab my father’s bag so I can swing by Meghan’s house on the way to work.

  The strap is wet from sweat beneath my hand as I walk down the wharf. During all the life changing events of the morning, I neglected to think of how angry my sister is going to be.