South Coast (Shaman's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1)

by Nathan Lowell

  Otto began to see where this was going and tried not to get hopeful.

  “When you get done sorting out the mates who could move to skipper and the crew that could move to mates, there are only about four of the kids who are ready to move up to crew. Some of them will be tapped to go to mate, I suspect.” She turned her gaze back to her husband. “You’re a great strappin’ broth of a man, Richard. A little weak in the head at times, but a willing worker. Why wouldn’t they ask you?”

  “But I’m the shaman! I’ve never fished in my life!”

  “Your point is what exactly?” Being crew is mostly hard work and stay out of the way. As for bein’ shaman, well, maybe it’s time you did a little of your listenin’ to the world out there where the wild wind blows and the sea is more than something that gets your boots wet.” She said it kindly, but there was an edge of steel under her tone.

  Richard’s eyes all but bugged out and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he spoke. “You think I should do it?”

  Rachel shrugged one shoulder and went back to her terminal. “What do I know? It’s up to you to decide.”

  Otto felt dismissed. He wasn’t sure what his father felt. Judging from the look on his face, dumbfounded.

  After a few ticks, his mother looked up as if surprised to see them both still here. “Otto? Why don’t you take the hand-line and go see if you can catch us something fresh for supper?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Otto grabbed the tote from where he’d put it in the closet the day before, and escaped what was sure to be an interesting discussion. While part of him wanted to be a fly on the wall, he was fairly sure it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  All the way out to the point, he kept wondering which way it would go. Of course, it would be up to his father as to whether or not he’d go, but Otto had a sense that his father would view it as an obligation. After all, the company man had asked the shaman to help the village out in a time of emergency. While most people thought that Richard could say no, the reality was far different. As he settled on the rock, he began to do the math himself, sorting through all the boats and faces in the fleet and village.

  His mother was right. There wasn’t a lot of alternative and, of all the men in the village, Richard’s work would be the least affected. But who else? The possibilities kept his head spinning for three stans. Even catching two large harbor bass didn’t jiggle his train of thought. No matter how he figured, they were three people short. Even with his father turning crew.

  The sun rode high in the sky, and a squall line built in from the south. Otto decided that two big bass were enough for dinner and headed for home. He thought the discussions would have been over, but he stepped into the kitchen to find not only his mother and father, but Red Green sitting at the table.

  “Nice fish, Otto,” his mother said. “You might put them in the sink so they don’t keep dripping on the floor while you stare.” She was grinning.

  Looking at his father’s face, he thought the storm from the south wasn’t the only one for the afternoon, but he didn’t say anything. Otto slapped the two fish into the sink and started to scrub them down. His father just stared at Red Green.

  Red, for his part, was paying careful attention to his coffee mug, spinning it slowly around on the table with his fingertips without looking at anybody.

  Curiosity was burning in him, but Otto bit back any questions he might have in favor of, “There’s a squall line coming up from the south.”

  Red nodded. “Yup, we saw it coming on satellite. That’s why we didn’t go out today.”

  Rachel got up from her seat. ”My goodness, look at the time. Anybody want some lunch? Got some nice cheese and fresh bread. Chowder is warm already.”

  Red started as if poked with a stick and stood, scraping his chair backwards across the floorboards. “Oh, no, thanks, Rachel. I need to get down and make sure the boat’s secured before the squall blows in.” He grabbed his windbreaker from the back of the chair and was shrugging into it as he made a beeline for the door.

  “I’ll let you know tomorrow, Red,” his mother said.

  His father glowered even more, but said nothing.

  Red ducked his head and scooted out the door.

  Otto finished rinsing the fish and rolled them in some keep-wrap before slipping them into the chiller. He paid careful attention to what he was doing. The room was thick with the gathered angst and it was difficult to stay focused. His mother pulled down bowls from the cupboard and ladled rich chowder into each. She slapped down a cutting board and stacked cheese and bread on it. In a few ticks they were all seated at the table, chowder steaming and nobody eating.

  His mother picked up her spoon. “It seems that your father isn’t the only one on the short list of available crew, Otto.”

  For one soaring, ecstasy filled moment he thought his mother was referring to him, but Otto’s jubilation foundered on the shoals of reality as the inescapable logic of the tableau asserted itself. “You?”

  His mother nodded with a reserved, but very satisfied smile.

  His father heaved a great sigh and something within him seemed to resolve itself. “Yes, you’re going to have to take the berth, I suppose. But do me one favor?”

  The movement and statement were obviously a surprise to her because she was braced for something completely different. “What’s that, dear?”

  “We can’t go on the same boat.”

  “Well, of course not,” Otto said. “There’s only one crew on a boat–skipper, mate, and crew.” He said it without thinking. As soon as he did, something clicked in his. “You’re going out as mate?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’ve kept my papers up all this time.”

  For Otto it was one of those swirly-room-what-is-happening moments, then it all locked down. Of course. She was a fisherman. She grew up here. Meemaw had talked about the old days when Grandfather was with them. He and the young woman who would become his mother one day went fishing on the Lady Day. He remembered the stories as if through gauzy haze–not so much the stories themselves as much as sitting with Meemaw on the sunny veranda of her house on the other side of the village. They basked in the afternoon sun, talking, and sipping lemonade. Back before Meemaw went up to the Orbital to live and work.

  “Why different boats, hon? You don’t wanna work for me?”

  His father looked stricken. “No, that’s not it. It might be kind of fun to work side by side. I don’t want us both on the same boat in case something happens.”

  “In case something happens?” Otto asked.

  “Yes,” his father said, staring into his chowder as if afraid to look at Otto or Rachel. “If the boat sinks, I don’t want you left an orphan because both of us are killed at the same time.”

  The way he said it made the hair on the back of Otto’s neck stand up, but his mother laughed.

  “Oh, is that all?” She shook her head. “The probabilities are higher that we’d be struck by the same lorry and squashed walking into town together.”

  Her amusement didn’t shake him from his demanding stare.

  “Okay, okay, not the same boat,” she said.

  Richard picked up a spoon and started eating his chowder. “And, you, young man, we’ll need to see about what to do about you while we’re both out at sea.”

  Otto said a meek, “Yessir,” and took up his spoon in defense. The possibilities swirled through his head. Normally, kids went out with their parents, especially when both parents fished. All the kids his age in the village spent their days aboard fishing boats–and had from the time they’d been big enough to heft a mouta. He concentrated on keeping his expression neutral as he carved off a hunk of cheese and took a thick slab of bread to sop up the loose chowder left in his bowl.

  Chapter Ten

  Pumpkin Grounds

  October 8, 2304

  Jimmy kept one eye on the deck and the other on the fish finder. Tony was doing a good job, but sorting the catch was a tedious, and s
eemingly unending, task. Every so often, Casey pointed out one of the finer points of the trade. Eventually they finished sorting out the catch, with the white-fish down in the bunkers below, a few selected fish in trays on the deck, and the rest tossed back over the side. Casey set Tony to hosing down the deck and fixtures while she dressed the few larger fish. When it was over, they came back and stood outside the wheelhouse door.

  Tony had a tired, but satisfied grin on his face. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  Casey grinned. “Wait’ll we get a big bag, then say that.”

  “A big bag?” Tony asked.

  ”That was just an appetizer. When the net comes up full, you’ll see,” Casey said.

  Jimmy did his best to control his smile at the look of forlorn despair on Tony’s face. “It’ll be okay, Tony. You’ll be broke in good before we have to deal with that. Season’s almost over.”

  Tony sighed. “You’re bound and determined, aren’t ya?”

  Jimmy shrugged and glanced across the instruments. “You guys should grab something to eat. I wanna haul back in about an hour and head back in.”

  “Trouble, skip?” Casey asked.

  Jimmy shook his head. “Nope. There’s a front off to the west’ard about two hundred kilometers. It’s moving north and should go by us, but the end’s gonna brush over a bit. Might get a bit of a breeze, maybe a rain drop or two. Two hauls is enough for the first day. I wanna break Tony in, not down.”

  Tony laughed. “I’ll get the coffee on.” He headed for the forecastle with a wave. He was already moving more comfortably across the deck.

  Jimmy glanced at Casey. “It looked like he did okay from here.”

  She shrugged. “He’s willin’ enough, Skip. Catches on fast. I’ve shipped with a whole lot worse, and that’s a fact.”

  “He’s gonna be sore tomorrow.”

  Casey grinned. “Yeah. Well. He’ll limber up fast. He’s pretty wiry for an old guy.”

  “Hey, he’s only three stanyers older than me!” Jimmy objected in jest.

  “Oh, you don’t look that old. I wouldn’t have pegged ya at more than sixty.” She laughed.

  Jimmy was reminded of another girl a long time ago and a long way from there. Not so much the way she looked, but the laugh. “Go on with ya. Get somethin’ to eat. Save some of that snarkiness for the fish!”

  She chuckled again. “Okay, Skip. You want anything?”

  “Cuppa coffee and a sammich? Some of that sharp cheese and ham with mustard?”

  “You got it.” She headed back across the deck.

  Jimmy’s eyes watched her go, but in his mind, it was another woman he saw. Sighing, he turned his attention back to his business and spotted a particularly dark splotch spread across the bottom a few points to port. Grinning, he twisted the wheel and adjusted the course. “Tony’s gonna see what a big bag is yet.”

  A stan later, when the heavy bag slipped over the rail and onto the deck, it didn’t look that different from the one earlier. The bulk of the net and the associated gear masked the size of the catch. When Tony pulled the release line, the silvery mass started spilling on the deck, and kept spilling, overflowing the bunker boards and sloshing back along the deck as far as the wheelhouse. Casey whooped in jubilation. Tony just stared, his eyes big as saucers and his eyebrows crawling up under his hat.

  Jimmy stuck his head out of the wheelhouse door. “Now that’s a good sized bag, Tony.”

  Tony laughed and made a rude hand gesture.

  They turned to and started securing the net, cables, and doors for the run back to the Inlet.

  Jimmy smiled in satisfaction as he brought the boat around on a course heading homeward. The craft had settled into the water with the load that was aboard. Jimmy laid on a heading where they wouldn’t slosh too much while the weight of fish was still up on deck. He punched up the autopilot and plotted a course to the outer marker. He reached into the cubby behind his chair and pulled out his own boots. Like Tony’s, they were brand new. His old boots had long since dried out, cracked, and been added to some plasti-steel sludge pot.

  Tony looked up in surprise when Jimmy stepped out of the wheelhouse and shuffled through the pile of fish, pulling on a pair of work gloves of his own.

  Jimmy grinned back at him. “Can’t let you have all the fun.”

  Casey chuckled evilly, but moved over to make room for him.

  He leaned down to open a bunker hole on the starboard side, and settled down to sort and stow the catch. The old, old habits surfaced in his hands, in the way he leaned on the rail with one hip as he scooted the slippery fish across the deck and down into the hold without lifting each one up.

  Together, the three of them spent close to two stans clearing away the catch. When they finished, Jimmy stood and stretched his back. “Tony isn’t the only one needs breakin’ in.”

  Casey grinned. “He’s not the only one gonna be sore tomorrow either.”

  Jimmy laughed and went back to the wheelhouse. While Casey and Tony finished washing down the deck and securing the running gear, Jimmy adjusted course and speed, pushing the throttles forward, now that the cargo was secure below decks, and the engine under his feet took on a new tone as it pressed them toward home.

  After a few ticks, Casey and Tony came up out of the forecastle and brought coffee back to the wheelhouse. Casey brought the whole pot this time and Tony had three empty mugs strung onto an index finger. They all wedged into the wheelhouse, Casey taking the stool by the navplot and Tony propped in the chart room door.

  The engines hammered under their feet, pushing them across the water as if anxious to be home. The accumulated effort was already binding them together as crew. Jimmy couldn’t help but see the ghosts of boats and crews long gone by the way, remembering the stanyears he and the Ole Man spent fishing and ending each day with the quiet–and sometimes not so quiet–run back to port at the end of a long day at sea. That, of course, made him think of getting home at the end of the day and seeing her again. He didn’t sigh, but he still missed her.

  They drank their coffee and didn’t talk much, not so much lost in their own thoughts as just decompressing from the previous ten stans.

  “So, what’s her name?” Casey asked, not quite shouting to be heard over the engines’ racket.

  Jimmy, still half bemused by his memories of another time, was startled, but Tony just asked, “Who?”

  “The boat, shippie! The boat. We can’t keep callin’ her the boat. It ain’t polite!”

  Jimmy shrugged “I been so tied up in getting ready to go, I haven’t really thought about it.”

  Like every vessel in the Pirano fleet, the boat had a hull designator painted on the top of the wheelhouse roof and on either side of the deckhouse. By long tradition, all the boats had names as well. Nobody ever called their boat by the designator.

  “How about Lizzie B?” Tony said.

  “That was my mother’s name,” Jimmy said.

  “I know.”

  “No,” Jimmy said.

  Casey laughed. “Sea Sprite?”

  Tony wrinkled his nose. “Too fru-fru.”

  “Fru-fru?” Casey asked with a laugh in her voice. “What the hell is fru-fru?”

  Tony fidgeted and looked out over the bow. “Fussy, prissy ...”

  “You’re not trying to say ‘girlie’ are ya, Tony?” Casey asked.

  “No, I think he’s trying not to say ‘girlie,’ Casey,” Jimmy said.

  Tony’s ears turned red. “How about Lady Day?”

  “How about Mermaid?” Casey said with a grin.

  “Taken,” Tony said. “There’s a Mermaid over in Cheapskate. How about Jimmy’s Dream?” he asked with a nudge at Jimmy’s shoulder.

  Jimmy snickered. “More like Jimmy’s Nightmare.”

  “Nightmare’s too scary,” Casey said, “but I kinda like the play on words with mare.”

  They lapsed into silence for a while, savoring the coffee and thinking about names.

  “Sea
Horse,” Casey said. “Two words. She’s a work horse alright and a sweet ride, too.” She patted the rail in front of her as if really patting the flank of a horse.

  “Sea Horse,” Tony said. “I kinda like it.”

  “Sea Horse,” Jimmy said, trying the name for himself. He smiled at the sound of it. “Is that the one you want, Casey? Sea Horse?”

  “You’re the skipper, Skipper.”

  “I’m askin’ you.”

  She looked at him with a quizzical frown on her brow then looked out over the deck, out to the horizon. She considered the inside of the wheelhouse and looked back at Tony who watched her thinking about it with an amused smile. She looked back at Jimmy. “Yes, I like Sea Horse.”

  “Sea Horse, it is, then,” Jimmy said.

  The boat shouldered through a larger than normal roller and gave a little buck as it slid down the back side of the wave.

  Casey grabbed the rail. “I think she likes it.”

  They all laughed and the Sea Horse surged through the afternoon sea toward port.

  Chapter Eleven

  Callum’s Cove

  October 10, 2304

  The silence woke Otto. He lay in bed for a moment before he remembered that his father and mother had gone out fishing. He was on his own. A flash of exultation coursed through him. Alone at last. He jumped out of bed. It lasted until his feet hit the floor and he remembered his father’s warning the night before.

  “There’s a lot of eyes in the village, Otto. They’ll all be watching you,” he’d said.

  He hadn’t threatened. He hadn’t needed to. Otto still had hopes that this would lead to his being able to go out fishing with one or the other of his parents. The last thing he wanted to do was mess it up.

  That left him with the problem of what to do with the day. The answer waited on the kitchen table in the form of a note from his father. “Collect driftwood for whelkies,” was scrawled large and neat on the pad. Under it was a hurried, “And catch something nice for dinner,” in his mother’s hand. Otto smiled, and decided that was enough to fill the day–at least until mid afternoon when the fleet would return.