“Close the watch room door on your way past!” Robin called after him. “The tickin’ of the mechanism will keep you awake, otherwise. You go too, Duncan.”
“No, I’ll stay for now. You don’t really know what you’re doing.” Duncan said.
“Neither do you.”
“That’s…that’s…”
“That’s what?”
“That’s… neither here nor there,” Duncan said. “If anything goes wrong, its better you have some help on hand.”
Robin relented. He knew neither of them were enamoured with the idea of being stuck in a small room together for hours on end, but needs must.They sat at opposite ends of the bench as the winds roared and the rainwater sloshed down the thick panes of glass. The rotating mechanism tick-tick-ticked incessantly, and they looked anywhere but at each other for what was probably the longest hour of their lives.
“I think this is the most time we’ve spent in the same room for years.” Robin finally broke the silence.
“And whose fault is that?” Duncan snapped, immediately regretting it.
The pain was evident on Robin’s face, and the warm candlelight deepened the furrows in his brow.
“No, wait. I…I didn’t mean that…” Duncan hung his head and took a deep breath. “Look, we can’t just sit here like this all night. I saw a deck of cards in the break room on the way up. I’ll go get them.”
When he returned with the deck and a box of matches, he asked what game they should play.
“How about strip poker?” Robin joked, trying to ease the tension. “Be like old times.”
Duncan just glared at him.
“Piquet it is, then,” Robin said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
They used some matchsticks to keep score, and in short time, Duncan’s pile was by far the biggest. Robin was many things, but a shrewd card player wasn’t one of them. Many times over the years, Duncan had tried to teach him how to better hide what he was feeling, but Robin had never developed the knack, which is why he always used to end up in his smallclothes before Duncan had lost so much as a boot.
“I’ve been readin’ more,” Robin said, trying to distract himself from the bad hand he’d been dealt.
“Oh, really?” Duncan replied.
“Yep. Been tryin’ to, you know, get better at it. Got a load of books off of Morwenner and found some of Dad’s in the attic. It’s ’ard goin’, mind.”
“That’s really great, Robin. Keep at it.” Duncan smiled. “Is there something wrong?”
“No. What makes you think that?” Robin replied, avoiding eye contact. He grabbed the stack of cards in front of them and began clumsily shuffling them, dropping a couple at every cut. He dealt out a hand, but Duncan refused to play and sat instead with his short arms folded.
“I’m not lifting another card until you explain yourself,” he said.
Robin didn’t try to argue. “You know my neighbour, Eva Wolfe-Chase? She knows what ’appened to the ship Dad died on. It were a pirate ship, Duncan. A pirate ship.” He felt so lost just then.
“Oh, Robin. Does that mean…” Duncan stopped as Robin nodded his head.
“Well, it must do. Why else would ’e be on it? I love my dad, but ’e weren’t no paragon o’ virtue, and I’m not delusional enough to think ’e were on that ship for ’onourable reasons.”
Duncan sat back and tried to understand the ramifications. He understood what Erasmus meant to Robin. Despite what anyone else thought about Captain Shipp, Robin had always looked up to him.
“It’s bad enough the village thinks ’e were a murderer, what will they say if they find out ’e were a pirate?” Robin asked.
Duncan could see it wasn’t anger on his face—it was disappointment.
“Maybe they have a right to know,” Duncan said.
Robin looked shocked. “’Ow can you say that?”
“Well, hiding it from them won’t do any good; these things have a way of getting out. How will it look if they find out you knew—that you were protecting him? Do you really need to give them another reason to dislike you?” Duncan said. “I know you’re the only one who’s allowed to say anything bad about your father, Robin, but the fact is something happened to Barnabas Whitewater that night, and now you’re saying Erasmus ran off and joined a pirate crew straight afterwards? Can’t you see how that looks?”
“Yes, I can see exactly ’ow it looks,” Robin said, his voice rising, “which is why I don’t want anyone findin’ out!”
“The man abandoned you, Robin,” Duncan shouted. “It might be time to accept he wasn’t much of a—” He stopped himself before he said too much. Then he realised he should have stopped himself far sooner. “Look, I won’t tell anyone. And neither will the Wolfe-Chase’s, I’m sure.”
Robin sat with his elbow resting on the metal framework, his fist covering his mouth. He stared out at the lashing rain. “I appreciate that. It’s all a bit much to take in at the moment, what with all this goin’ on.” He gestured to the storm battering the glass-walled room.
They sat in silence, all thoughts of card-playing cast aside. Soon, Duncan’s eyelids started to become heavy, and hearing some movement downstairs, he reasoned that Edwin was awake.
“I think I’ll turn in,” he said and walked to the staircase.
Without looking up, Robin said, “See you in the morning, Duncan.”
Duncan felt a little jab in his heart as he said this. For a split second, it was like old times, and he almost expected Robin to kiss him on the cheek as he went past, like he always used to do. Instead, he walked downstairs, and Robin began tidying away the cards and scooping up the matchsticks.
Edwin was awake and putting on his boots. There were two tiny beds in the cramped, curved room. Duncan removed his jacket and hung it on the spare hook behind the door, then placed his waistcoat on the back of a chair.
“Both still alive, then?” Edwin quipped as he tied his laces.
Duncan eyed the baker. He didn’t think it was much of a joke. He wearily sat down on the unused bed. The top few buttons of his shirt were already undone, revealing a tangle of black hair reaching towards his bare throat, and now he rolled up his long, white sleeves, revealing his thickset forearms, which were likewise covered in a morass of dark hair sprouting all the way down to his fingers.
“Just about. Couldn’t you sleep?” he asked, kicking off his boots and lying back with his hands behind his head. Even though he saw how unsettled Edwin had been in the lantern room, Duncan could see the eagerness with which he was getting ready to head back upstairs.
“Not really. The storm was keeping me awake, and there was odd tapping noise on the stairs, but I got a couple of hours in,” Edwin said as he carefully tucked his shirt into his breeches, fussing over it to make sure it was neat and tidy.
“Are you going to tell him tonight?” Duncan asked nonchalantly.
Edwin stopped in midtuck, and Duncan saw how his question landed like a punch to the gut.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, finishing his adjustments and preparing to leave.
“Yes, you do,” Duncan replied, his gaze never shifting from the other man’s face. “But I suppose what I really want to know is, why haven’t you told him before now?”
They had always been polite to each other, but they were casual acquaintances at best. Duncan intentionally made Edwin feel he was nothing more than a background element to him, nothing but a dot of colour on the canvas that was Duncan’s life. But all pretence had suddenly fallen away and the two men found themselves on equal footing for what was probably the first time ever.
Standing in the doorway, Edwin turned to face him.
“Because he’s still not over you,” he said.
He lifted his coat from the back of the door and went downstairs to the kitchen. Duncan lay there for a moment, wondering if it was more than the noise of the storm he could hear from his bed. Then he turned to face the wall and tried to sleep.
Robi
n was sitting on the bench in the lantern room, looking out towards the village, quietly humming one of the shanties his father used to sing. With help from the frequent lightning flashes, many of which struck the rod at the top of the lighthouse, he could see towards the beach where he had found May Bell. The old rowboat had been completely submerged now, and the waterline had reached the scrubland behind the sand. It likely wouldn’t rise much farther, as the ground inclined sharply there and ran up as a hill, on top of which was the schoolhouse. Higher up lay Duncan’s little blue house. Robin shuddered to think what would have happened if no one had found the girl or if he’d waited any longer. With even a few minutes delay, the outcome could have been very different.
A small moth huddled in a corner of the lead framework of the gallery, in what was probably the only sheltered part of the whole assembly. Every now and then, it flexed its wings revealing an iridescent blue the likes of which Robin couldn’t remember having seen before. He wanted to open the door and let the poor thing in, but he reasoned that even if it did—and he himself wasn’t blown over the edge and down onto the rocks below by the high winds—the moth would probably just fly straight into the open flame of the lighthouse. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, he thought to himself.
Edwin arrived carrying two mugs of tea. Robin thanked him and beckoned him to sit close by him on the bench, which he did. Certainly closer than Duncan had sat.
“You and Duncan seem to be getting on,” Edwin said after a little while.
Robin gave a small laugh. “To a point.”
They sat for some time, talking about the storm and the damage it might bring. Every once in a while, a huge wave pounded the sea-facing part of the lighthouse and cover even the lantern room gallery in spray. The whole lighthouse boomed with the force of these waves. Robin noticed Edwin had stopped flinching when they struck, but also that he still kept his eyes off the storm panes. Edwin saw him staring.
“What?” he asked.
Robin chuckled slightly, then threw one arm around Edwin’s shoulders, grabbed him with both hands, and shook him a little.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Farriner, I won’t let you fall!” He laughed.
Edwin laughed a little too, but blushed more.
“Is it very obvious?” he said, flicking drops of tea off his legs. Robin’s shaking had dislodged several spashes of liquid from Edwin’s cup.
“I’ve seen that look before, mostly in new sailors who’re daunted at the prospect of climbin’ a ship’s riggin’. It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of,” Robin said.
“Were you ever nervous doing that?” Edwin asked.
“Oh, no. Well, at first, I suppose I was, a bit, but you get used to it. I didn’t ’ave to do it much. Weren’t long enough on those big ships.”
“I always wondered about that. You love being on the water so much; I’m surprised you didn’t sign on for a life at sea.”
“I tried it for a while. Almost as soon as I left I wanted to return ’ome. I were lucky. Thanks to Dad, I didn’t ’ave to stay away. I suppose I didn’t care much for the big, wide world. My world is ’ere.” Robin smiled.
Edwin nudged his shoulder. “You soppy tuss.” He laughed.
After a while, Edwin fell silent and Robin watched him intently. Edwin’s eyes had become deeper, sadder somehow, and he was rubbing his freckled forearm absent-mindedly.
“Somethin’ on your mind?” Robin asked.
“I’m…worried about my bakery. If it’s damaged in this storm, it’s my livelihood on the line; I won’t be able to look after Mum and Dad. I keep thinking about how far behind I’ll be if this storm keeps up. Eva suggested I take on an apprentice,” Edwin gathered his coat closer around himself.
“It’s not a bad idea. You know I worry about you doin’ all that work yourself.”
Edwin looked at his friend, who had turned to face him, watching him in the wan candlelight.
“I know you feel like you’re still in your brother’s shadow. You’re still tryin’ to live up to ’im. To ’onour ’im. But you’re not goin’ to do that by workin’ yourself into an early grave. Please now, Edwin, an apprentice is a good idea—promise me you’ll at least consider it?”
Robin’s voice had become low and serious. The gruffness was gone, and he had unknowingly leaned in closer. Edwin watched his pale lips curve and throb.
“I promise,” he said. “I know I’ve been pushing myself. I just feel…”
“Like you should be able to do it all?”
“I suppose.”
“Well, you ’ave done it all. You’ve been doin’ it all for, what, eight years now? Let someone ’elp ease the pressure. If you burn yourself out, who’ll be left to run the bakery then?”
Edwin nodded and managed a thin smile. “Speaking of work, you must be worried about Bucca’s Call?”
Robin’s head sank a little, and he avoided Edwin’s gaze.
“What is it? What’s—?” Edwin began, and then it dawned on him. “Oh, Robin. When you collapsed earlier, that shield you had tied around your arm—it was a piece of Bucca’s Call, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise…” He placed his hand on his friend’s knee.
Robin felt Edwin was the only one who truly understood what the little boat had meant to him. It wasn’t just a source of income; it was a link to his past, a refuge, and silly as it sounded, a companion.
“Nothin’ to be done about it now.” Robin shrugged, obviously upset.
He sat back against the glass again, smiled away his pain, and tried to put on a brave face. He pushed those feelings down, deep down inside of himself, and felt them tighten the knot. When he stood up and made his way to the staircase, he stopped and nervously tapped the banister.
He thought about the decrepit old rowboat on the beach, sunk beneath the punishing waves, and without making eye contact with his friend, he simply said, “I am, you know.”
“You are what?” Edwin asked, confused.
“Over ’im,” Robin replied with a quick smile before he walked down the stone steps.
He walked past the bedroom and saw Duncan was awake—and listening.
Chapter Fifteen
IT WAS LATE now, and most of the people sheltering at the inn had fallen asleep. The music had stopped, and what little conversations that were left had taken the form of hushed whispers in barely lit corners. The wind had returned with a vengeance, and rain once again battered the ancient tavern.
Mr. Reed sat on a leather chair by a small, oval table. This room, tucked away down a maze of corridors and antechambers, was left untouched by the villagers as it was much too small to sleep in. The room was roughly circular in shape and each wall was fitted, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves stuffed with all manner of tomes from across the world. Many sailors passed through the Moth & Moon over the centuries and had left behind works by authors from every corner of the globe. They ended up here, neatly sorted in cherrywood cabinets. A tall ladder was set against one of them. This was attached to some brass runners circumnavigating the room, allowing it to freely slide around the shelves to where it was needed, then lock into place. Most visitors needed it to gain access to only the highest shelves, but the pint-sized Mr. Reed needed it to reach rather more.
A carefully guarded flame flickered in an iron fireplace. This room would be the worse place for a spark to escape, but it would be much too cold to sit in without a fire.
The floorboards were covered with a single large, round rug, elaborately patterned in red and greens, and fringed with tassels. It was a gift from a grateful sailor—and former lover—from a faraway land many moons ago. It was once so vibrant but now worn and faded, especially in front of the two chairs. Between the two high-backed chairs sat a small table, on which were a lantern, a decanter of brandy, two tumblers, and a small box with a glass lid. The box held three pinned moths. Each one was brown with black and grey markings, and each one was subtly different from the last. Mr. Reed was idly flicking through the pages of a book,
looking at meticulously drawn illustrations of insects and trying to match them to his latest finds when he became aware of movement in the corridor behind him.
“Come in, Lady Wolfe-Chase,” he said.
She glided into the tiny room at the centre of the warren and settled into the opposite chair.
“If you’re sure I’m not disturbing you.” She sparkled.
“Not at all. I couldn’t sleep; I just needed a bit of a break.” Mr. Reed poured a small amount of brandy from the crystal decanter into each glass. Eva Wolfe-Chase lifted hers and flamboyantly clinked it against Mr. Reed’s.
“Cheers,” she said, and they both took a sip.
“Have you come to make another offer on the inn?” Mr. Reed said bluntly.
She smiled. There weren’t many people on this island who shared her predilection for getting to the point.
“No, I haven’t. Although from what I’ve seen, tonight would be the best time to make one. You seem particularly troubled this evening.”
Mr. Reed swirled the liquid around in his glass as she lifted the display box from the table.
“I gather it’s been in your family for a long time.”
“Oh yes, quite a few generations. Did you know it predates the village?”
“What? Really? I thought that was just a bit of colourful local lore?”
“No, not at all. Four hundred years ago, or thereabouts, a ship passing by the then-uninhabited Merryapple found itself blown into the cove by a storm and smashed upon the rocks. People had been visiting the island for centuries, of course, but no one had ever settled here. It was a little too remote, I suppose. Too small. Anyway, the surviving sailors stripped the wreckage and used its parts to build what would one day come to be known as the Moth & Moon. It was much smaller back then, of course. The sailors had built nothing more than a large shack, thinking they would be rescued before too long. It’s been added to a great many times since, but even today, you can see elements of that ship in the walls and ceiling of the inn. The massive posts in the central bar area—and the bar itself—all used to be part of the framework of the ship. The chandelier hanging above the main seating area in front of the bar was originally the ship’s wheel.”
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