Last Barge to Jetsam
Part 2 of The Squalling
Every single person in my vicinity – on the skiff or still standing on the dock – is engaged in a masterful contest of Avoid His Gaze. Khee Jzhu stares out into the black bay with all the faux earnestness of a saltfoot. The deckhands bore visual holes through their ropes and their tools. The Hinterfolk, sandwiched all around us, only look up at the terror of the approaching razer. Karis and her goons glare at the shore, but the downward tilt of their heads betrays their guilty awkwardness.
T
he march to the docks is laborious – and surreal. Daus’s newfound sense of mission has him trudging through the powdery sands of Marman Harbor like a foot soldier. Karis and her cadre of assistants nudge us forward with all the aplomb of drill instructors. It’s at least two or three knots to our destination and the journey is a tougher slog than I anticipated.
And another ship quietly slips out of the harbor.
The Squallers are still scattered along the beach. In some areas, there are only a few of them, here-and-there. In others, they’re packed nearly three-deep. It’s hard for me to avert my gaze. But Kee Jzhu presses onward as though they don’t even exist. Karis and her team do the same. Apparently, I’m the only one who thinks that mindlessly screaming at catastrophic storm systems is... bizarre.
The sky and the sea are trending toward two separate ends. The foreboding maelstrom far above only seems to grow worse. The clouds themselves pitch to-and-fro. The lightning ascends another notch in frequency every twenty minutes or so. But the wind – and the sea itself – has grown eerily... calmer. The rush of air across my ears has dissipated. When the Squallers aren’t screaming obscenities (which is rare), I can even hear occasional bits of conversation from the maritime passengers fleeing the bay.
And another ship quietly slips out of the harbor.
The following hour is tedious. With every vessel that passes, Karis eyes it with a disconsolate glare. She says nothing, but her thoughts are etched in her demeanor. Every boat heading out to sea is a boat that won’t be carrying us. Given that we’ve spent no time at the docks, I have no idea just how many vessels the harbor would normally accommodate. But whatever that number was, it ticks downward every few minutes.
The docks are marked by the chaotic glow of torches on the horizon. Even from this distance, it’s clear that there’s an unruly and riotous mass is trying to compress into some single point on the bay. My instinct to spy it more keenly from afar is thrown aside when Karis, then Khee Jzhu, then the rest of Karis’s men, all break into a sprint. It’s all I can do to keep pace.
And another ship quietly slips out of the harbor.
There are at least 75 Hinterfolk simultaneously wedged onto a single (rickety) dock. It doesn’t take long to realize why their attentions are so uniformly focused. There is but a single vessel still available. From the look of things, I’m guessing it’s the last boat in Marman Harbor that hasn’t already started its journey to the open ocean. And it’s not much of a boat.
It's a paltry skiff, designed to ferry passengers to the larger vessels anchored in the harbor – vessels that have long since fled. I doubt it’s ever been outside the harbor. It wasn’t meant to hold any more than ten passengers – maybe fifteen, if they’re small. Nearly thirty ragged souls are crammed upon it now.
An ancient, gnarled deckhand near the back of the boat furiously gathers rope and loosens moorings in preparation for departure. A younger fellow – possibly his son – guards the fragile gangplank between the dock and the (barely tethered) skiff. He actively repels anyone trying to gain passage – but it’s also clear that he’s still surveying the crowd to see if someone may offer the kind of remuneration that would persuade them to consider taking on just a few more refugees.
For the first time, I truly grasp the intention of Karis’s “assistants”. They form a wedge before us and proceed to part the evacuees with jarring efficiency. Children are nearly launched from the dock. The elderly are tossed aside like so much jetsam. I watch with consternation as we are bullied to the front of the line. Their strongarm tactics, presumably deployed for the benefit of Daus and me, are jarring.
Me: Daus! Do something!
Khee Jzhu does indeed look disturbed by the proceedings. The rough-and-tumble nature of our arrival doesn’t seem to suit him. But he’s apparently not so distressed as to speak up.
Karis launches into some kind of protracted negotiation with the Guardian of the Gangplank. They yell back-and-forth in a bastardized patois of Tallonari. To my ears, it sounds like gargling. Copious volumes of coin are flashed for the saltfoot's approval. This is momentarily worrisome – causing me to gaze nervously over the mob of peasants stationed on the dock. But I soon realize that Karis’s “assistants” (goons) are well equipped to keep any opportunistic capitalists at bay.
Initially, it seems that she has launched into a contentious argument with the mariner. But I’ve spent enough time amongst the Hinterfolk to understand that this cantankerous kerfuffle qualifies, in their culture, as simple bartering. His hot, acrid breath wafts over the crowd and assaults my nostrils. His arms flail with all the coordination of an epileptic fit. The assembled riffraff ogles us in desperation.
I don’t know where this is going, but my frazzled attention is stolen by the tug of a tiny hand on my longboot. A boy, no more than six or seven, clings to me for support. It’s all he can do to avoid falling off the dock and into the harbor. He stares up at me with feral desperation. A quick survey of the other Hinterfolk on the dock offers no clue as to his parents. I don’t want him here. But I dare not shove him away. I fear that doing so would launch him into the inky waters below the rickety wooden substrate.
Me: What are we trying to do?
Daus is abundantly annoyed by my query.
Khee Jzhu: We’re trying to get out of here. Obviously.
Me: On that thing? Do you really trust it on the open Aequin?
He doesn’t appreciate my inquiry. But he’s powerless to offer any logical retort.
Khee Jzhu: We don’t have to survive long on the sea. We just have to sail ahead of the storm.
Me: Daus… It doesn’t have a sail.
I have never been more aware of Khee Jzhu’s desire for me to simply shut my mouth.
Khee Jzhu: Do you have a better idea?
I’m embarrassed to admit that I do not. I’m not sure how to escape this logical trap, but Karis has struck a deal. I don’t know how much money it took. Maybe she sold a soul. Maybe she promised my soul. She offered something of epic value. And as a result, Daus and I are now being ushered onto the rickety skiff.
We do not board the craft so much as we are shoved upon it. Our ascension ignites a raucous murmur of groans and complaints amongst the other refugees on the dock. I realize that the boy is no longer attached to my leg and I wonder if he has somehow slipped into the water. But I’m relieved when I glance back and spy him in some ragged grandmother’s arms. So it is perhaps more jarring when I hear juvenile screams, followed quickly by sickening splashes, at the opposite end of the boat. Simultaneous to our boarding, several small children at the back of the skiff are being shoved off the slipshod vessel. And no one else even seems alarmed by this horrific development.
Me: What the hell is going on?!?!
Every single person in my vicinity – on the skiff or still standing on the dock – is engaged in a masterful contest of Avoid His Gaze. Khee Jzhu stares out into the black bay with all the faux earnestness of a saltfoot. The deckhands bore visual holes through their ropes and their tools. The Hinterfolk, sandwiched all around us, only look up at the terror of the approaching razer. Karis and her goons glare at the shore, but the downward tilt of their heads betrays their guilty awkwardness.
Me: Daus!! What just happened?!
A terrible, gurgling, thrashing catastrophe rises up from the harbor water. The jettisoned children are trying to scream. Most of their cries are drowned out by a surfeit of saltwater rushing into their gaping maws. Khee Jzhu’s words are quiet and… distant.
Khee Jzhu: We have to get out of here.
Me: Not like this, Daus. Not like this!!
Much to everyone’s amazement, I spring across the gangplank, back off the skiff. I crash a leaden hand onto Karis’s shoulder and she is painfully aware of my urgency. But she stridently avoids eye contact.
Me: Whose children are those?!
I will never hear a response that is colder, or more matter-of-fact, than her next words.
Karis: They’re orphans.
Me: SO?!?!
Karis: So… there was no more room on the boat.
Me: That means that those poor kids are just jettisoned into the bay?!?!
She finally meets my gaze. And the lifeless look in her eyes is terrifying.
Karis: Our only orders are to save you and the Ambassador.
I have never wanted to strangle anyone more than I desire, right now, to wring the life out of this feral whore’s neck. But such a luxury would burn far too many precious seconds. And the stomach-churning sound of those gurgling cries still echoes behind me. I pivot on one heel and, without pausing to further assess anyone else’s opinions, launch myself into the grimy waters of Marman Harbor.
It’s quite possible that none of the Hinterfolk in the vicinity could have done anything to save those children, even if they wanted to. Few of these peasants can swim. Those kids can’t swim. They can barely dog-paddle. They’re sinking fast. And at night, in these dark waters, they’re damn-near irretrievable once they sink more than a half meter below the surface. Only an Inqoan could reasonably expect to see these juveniles underwater. To hear their stifled cries. To snatch them from the silty harbor floor, 5-10 meters below us.
There are three of them. By the time that I finally extrapolate their positions, they have all slipped below the surface. I desperately want to haul all of them above water in one fell swoop, but the fates oppose me, and my first attempt yields but a single child – a boy, probably no more than eight years of age. When I dash above the harbor swells, I see the shocked visage of everyone – on the boat, on the dock, everyone – staring at me in frozen awe. Without pausing to collect my anger, I scream at them with all the righteous indignation of a vengeful god.
Me: GRAB HIM!!!
Even as I tread water, I see that my words have somehow snapped the spell. Numerous people at the skiff’s edge jockey for position to grab his arm, his shirt – anything to haul him up. The instant I’m confident that they have him in their grasp, I dive back down.
Thankfully, the second child is easily retrieved. He’s deeper. But he’s still kicking. And that’s a very good sign. I grasp a thick handful of his curly locks (I’m sure he’ll forgive me when he’s older) and I drag him to the surface by his hair. By the time that I rise again, I’m relieved to see that those above water are now actively straining to hoist this next boy back onto the boat. I have no time to assess his condition. I dive straight down into the muck, because there’s one more child left, and I don’t know exactly where to look.
I can’t say exactly how long I’m underwater. My ethnic proclivities have blessed me with the ability to stay submerged for an incredibly long time – maybe an hour or more. But I know that my target has no such gifts. Regardless of how long I can stay down here, I probably have mere seconds at my disposal, lest I dredge up a tiny, flaccid corpse.
The third child sank like a stone. To be honest, I’m not even certain how I managed to find her. But I did. Through my desperate flailing and groping, I somehow excavated this little girl, no older than four, dropping like an anchor into the murky silt.
When I spring above the waters, I’m surprised to hear a cheer erupt from the assembled crowd. Everyone grasps and tears at her, trying anxiously to lift her into the boat. But even once she is foisted onto the crowded skiff, an agonizing minute passes while everyone stares at her limp form. Nothing happens. No one moves. No one breathes. For this eternal moment, there is no other fear in the world than the fear that this little girl will not revive.
And then it happens. She coughs. She convulses. She vomits. And as sad as that may seem, I have never heard a sweeter sound.
I swim back to the main dock. A chorus of “helpful” hands reaches down to aid my rise. I swat at all of them – angrily and violently.
Once I am finally positioned back on the main dock, Karis, her henchmen, and Daus, all stand around me. They all look… perplexed. They are not angry with me. But neither are they happy about what has just transpired. I don’t honestly believe that they know what to think about the scene that has just transpired. They’re just… confused. I barely bother to look at them. I catch my breath. Stare into the water. Try to make sense of what I’ve just witnessed. It seems like an eternity before anyone dares to attempt a word.
The barge is nearly set to embark. The gangplank is up. The soaked, exhausted children are onboard. Daus and I are not.
Khee Jzhu: Well how are we supposed to escape the razer now??
As I look up, there are two things that capture my attention.
The first is the fact that Karis, and her assistants, are all nodding solemnly. They are worried about Khee Jzhu’s question. They have no answer. They have failed at their mission. And it’s obvious to me that the escape of me and Khee Jzhu is their only concern.
The second is the launch of the skiff. The deckhands push her out into the harbor. The “boat” already lists to-and-fro as it struggles under the undue load of its carriage. Dejected Hinterfolk drift off the dock. There are no more vessels – of any kind – in the harbor. The look on the villagers’ faces is an odd mixture of resignation and hopelessness. Within a few short minutes, me, Khee Jzhu, Karis, and her henchmen are the only ones left. It takes me a moment before I realize that Daus actually expects me to give him a bona fide answer to his ridiculous query.
As I look up to him, glowering above me, the freakish atmospheric lights of the razer form an unholy halo. It doesn’t just ring his head. It bathes his entire body in a demonic radiance. I stare at him for a long moment, thinking that he will, eventually, back down. But he does not. He still expects me to answer him.
Me: As your second in command…
His ears perk up.
Me: I believe there is only one meaningful way to escape this razer...
I now have the anxious attention of Karis - and her men as well.
Me: We will only live through the night…
Everyone leans forward with childlike anticipation.
Me: If you, completely and thoroughly… go fuck yourself.
Karis and her crew turn away dejectedly. But it’s apparent that Daus is still trying to parse my words. As though there is some hidden nugget of wisdom in my statement that he must work furiously to extract.
My juvenile savoring of Daus’s expression is interrupted by the last glimpse I capture of the skiff exiting the harbor. The children – the same three that I just saved – now stand at the near edge of the vessel. If I’m not mistaken, they’re staring at me. Even the girl – she who seemed the closest to death – stands and drills through me with a gaze of… indifference? Accusation? Desperation? I can’t tell. She seems oddly… emotionless. And yet, she carries all the world’s emotion in her eyes. And I have no idea what to make of it.
And the last ship quietly slips out of the harbor.
It strikes me, for the first time: Did I save her?? The crappy “vessel” looks as though it can barely handle the gentle swells of the bay. Slovenly souls cling haphazardly to its barriers. I’m highly doubtful that it can even manage to outrun the storm. I’m increasingly skeptical that any of those sad refugees will see the light of morning.
And yet… I know one thing for certain. If I hadn’t jumped into these waters, those kids would be dead. Right now. Forever.
Karis and her men start heading back to the shore. Their heads hang. Their shoulders droop. When I’ve finally composed myself, I will Daus to follow behind me. When we catch up to Karis, I ask her, with blazing naivete:
Me: So… what are our options? Where can we shelter for the night??
She spins around with an acrid mixture of anger and frustration.
Karis: For the night?!?! Which “night” are you referring to?!
I can’t hide the fact that her question confuses me. The answer seems so… obvious. I launch a vague wave of my arm toward the turbulent sky above us.
Me: You know… this night. The night of the storm. We need to hunker down until morning. Until this thing… passes. Right?!
Her men look at me. Smirk. And shake their head in a sad, somber cadence. She rushes back to me until she is mere centimeters from my face. She drops all diplomatic pretense. And I have to admit, her seething rage absolutely catches me off guard as she forces words through her teeth.
Karis: You fucking Inqoans.
Hearing her say Inqoans, in that spiteful, hateful tone, almost makes me feel… ashamed. I’m thrown off by her new, combative tone.
Karis: You think you know “the ocean”. You think you know “the storms”. You think you’ve seen everything there is to see. But you’re a goddamn child.
My knee-jerk reaction is to be offended. But she continues too quickly, before I can thoroughly process the gravity of her accusations.
Karis: There is no “night” of this storm to be weathered. This titan is about to park itself over the Hinterlands for days on end.
She stares at me for an uncomfortably-long moment. I believe she wants some kind of response. But I don’t know exactly what I should say.
Me: So… I don’t really know… What should we–
Karis: Start praying to your slithery little fish gods, right now, because if history is any indicator, most of us will be dead within a couple of days.
We start marching farther up the beach. To where… I’m not entirely sure. Karis and her men make a point of not addressing me, or looking at me, in any way. Even Khee Jzhu seems reluctant to acknowledge my existence.
Choices, that seemed so obvious mere minutes ago, now cloud my mind. My colleagues look at me as though I’ve somehow endangered them. Daus keeps flashing me this smug look that screams, “You don’t understand all the intricacies involved here.” Karis won’t even acknowledge my existence anymore. And every time I gaze out to the harbor, I keep tracking the diminishing light of that skiff, and wondering if those kids will actually appreciate the choices I’ve made. Then again, if I’m dead in the next day or two, I suppose I won’t care either way.
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