In a world of steamships and Progress, no one who sails due south across the Wild Sea ever returns.
No one knows why.
Dale Mortensen intends to solve the mystery. With the help of an old sailor and a reformed playboy searching for his missing sweetheart, he locates a captain and crew ambitious—not to mention crazy—enough to undertake the journey across the Wild Sea.
The Infinity and her crew sail south, but the truth of what really lies on the other side of the horizon is more amazing—and terrifying—than anything they can imagine.
It’s the adventure of a lifetime—and it may just get Dale and his friends killed.
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Click here to start from the beginning. Or if you want to read it at your own pace, buy the ebook for $7.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HORIZON
E. R. PASKEY
SIX
DALE DID NOT KNOW HOW LONG HE spent wading through the water. His memory was good, but he had forgotten exactly how small standing on the shore had always made him feel. He was older and much taller now, but the sensation remained the same. As big as he was, the sea completely dwarfed him. This both awed and comforted him.
When at last he tired of the water, he returned to his little pile of belongings. Slinging his rucksack over one shoulder and his boots over the other, he set off at a leisurely pace along the beach to find a suitable place to spend the night. He could find a proper room tomorrow, but tonight?
Tonight he would celebrate returning to Port Ruby.
The night deepened around him. The sliver of crescent moon hanging low on the horizon provided only scant illumination, but Dale strolled along the sandy beach quite at ease. Eventually, he decided he had walked far enough.
He dropped his rucksack and his boots and knelt beside them to retrieve his blanket. This, he spread across the sand. Settling down on it, he pulled his rucksack over to serve as a pillow and dug out his jacket to use as a blanket.
Smiling, Dale stretched out on the blanket, locked his hands behind his head, and looked out at the horizon. He could not see the point at which the ocean met the sky, but he knew it was there. And somewhere, beyond that horizon, is the reason no one can cross the Wild Sea.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he had yet to eat anything for supper. He pulled a few sandwiches from his rucksack and demolished them in satisfaction. Appetite appeased, he lay back again.
The never-ending crash of waves against the shore had been his lullaby when he was a child. He soon discovered it had lost none of its soothing, soporific powers in the intervening years. Dale’s last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was that he hoped it would not take him long to find a good source of information about the Legend of the Wild Sea.
~oOo~
THE next morning, Dale awoke to the caws of seagulls as they soared low over gently rolling waves. For a split-second, he thought he was dreaming. Then reality set in and he bolted upright. His hungry hazel eyes drank in every glorious detail of the sea stretched out before him. Early dawn light spilled across the eastern horizon, painting the sea pink and gold to match the sky in some areas, and shining silver in others.
All of that water, however, reminded him that he had not had anything to drink in hours. His throat felt parched. Dale looked around for any possible water sources, but he knew it would probably take him longer to track one down out here than it would to return to Port Ruby.
Gathering up his things and shaking the sand from them, he reflected that it was time to rejoin society. If only to keep myself from dying of thirst, he thought wryly.
Luck was with him. After he reluctantly left the beach behind and trudged back up the wooden steps, he found a public water fountain and drank his fill. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he took a moment to decide his next move.
I wonder if the Bonny Swan is still there? He remembered visiting the pub with his father for lunch as a child. The original pub had no doubt been damaged by the tsunami like everything else in this part of Port Ruby, but he hoped the Pucas had been able to rebuild.
Or if they didn’t rebuild, he thought as he walked through mostly empty streets, maybe somebody around there will be able to tell me where they went. Mrs. Puca had called him a dear heart when he was little; he was fairly certain she would remember him. It’d be a shame if she didn’t. Pa came in for lunch often enough.
That thought led him to wonder whether any of his parents’ friends had survived the tsunami.
To his delight, Dale found the Bonny Swan still stood exactly where he remembered. The pub looked as though it had sustained heavy renovation, but it was still there. Grinning, he hastened his steps.
This early in the morning, the pub’s front door was closed, but it was not locked. Taking a deep, bracing breath, Dale pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. The smell of bacon and eggs, and a dozen other good, home-cooked scents met his nose, briefly reminding him of Aunt Helena’s breakfasts. Smiling, he looked around.
Half a dozen men of varying ages and physical descriptions sat around square tables scattered across the wooden floor, intent on their breakfast. At his entrance, each of them glanced his way, but most promptly turned their attention back to the food before them. A few gave him semi-welcoming nods, which he returned.
A polished wooden bar lined one wall of the pub, backed by a real mirror. Dale’s gaze slipped past that to take in a door by a staircase, both of which presumably led to the inn portion of the pub. He did not see either Mr. Puca or his wife.
At that moment, a wide door at the back end of the bar swung open to admit a short, stout woman carrying a laden tray. A lanky, sour-faced girl with stringy brown hair followed with another tray. “Hurry up, Ophelia,” said the woman brusquely. “We don’t want the food to get cold.”
The girl obeyed without a word.
Dale felt a measure of the tension cording the muscles in his shoulders and back relax. She was older and grayer, but he would know Mrs. Puca anywhere. This will make things easier. She was a small bastion of familiarity in a world that was in many respects as unfamiliar to him as the world he had found upon arriving in Falconcrest.
Mrs. Puca glanced sideways at him over the plates she was putting in front of several of the men at a table near Dale. “I’ll be right with you, dear,” she sang out.
Dale waited patiently, ignoring his stomach, which was rumbling in appreciation of all the good smells filling the pub.
As soon as she had emptied her tray, Mrs. Puca approached him with a businesslike smile. “Well, and what can I do for you this fine morning?”
“I’d like a room, Mrs. Puca.”
“I’m happy to oblige.” Her face showed no recognition as she motioned to the door by the stairs. “Right this way.”
You shouldn’t be disappointed, Dale scolded himself. You’re nearly ten years older and three feet taller than you were the last time she saw you.
Mrs. Puca led him into a little office, where she proceeded to pluck a key from a row on the wall. “How many nights, dear?”
“Three or four.” Dale thought a moment. “Maybe even a week. I’m looking for work.”
“Ah, yes.” She totted up the rent and turned an invoice around for him to sign.
Before he put pen to paper, Dale looked at her over the desk. “You probably don’t remember me, Mrs. Puca, but I’m Riker Mortensen’s son. Dale.”
She blinked at him as her internal wheels filtered through her memory, and then work-roughened hands flew to her plump cheeks. “Dale? Little Dale?”
He grinned sheepishly at her. “I, ah, grew a bit over the years.”
“Oh, my word.” One of Mrs. Puca’s hands floundered for the back of her chair. Catching it, she pulled it beneath her and sank down heavily into it. “I thought you were dead and gone with your parents, child.”
Dale shook his head. “I was the only one who survived.”
They shared a mutual look of grief and then it was Mrs. Puca’s turn to shake her head. “Where have you been all these years?”
“My uncle’s farm in Falconcrest.” Dale gave her a very succinct summary of the story. “But I’m back now.” He smiled at her and quickly signed his invoice. Once done, he counted out the requisite number of gold coins and handed them to her. “I’m glad to see you’re still here.”
Mrs. Puca pocketed the coins almost absently and handed him his key. “We lost our pub that day, but we had enough saved to rebuild.” She shrugged. “It hasn’t been easy, mind you, but we managed.” Her cheerful face fell. “I lost Ajib last winter. Caught a terrible cold he did, one that went straight down into his bones.”
“I’m sorry.” Dale remembered Ajib Puca clearly; he loved a good yarn as much as Dale’s own father had loved them.
“Such is life.” Abruptly rising to her feet, Mrs. Puca looked Dale up and down. “My, you turned out nice and strong! Your mother would be beating the girls off you with a stick if she was alive, poor thing.”
Color flamed in Dale’s cheeks; he ducked his head in embarrassment.
Mrs. Puca just laughed and waved him out of the office ahead of her. “Your room is up here on the second floor.” She started up the stairs and Dale followed.
“So you want to be a sailor, do you?” she asked over her shoulder as she bustled down the hall.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve missed the sea.”
“Your parents would be proud, I’m sure.” Mrs. Puca stopped in front of room 208. “Here you are, dear. The washroom’s down the hall. The rent’s cheaper on these, since they’re smaller.”
“Thank you.” As Dale stepped past her into the room beyond, he realized she was not joking. His temporary quarters were just large enough for a narrow bed, a washstand in one corner, and a desk and chair in the other. Still, it was the most space he had ever had to himself. “It’s perfect,” he said with a smile.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” inquired Mrs. Puca. When he shook his head, she shooed him downstairs. “It’s on the house today. I’m glad you’re alive, dear heart.”
“Are you—” Dale began, but Mrs. Puca cut him off.
“Not another word. I can well afford it, that’s for sure.”
Dale locked his door and they marched back downstairs, where Mrs. Puca called for Ophelia. When the sour-faced girl skidded through the door, Mrs. Puca said briskly, “Full breakfast for this lad here.” She glanced at Dale. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“And coffee,” directed Mrs. Puca. “Quickly, now, girl.” She led Dale over to a table in an unoccupied corner and then bustled off to tend to her other customers.
In short order, Ophelia brought out another laden tray and unloaded the contents in front of Dale. Her expression seemed permanently fixed in its sour cast, but a hint of curiosity lurked in her mud-brown eyes. Dale did not notice; he was finding it difficult to look at anything other than his plate.
Nonetheless, as Ophelia set a large tankard of black coffee in front of him, he looked up at her. “Thank you.”
She gave him a curt nod and swept away.
While he ate, Dale listened to the various conversations going on around him. He caught a few interesting tidbits, but they made little sense outside of their intended context. I need to catch up on the local news.
He glanced over at Mrs. Puca as she reemerged from the kitchen behind Ophelia. She might be able to tell me quite a bit. I’ll have to ask her later.
Dale drained his coffee and set the tankard down on the table. The coffee was bitter and much stronger than anything his Aunt Helena had ever brewed, but he rather thought he liked it.
“More?” Ophelia appeared at his elbow, brandishing a coffee pot. Her voice was throatier than he had expected.
“Yes, please.”
She topped him off and disappeared without another word.
When he finished eating, Dale rose from the table and headed toward the door. Might as well start searching. Other than using a rowboat on a lake in Falconcrest, he had not been aboard a boat since the tsunami. The Bonny Swan’s bell jangled merrily behind him as he stepped out into the street. I’m out of practice, but hopefully it won’t take long to catch up.
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Or if you want to keep reading right now, buy the ebook for $7.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
Copyright © 2013 E. R. Paskey