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
SEVEN
THE FIRST THING DALE DID WAS LOCATE a bank in which he could deposit the gold tucked inside his shirt. His uncle had given him twenty gold coins; he had earned the rest through his own sweat and blood. The last thing he wanted was to lose it all to a pickpocket.
Port Ruby boasted one bank. The building was certainly quite grand, with a hushed atmosphere that tried to convey austere nobility, but it only reminded Dale of the Falconcrest funeral home. Nevertheless, he trod across the marble floor to a teller window and announced he wished to open an account.
At the end of an hour, Dale strode out of the bank feeling considerably lighter. The bulk of his small savings were safely stowed away, and he carried his bank book against his heart. Whistling, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his worn brown trousers and made his way into the market district to buy himself a proper seabag.
His rucksack was serviceable by Falconcrest standards, but it was not a sailor’s bag and might mark him unfavorably as a landlubber. Dale clearly remembered his father’s big seabag; under happier circumstances, he might have inherited it. As things stood, the best he could do now was buy his own.
He found a seabag to his liking in a small shop that catered to sailors and negotiated the price down to something just shy of reasonable. That accomplished, he returned to the Bonny Swan long enough to drop his new purchase off in his room and resumed his journey toward the docks.
Dale caught the scent of fish on the sea-salted air long before he actually reached the docks. It brought back such a rush of memories that his steps faltered for a few seconds, until he composed himself and continued onward. Men were hard at work here, loading and unloading cargo from tramp steamers, lorries, and other contraptions. It was a loud, boisterous jumble of noise, and it filled Dale with a peculiar sense of happiness. He had not set eyes on this world in nine years, but he knew it well.
He began asking around, teasing out bits of information about who was hiring, who might be hiring, and who would be likely to hire in the future. If I want to sail the Wild Sea, I need more experience, that’s for sure. He had not yet decided if he would prefer a year-long billet or something shorter, or if he wanted to work on a new steamship or an older steam-sail, but it really depended on who was taking on men.
Unfortunately, Dale found nothing that day. He did meet some interesting folk along the way; men who refused to give him the time of day, as well as others who would have been happy to sit a spell and shoot the breeze with him. He also encountered other young hopefuls looking for work.
That evening, he returned to the Bonny Swan disappointed, but not defeated. I’ll find something eventually. I might have to readjust where I start out, but I will find something.
Mrs. Puca greeted him with a smile as he came through the pub door. “Good evening, dearie. Any luck?”
“Not yet.” Dale shook his head.
“Well, don’t worry. The sea’s in your blood, lad.”
He smiled at her and took a seat at an unoccupied table in the back to order supper. Ophelia brought his food out to him, still as sour-faced as ever. Dale wondered privately if she had a habit of sucking lemons when no one was looking.
He ate in silence, listening to the conversations flowing around him. Afterward, he retired to his room to clean up and to rest. I’ll get an earlier start tomorrow, he promised himself.
~oOo~
THE next few days passed in much the same way. Every morning, Dale left the Bonny Swan to roam the docks, searching for a ship-owner or captain who needed an extra crewman, and every evening he returned jobless. It was beginning to wear down even his patience.
The only good thing was that he was beginning to make friends with a few of the other men also rooming at the pub.
His fifth evening in Port Ruby, Mrs. Puca caught his attention as soon as he entered the pub. She waved him over to her and asked in a low voice, “Have you found anything yet, Dale?”
“Afraid not, Mrs. Puca.”
She nodded, dark eyes sharpening and then softening as she looked at him. “Have you money for another night?”
Feeling suddenly quite stupid, Dale nodded. “I’ll pay in advance for another two nights, Mrs. Puca, and then we’ll see.” Withdrawing several gold coins from inside his shirt, he dropped them into her palm.
“Excellent.” She sounded relieved. “Keep your chin up, lad. Sometimes these things take time.”
Mrs. Puca bustled off and Dale took what had become his usual table in the back of the pub by the stairs. It was Friday night—and payday too, from the looks of it, he thought, taking in the additional customers who had come in for a pint and a good meal.
He ordered a pint of ale himself and sipped it slowly, thoughtfully. Fear threatened to choke him when he thought about how his gold was slowly slipping through his fingers with no return income stream in sight, but he squashed it. That’s the whole point of having savings in the first place, isn’t it?
Dale was just taking another swig when someone yanked the chair to his left out from under the table and plopped into it. He had too much experience keeping his thoughts to himself to show his surprise, but he cut his eyes to the side to see who had joined him. Didn’t think the pub was that full yet.
He found a gray-haired sailor staring back at him, one elbow resting on the edge of the table. Bright blue eyes twinkled out of a heavily-bearded face. He looked familiar, in the way that all sailors looked familiar to Dale.
“You’re thinkin’ so hard I can see the steam comin’ out of yer ears, lad.”
Dale half-smiled and twitched his shoulders. “S’pose so.”
“Been stayin’ here for the better part of a week now, ain’t ya?”
That caught Dale’s interest. “Been paying attention to me, have you?” he countered.
Grinning, the sailor thrust out a work-and-weather-roughened hand. “The name is Belly Skoog.” His grin widened, showing a gap where he was missing a tooth. “They call me Belly on account of me first workin’ in the belly of a King’s brigadier.”
“Dale Mortensen.” They shook hands firmly and Dale said, “I thought you couldn’t get out of the King’s service.” Once a King’s man, always a King’s man, the saying went. Varangia was one of the larger kingdoms on this continent, and from what Dale understood, their reigning monarch intended to keep it that way.
“Not normally.” Belly’s beard split with another grin as he shoved his chair back from the table to show off his leg. “This changes a few things.”
For a second, Dale did not understand. Then the reality of what he was seeing caught up with his brain. Belly was missing his leg from the knee down. In its place, he wore an intricately-crafted mechanical leg. Dale raised his eyebrows, impressed.
“Never seen one of ‘em before?” asked Belly, before flagging down Ophelia to order himself a pint.
“Can’t say I have.” Falconcrest did not boast that kind of technology.
Belly nodded to Ophelia as she slapped a tankard of ale down on the table. “Can’t complain too much.”
Dale noticed the girl did not so much as bat at an eye at Belly’s leg. “You come here often?”
“Tend to stay here when I’m on shore leave.” Belly took a healthy gulp. “Ah, that wets a man’s whistle.” He turned sharp blue eyes on Dale again. “I noticed ya, lad, for the simple reason that ya don’t attract much notice.”
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult. Dale brought his own tankard to his lips. “That a problem?”
“No.” Belly’s smile sharpened. “It means you’re either a simpleton or else ya got a head on yer shoulders.”
Dale raised his eyebrows again. “Well? Which is it?”
Instead of replying, Belly sprawled back in his chair with his ale. Only after he had taken a few hearty swallows did he say slyly, “Surprised ya ain’t been askin’ about the Legend too.” He gave Dale a considering look. “Or did ya get yer fill of that with the tsunami?”
That brought Dale up short. “What?” Other than Mrs. Puca and the bank manager, he had not spoken to anyone about the tsunami. Nor had he heard anyone mention it.
A slow gleam of satisfaction curled across Belly’s bearded face. “Sailed with yer father when ya was just a little shaver. Ya look like him, ‘cept less…” he made a vague gesture with one hand, “…blond.” He snorted with sudden laughter. “Don’t mind tellin’ ya I nearly spat out my teeth when I walked in an’ saw ya sittin’ here.”
Dale gaped at him. “You knew my father?”
“Course I did,” chuckled Belly. “Got a right start, I did, when I saw ya. But you’re Riker’s son if you’re anyone’s.” He stared intently at Dale. “Heard a rumor ya survived.”
“My uncle took me to his farm north of here. Falconcrest.”
“Pah.” Belly shook his head. “What was he thinkin’, takin’ a lad like you away from the sea?”
Dale only shrugged.
“Yer father loved the Wild Sea, loved to tell anyone who’d listen about the Legend.” Belly drained the last of his ale and signaled for another. “Don’t suppose ya recollect any of it?”
“Everything,” replied Dale. “Or at least I think I do.” His own drink was growing warm; he polished it off. “Kept up with news as best I could.” Abruptly, he leaned forward to stare at Belly. “People are still disappearing, aren’t they?”
“Aye, lad.”
“I’ve noticed no one wants to talk about it.”
Belly gave him a short nod. “The tsunami changed everythin’.”
“How?”
Glancing around them, Belly dropped his voice lower. “Because it came due north, straight up from the Wild Sea.”
His words triggered a spark, tugging a dim, long-forgotten memory up from the depths of Dale’s mind. “I remember that,” he said in some surprise. “There were two old men arguing about it beside me in the hospital.”
“Not everybody believes it, but mark my words, it did come from the south.” Belly fell silent as Ophelia plunked another tankard down before him and whisked the empty away. “Newspapers won’t print anythin’ about the Legend these days, ‘cept to belittle it.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
“‘Tis a sad state of affairs.”
Dale rested his elbows on the table. “And they still don’t know why?”
Solemnly, Belly shook his head. “If anyone’s ever survived the journey, there’s been no knowledge of it sent back.” Buried in his mustache, his upper lip curled in a snarl. “That’s why they’ve built all those trains, to carry cargo across the land instead of the sea.”
“I rode on a train here from Falconcrest,” Dale pointed out. “The journey took half as long as it did when I left nine years ago.”
“It’s cuttin’ into our sailin’ business,” said Belly stubbornly. “Less cargo being shipped round the coast.”
From what Dale understood of economics, that was a natural progression. Businesses, he thought, are akin to rivers—they both like the path of least resistance. He shook his head. “We won’t lose our business, Belly. Too much ocean out there.”
Dale ordered his supper while Belly drank in silence. After Ophelia returned to the kitchen, he said, “I haven’t sailed since—well, you know. I’m looking for work. You know of anybody who might take me on?”
“Depends.” Belly set his tankard down half-empty. “Have any objection to hard labor?”
“No more so than the next man.” Dale shrugged. “Whatever it is has to be better than mucking out stalls, that’s for sure.”
“Any experience with steam engines?”
Dale shook his head. “None,” he said reluctantly. “But I’m willing to learn.”
“We’ll see then.” Belly clapped him on the shoulder and rose to his feet. He moved over to talk to someone else at the next table, taking his ale with him.
~oOo~
TWO more days passed before Belly sought Dale out again. Dale had spent that Saturday looking for work, and also keeping a sharp ear out for any discussions about the Wild Sea’s peculiarities, but he was still too new to Port Ruby to be considered a friendly, harmless face. Sunday he spent at church and then wandering the streets looking at everything.
Sunday evening, he was in the middle of supper when Belly dropped into the chair beside him. “Have a tramp steamer cap’n willin’ to take you on,” he said without preamble. “Startin’ bright an’ early tomorrow mornin’.”
Dale froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Thank you.” A weight lifted off Dale’s chest.
The old sailor’s smile was all teeth. “Don’t thank me yet, lad. Ya ain’t heard the terms.”
The weight returned. “Terms?”
“Six month stint as a stoker. You’ll be transportin’ cargo up around the coast to Selendria an’ back to start.”
Dale felt a little thrill of excitement; Selendria was the kingdom to the east of theirs. He was less excited about spending six months shoveling coal, but that could not be helped. “Cargo?”
“Oh, miscellaneous assorted things.” Belly shrugged. “Nothin’ illegal.”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite. Name of the ship is the Faerie Queen, captained by James Tobolski.”
Despite himself, Dale’s eyebrows rose. “The Faerie Queen?”
“Don’t say a word about the name, Dale,” Belly cautioned him. “The Cap’n’s daughter named her as a lass of ten, not three weeks before she died of fever.”
Dale nodded. That makes sense. “Appreciate the warning.” He started to turn his attention back to his ale, but glanced over at the old sailor. He had a nagging sense that there was more to this than Belly was letting on. “What do you get out of this?”
“Me? Are ya doubtin’ my motivations, lad?”
“No. But my pa taught me that few people do something for nothing. Speaking of which…” Dale signaled for Ophelia and nodded in Belly’s direction. “Bring him a pint, will you, please?”
“Fine.”
Belly watched the girl go. “Got her eye on ya, that one does,” he said thoughtfully.
Dale blushed. “Don’t be telling tales now, Belly.”
“Fine, fine.” Belly waved a hand. “If ya won’t see what’s right beneath yer nose, ya don’t deserve it.”
Dale shrugged his words off. “Tell me the truth, Belly. What are you getting out of this?”
Belly waited until Ophelia had brought him a tankard and he’d taken a long draught before replying. “Got a feelin’ about ya, lad. Think ya have it in ya to go far an’ I want to be there when it happens.”
Dale could not help himself; he laughed. “And what it is exactly that you think I’m going to do?”
“That,” Belly said with a sly smile, “would be tellin’.” He lifted his tankard. “Mark my word, it’ll happen, an’ I’ll be here when it does.”
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