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
NINE
BELLY WAS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND IN Port Ruby. Slightly disappointed, Dale returned to the Bonny Swan for another night. The pub was almost full; the only tables not occupied were close to the moody, wine-swilling stranger. Dale glanced at Ophelia as she brought him his customary tankard and tipped his head in an imperceptible nod toward the corner. “How long as he been here?”
“A whole week.” Ophelia lowered her voice. “Mostly he just drinks, but sometimes he talks.”
Dale looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.
Enjoying the attention, Ophelia heaved a little sigh. “The ship his sweetheart was on got lost in a storm.” She gave Dale a significant look. “Somewhere to the south.”
South. Dale knew exactly what that meant. Interest piqued, he cradled his tankard in both hands. He had heard that a ship had recently been lost, but he had not yet heard many details.
“More ale!” called someone, and Ophelia flitted off.
Dale stared at the tabletop, his mind whirring like one of the mechanical toys the children here were so fond of. Should I try to talk to him? Or just leave him alone?
He was still debating with himself when Ophelia brought him his supper. It seemed callous, somehow, to attempt to pry information out of a man who was clearly grieving—and not handling it well. Dale resolved to leave the man alone for now.
In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands.
Dale had just finished eating when a loud oath cut across the conversation filling the pub. Everyone fell silent, looking around for the source of the disturbance. A trio of sailors had entered the Bonny Swan, and immediately fastened onto the stranger in the corner.
“You!” growled the leader of the trio. “Why haven’t you gone home to moan in Selendria yet?”
The stranger raised his head long enough to give the trio a half-lidded stare. “Why should I?” His shoulders moved in an indolent shrug and then he dropped his gaze back down to his wine.
At this, everyone in the pub held their collective breath. Dale knew none of the sailors personally, but he knew their type. Arrogant, belligerent, and dangerous to cross. He was not sure what the stranger had done to upset them, but the dark, maliciously gleeful look spreading across the leader’s face did not bode well.
“Gentlemen.” Mrs. Puca appeared from the kitchen, a formidable look on her face. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to take this outside.”
The trio ignored her. “Get up!” demanded the leader. When the stranger made no move to rise from his seat, the sailor slapped a palm on the table and grabbed the other man’s collar with his free hand. “I said, get up!”
The stranger looked him in the face before dropping his gaze to the fingers clenched in his shirt. “No need to be so impatient.”
In another second, the sailor had yanked the man out of his chair and thrown him onto the floor. He skidded into the legs of the empty chairs at Dale’s table. The impact had to have hurt, but he languidly picked himself up and brushed off his clothes. “I take it a drink is out of the question?”
Now that he was standing up, Dale could see that the stranger was slighter than he appeared; Dale estimated he would barely reach his shoulder.
“Take this outside at once or I am calling the police!” shouted Mrs. Puca.
The stranger rolled his shoulders. His dark eyes were flat and empty in his brown face. “You should listen to the lady.”
“You should have gone home,” snarled one of the other sailors as he and the others closed in on the stranger.
Dale felt a spike of annoyed indignation. Pub brawls were nothing new—he had seen dozens of them over the last few years. He had even been involved in one a few months before. But usually, it started out with one man pitted against another, or a pair of similarly matched groups. Even if the stranger turned out to be a fantastic fighter able to competently handle himself after drinking as much wine as he had consumed so far this evening, three against one was just wrong. A glance around the pub told Dale that everyone else thought so too, but no one planned to intervene.
Two of the sailors made a grab for the stranger. He dodged the first, but could not dodge the second. In another moment, they had him by the arms, helpless to defend himself. The leader approached, his smile getting darker by the second. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He reared back a fist and let it fly.
Dale caught his fist midair. “You were asked nicely to take this outside.”
“Stay out of this,” growled the sailor, wrenching his hand back.
Dale tipped his head toward the two sailors still restraining the stranger. “Can’t handle him all by yourself?”
The way the sailor’s eyes narrowed was the only warning Dale had before a large fist hammered toward his face. Ophelia shrieked in the background. Dale stepped out of the way just in time and grabbed the sailor’s arm again, forcing it up and behind his back.
“Put him out, Dale!” called Mrs. Puca. “I don’t want to see any of you back in here.” She directed a glare at the two sailors, who had let go of the stranger to start after Dale. It was their mistake.
The stranger kicked one of them in the knee, eliciting a howl of pain, and then twisted to boot the other in the chest. That sailor went sprawling into another table, where two of the regulars seized him and frog-marched him out the door after Dale and his captive.
As soon as he reached the pub’s door, Dale bodily shoved the sailor through it. The man whirled on him, teeth bared in a snarl. “You’ll regret this.”
“I doubt it,” said Dale coolly. “Not if you need backup to fight a man half your size.” He stepped aside to allow several pub regulars to shove the other two troublemakers out into the street and walked back inside.
“Thank you, Dale.” Mrs. Puca’s forehead crinkled in a frown. “But won’t they be after you now?”
“If they are, I can handle them,” he said with a shrug. “Call the police if you see them in here again.” He glanced over at the stranger. The man had righted his chair and was currently shaking his head at his wine bottle, which had tipped over to spill the contents on the table and the floor.
Ophelia hastened to mop up the mess and the stranger asked for a fresh bottle.
Mrs. Puca pursed her lips, obviously thinking he had drunk enough for one night, but he carelessly proffered her a gold coin and she relented. “But don’t think I won’t throw you out too, if you cause any more trouble,” she warned him.
The stranger placed a hand on his heart. “As I live and breathe, madam, no more trouble.” He added something else in a lower voice, which Dale did not catch. Mollified, Mrs. Puca bustled off. Ophelia returned with a fresh bottle of wine, and the stranger poured himself a liberal glass, but did not drink. He seemed to be waiting for something.
A fresh tankard of ale appeared in front of Dale. Startled, he looked at Ophelia. She tipped her head toward the stranger. “Compliments of him.”
Dale shifted to look at the stranger, who raised his glass in a toast and said, “Thank you for your assistance.” He waved his free hand toward the empty chair at his table. “Come, join me.”
Dale only hesitated a second. Picking up his tankard, he carried it over to the stranger’s table.
The stranger extended a brown hand. “Raphael Franco Avarez. Call me Raphael.”
“Dale Mortensen.”
They shook hands and Raphael studied Dale while he sat down. His lips twisted into a wry smile. “It was kind of you to step in.”
“Three against one. Hardly fair.” Dale shrugged. “You held up pretty well, but they were going to wipe the floor with you.”
“Ah, yes.” Raphael sipped his wine and held up the glass in a small salute. “There is that.”
Dale motioned vaguely to the wine bottles. “I hear you’re like this because of some girl.”
The sharp, brooding misery on Raphael’s face took on a sardonic cast. Eying Dale over the top of his wine glass, he said, “I take it you have never been in love.”
Dale thought of long, black hair framing a beautiful face and cool blue eyes that stared right through him, and shook his head.
Nodding, Raphael tossed back the last of the wine in his glass and reached for the bottle. “I would tell you that you will understand some day, but I cannot say I wish this fate on anyone.”
From what little Dale had seen so far, Raphael’s rakish good looks probably brought women fluttering around him like cooing pigeons. He tried to imagine a scenario in which Raphael failed to get the girl and came up short. He took a draught of ale. “What happened, then?”
Tilting his glass, Raphael looked up at Dale through eyelashes he had heard some women would kill for. His dark eyes were somber. “Let me tell you a story, Dale Mortensen. It is a tale of a foolish boy who realized too late what love is.”
Dale managed to keep a straight face. “Sounds very cheerful.”
“Maybe at first.” Raphael chuckled low in his throat, but he sobered quickly, tracing circles on the table with one long, tanned finger. “I was a fool,” he admitted candidly. “I have always had a way with the ladies and, having met Elena, I thought I could carry on as I always have.”
Dale could not help himself; his eyebrows shot up.
Catching the surprise on his face, Raphael waved an impatient hand. “Not that. I mean the flirting and the charming. I am very good at both.” His tone was frank and unapologetic, though shaded with bitterness.
Dale was still horribly confused, and it showed.
Sighing, Raphael slouched back in his chair. “I see I must start at the beginning.”
“That’d be helpful.”
Raphael considered for a moment before he said, “My father is a merchant who owns stores in cities across Selendria, as well as a few here in Varangia. He sends my brothers and me around to manage them.” One corner of his mouth kicked up in a rueful smile. “Do you know how many beautiful women there are in Selendria?”
“Not really.”
“There are a great many. Do you know how many beautiful women live here in the Varangia?”
“About the same?”
“Yes.”
Dale studied the man sitting across from him. Losing his sweetheart had apparently been quite a blow, but he would bet there was more to the story than that. “Sounds like you’ve gotten around.”
“Oh, yes. I have been…quite the playboy.”
Dale took another drink. “Not all it’s cracked up to be?”
“No. Not in the slightest.” Raphael leaned forward, shaking his head slightly. “You see, it’s all fun and games until the right girl, the amazing girl, comes along—and no one believes you are serious about her.”
“No one?” Dale raised his eyebrows. “Not even the girl?”
Raphael considered that. “Maybe the girl. Maybe.” He brushed that aside. “But most certainly not everyone else. Your past speaks against you, warns of foolish, fickle moments when you should have known better.”
“And?”
Raphael smiled wryly; it did not reach his dark eyes. “Her father, you see, knew exactly what I was.”
Realization dawned. “And he made sure she knew.”
“Precisely.” Raphael raised his glass in acknowledgment. “But my girl, my beautiful one, did not believe him.”
The pit of Dale’s stomach dropped out; he had a feeling he knew where this was going.
“I first met Elena in my home city. Her father is a scholar and they were staying in Yves for some months while he visited the university. I saw her in the market buying fruit and I knew…” Raphael shook his head. “I knew she was the girl for me. I followed her around for a few days trying to talk to her, but I could never make any headway.”
“She didn’t like you?” asked Dale in surprise.
A hint of an insouciant smile poked through Raphael’s gloom. “Oh, she liked me, my friend. It just took her some time to admit it.” He sighed. “My love is open and forthright; she told me at once she did not trust me.”
“And you kept pursuing her?”
Raphael waved a hand again. “She was blushing when she said it. At any rate, I won her over. Naturally, this caused friction between her and her father, but she loved me and he would have eventually come around had I not been a stupid, foolish man.” He tightened his grip on his glass, recriminating grief written all over his face. He could not look at Dale. “She found me kissing another woman.” He waved an impatient hand. “I did not start it, but I let it happen.”
“And that convinced her you were no good?”
Raphael twitched his shoulders in a shrug; his eyes were haunted. “As long as I live, I will never forget the look on her face.” He swallowed convulsively. “I expected her to yell and scream and throw dinnerware at me, but she was very calm. She took off my jewelry and dropped it at my feet. Then she told me…” His voice broke. “She told me her father had been right about my inability to remain faithful to her. She said she had turned a blind eye to the way I flirted, but this…this she could not pardon. She stormed off, I stormed off, and the next thing I know, she and her father are sailing the Wild Sea.” He waved his glass, almost sloshing wine over the rim. “I was too late.”
Dale’s eyebrows shot up again. “Sailing the Wild Sea, or just sailing the coast?” Ophelia had said the ship was caught in a storm, but…
“There is a difference?” Raphael drained his glass.
“Of course there’s a difference.” It was Dale’s turn to lean forward. “Were they investigating the Legend, or were they traveling back to Varangia?”
Surprise flitted through Raphael’s dark, glazed eyes before they clouded with grief again. “They were not intentionally braving the dangers of the Wild Sea, no. An unexpected storm blew them south.” His voice choked. “No one has spotted the ship since.”
“No reports of wreckage, either?” asked Dale.
Raphael solemnly shook his head. “From all accounts, the sea has swallowed them up completely.” He set his empty glass back on the table and reached unsteadily for the bottle. “It is my fault, you see. Had I not been weak, Elena would have stayed safely on dry land.”
His heart heavy, Dale watched him. “Do you think she’s still alive?” When Raphael merely brought his head up to stare at him, he clarified, “Your Elena. Do you think the storm sank their ship?”
Raphael laughed bitterly. “What does it matter? No one sails that part of the Wild Sea.” His hand shook as he filled his glass, splashing red liquid on the table. “If they are, by some miracle from heaven, still among the living, who will find them?”
At that moment, several things slotted into place inside Dale. For once, he knew exactly what to say. Heart hammering in his chest, he leaned forward again and dropped his voice to keep it below the level of the pub’s exuberant atmosphere. “What if I told you I was looking to put together a captain, crew, and ship to sail south on the Wild Sea and investigate the Legend?”
It took Raphael’s wine-addled brain a few seconds to process Dale’s words. When they penetrated, his brown face froze. Dale froze too, hoping the other young man would understand, but that hope was dashed when Raphael’s eyes narrowed into glittering slits. “Do not mock me,” he said savagely.
Taken aback, Dale blinked. “I wasn’t.”
Raphael did not appear to believe him. Waving his wine glass for emphasis, he launched into a blistering tirade in Selendrian that would have probably made Dale’s ears bleed if he had actually been able to understand more than a few words. The ones he did understand were bad enough.
They were drawing attention now; the last thing Dale wanted was his idea blurted out for the entire pub to hear. Draining the last of his ale, he nodded to Raphael. “I’ll just leave you be then.” Tossing a coin onto the table for Ophelia, since he doubted Raphael was in any condition to think of that, he turned and headed for the stairs up to his room.
Raphael called out something to his back, but Dale had no idea what it meant. Nor did he, at this particular moment, much care.
Slamming the door to his room shut, Dale flopped onto the bed and linked his hands together behind his head. He then proceeded to frown up through the darkness at the ceiling. That went well, he thought sarcastically.
The longer he thought about it, however, the more he found that even if Raphael had not believed him, he could not regret mentioning his idea. It felt good to get the words out, to lay them out for someone else to ponder. Besides, given the amount of wine Raphael had consumed, he probably would not even remember their conversation in the morning.
Doesn’t matter, Dale thought, yawning hugely. Still need to find Belly.
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