Chapter 8 Sea Legs
I make it back to the docks just before sundown, the sky brushed in streaks of gold and rose. Gilfred looks perfectly content, sprawled on a pile of coiled rope, sun-warmed and smug, as if he’d done anything other than nap all day. Eddie and the other fishermen are finishing up their work, muscles glinting with salt and sweat as they haul the last of the crates aboard. I hover at the edge of the pier, unsure if I’m early, late, or just awkwardly existing. I’ve never been on a fishing boat before. Honestly, I have no idea what kind of work is done on one, but hopefully, I’ll learn something other than how to summon a blizzard accidentally.
Eddie catches sight of me and grins. “Shoes look good on you.”
I blink. “Thanks,” I say, beaming, because, well, I do think they look good on me. It’s nice to finally have them.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You got your sea legs?”
“My… sea legs?” I repeat, instantly suspicious.
“Just a sailor’s saying,” he laughs. “You’ll figure it out. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”
He reaches out a calloused hand to steady me as I step onto the deck. The ship dips slightly under my weight, and my stomach swoops in protest. The boards creak, the ropes groan, and the whole thing feels alive beneath my feet—like it’s breathing.
“Welcome aboard,” Eddie says with a grin, guiding me further in. “Let’s introduce you to the crew. Guys, this is Bella,” Eddie announces. “She’s our new ice elemental. Keep her fingers attached; they’re worth more than the rest of you put together.”
A few chuckles ripple through the deck, and I offer a shy wave, trying not to look like someone who almost froze a whole village last week.
“Over there’s Jonah,” Eddie continues, pointing to a broad-shouldered man hauling nets over the side. He’s built like a wall, sunburnt and quiet, but when he looks up, his grin is warm enough to melt snow.
“Welcome aboard, lass,” he says, his voice deep and kind.
“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to salute him for some reason.
Eddie gestures toward a wiry man crouched near a tangle of ropes. “That’s Pike. Don’t let him fool you, he looks like he’s up to no good because he usually is. He’s our navigator. Knows every reef and current between here and the Northern Strait.”
Pike glances up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Aye, and I’ve only sunk two ships.”
“Three,” Eddie corrects.
“Two and a half,” Pike fires back, winking at me.
Eddie rolls his eyes and leads me toward the cabin. “Inside’s Tomas, our cook. Don’t get between him and his stew pot unless you want a wooden spoon to the face.”
As if summoned, a short, round man pops his head out of the galley, a cloud of steam following him. His cheeks are ruddy, his apron splattered with something that smells amazing.
“Who’s this then?” he booms.
“Bella,” Eddie replies. “Our new miracle worker.”
“Ah, good! Maybe she can stop my ingredients from rotting before I even use them,” Tomas grumbles, though there’s a glint of humour in his eye.
I laugh softly. “I can try.”
He nods approvingly. “Then you’ve already done more than half this lot.”
The whole crew bursts out laughing, and I find myself smiling.
Eddie claps a hand on my shoulder. “We leave at dawn. You’ll get your first lesson in sea work then. For now, settle in, stay warm, and maybe teach Pike what ‘restraint’ means.”
I grin up at him. “No promises.”
Eddie leads me along the deck like he’s showing off a prized kingdom made entirely of wood, rope, and the smell of fish. The ship rocks gently beneath us, and I swear my stomach is still trying to decide if it enjoys the motion or wants to abandon ship entirely. Gilfred seems to have no such issue; he’s already scuttled up to the railing to bask in the sea breeze like he owns the place.
“Watch your step,” Eddie warns as we pass a tangle of ropes thicker than my wrist. “Don’t want you tripping before we even set sail.”
I glance down at my new boots and grin. “Don’t worry. These beauties were made for balance.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And for walking?”
“I’m working on that part,” I say, wobbling just slightly for dramatic effect.
Eddie laughs, the sound carrying over the waves. “Come on then, let’s give you the grand tour before Pike decides to stash you with the bait barrels.”
I follow him, trying to absorb every detail. The air smells of salt, wood, and a faint hint of stew drifting in the wind. It’s loud and alive, so different from the silence of my tower that it makes my chest ache in the best way.
“This here,” Eddie says, patting a heavy wooden post near the middle of the deck, “is the main mast. Don’t climb it unless you’re ready to die, fall, or be yelled at by everyone on board.”
“Got it. No dying, no falling, minimal yelling,” I recite. “I can handle that.”
He points out the ropes, the pulleys, the nets, and the enormous wheel at the stern. Each piece feels impossibly complex, like an enormous puzzle that somehow floats. “You’ll learn what does what soon enough. Everyone pulls their weight around here, even the lizard,” he adds, nodding toward Gilfred, who’s now inspecting a bucket like it holds the secrets of the universe.
I snort. “He’s very hardworking. Supervises mostly.”
We move toward a wooden hatch that creaks when Eddie hauls it open. “Below deck,” he says, gesturing for me to follow.
I climb down the narrow steps carefully and gasp as I reach the bottom. Hammocks sway lazily from wooden beams, each one tied neatly above the next, layered like cocoons. A few have blankets tossed in them, a couple are empty, and one has a very stiff-looking sock hanging from it.
“Oh, this is amazing,” I breathe. “It’s like… like a giant sleepover, but with pirates and fewer snacks.”
Eddie chuckles. “Not exactly how I’d describe it, but sure.”
I run my hand along one of the hammocks, fascinated. “Do you just… sleep in these? Like, all night?”
“That’s generally the idea, yeah,” he says dryly.
I can’t help myself, I push gently against the edge of one, and it swings lightly. “This is genius. You can rock yourself to sleep. It’s like being hugged by gravity.”
He blinks. “That’s… not how gravity works.”
“Let me have this one, Eddie,” I say, grinning.
He shakes his head, muttering something about “land people,” but I catch the amused twitch of his mouth.
"Tomas should have some grub ready, if you don't mind eating with a bunch of loudmouth sailors." He says, heading back to the hatch.
"I couldn't think of anything better," I say following him, and I mean it. This is living.