He lets them delve into the bowels of the ship.
down
(down)
down
while he stands on the deck and
waits
(waits)
waits
for the end? A branching path, two conclusions. The boy will emerge victorious, or he will not. It is a binary he can accept. These odds might be better than 50/50. Life is just a set of percentages, and living is figuring out which risks are worth taking.
Linebeck likes the odds of Link finding Tetra in the belly of The Ghost Ship. They are good odds. What he doesn't like-what he doesn't like-are the odds of survival if he follows the kid down there. What horrors await him? What creatures anticipate him trailing behind?
What sort of yellow-bellied coward lets a boy-his only lantern the soft glow of a fairy-leap into the fires of a hellish unknown? These are the questions he asks himself while the fog soaks his coat and the wind rattle his bones.
Linebeck stares over the edge of the ship at the waves below. They are gentle waves, lapping quietly against the barnacle encrusted hull. And though he was sure, weeks, even days ago, that a great treasure lay within the depths of the mysterious ship, he can tell now that something more sinister awaits any stray explorer, regardless of their intentions. Perhaps following Link would have been smart…
The deck is bathed in a silence that creeps like insects towards him. His skull fills with a familiar ringing; it travels down his spine and through narrow capillaries until-whatever it is-is so deeply sewn into membranes of his cells that it is as if they are made of the same indistinguishable fabric.
This is The Ghost Ship's doing, he realizes, and he knows this reflexively because it is not an unfamiliar feeling. Like a gourd or a melon (or an empty skull), he is scooped out, harrowed. Dug up. Shadows close in around him, the fog is-all around him, in him. Something burns in the base of his lungs.
Linebeck knows ghost ships, knows them inside and out. But the ghost ships that he knows don't come to kidnap princess-pirates or unleash ancient demons…
They follow lost sailors at sea. They appear, their sails blown at full mast, in the last drop of rum in the almost empty bottle, in the crate full of equally empty brothers and sisters; in the sweaty, sleepless nights, kept awake by the waves sloshing against the side of a ship docked at a lonely island. These ghost ships sail forth in the empty waters of a sailor's head, the quietness so loud it sounds like a scream. He can hear it coming when he passes the postman without asking if he has any letters for him. And, after a full day of pouring cheap liquor down his throat, it makes its return in the form of miniature ghost ships, sailing circles in foodless vomit.
The ships don't have mouths but they ask him questions. How far can you go? What are you willing to do? Do you not know how to swim?
or
or
(or
do you worry that you might choose to sink?)
Linebeck admires the water one more time.
What would happen
how long would it take
"Knock it off," he tells The Ghost Ship (or himself, he isn't sure).
What he needs… (what he needs) is control. He needs to control himself. To get out of this-should he go back to to to to to to to to to to to
his own ship? It is warm and safe and lantern light protects him from fog, maybe he should return-
No, no, because. What if Link needs his help? He must stay here for Link just in case.
That's funny, says The Ghost Ship. If you wanted to help him, you would have followed him down into the ship.
Maybe that isn't quite the ship talking. It sounds more like Ciela's taunts. (He could spend the remaining time alone thinking of worse things to call her.)
She called him a coward. That's rich, coming from someone whose body is no bigger than a lemon, who can fly out of danger's way, who isn't plagued by a lifetime of memories. Ciela doesn't know fear because she, he thinks, has never been in real danger.
Footsteps bound up the stairs. The hairs on Linebeck's neck stand on end and he jumps.
Link emerges on the deck, Ciela in tow.
"Done already?" he asks.
Link shakes his head. "Do you have any potions? I'm low on hearts."
Linebeck never knows what Link's talking about when he mentions things like hearts or inventory, but at this point he doesn't care to ask. He does, however, have a spare potion. "Here you go, Kid," he says, pulling a red vial out of his coat pocket and handing it off to the boy.
Link guzzles it down.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Ciela asks snidely.
Linebeck rolls his eyes. "I'm sure. After all," he gestures towards Link, "if I had been down there with you, maybe I would have needed the potion, or what if it fell out of my pocket and broke? Then where would we be?"
"You think of everything…" Ciela deadpans, and Linebeck bites the insides of his cheeks to hold back whatever litany of swears threaten to come out of his mouth.
Finished with the potion, Link passes the empty bottle back to the captain. "Thanks, Linebeck. We won't be much longer, I think. We'll find Tetra soon."
"Good, good." Linebeck pockets the empty bottle. He clears his throat. "Take, uh- be careful, I mean. I don't have any other potions."
"I will, I promise," he insists. "Be careful yourself. I'm glad someone is keeping guard up here."
"See you soon, Kid."
Link nods in response and, shortly thereafter, disappears down the stairs. The darkness consumes even Ciela's yellow glow and then, once again, Linebeck is all alone.
With the fog.
With the quiet.
With The Ghost Ship.
And an empty bottle.
But he pulls up the collar on his coat and keeps watch.
For now, (for now), for now, it is enough to keep watch.
A/N: Thanks for reading. It's been a tough year for everyone, and though this piece is primarily dark, I wrote it as something of a manifestation of the feelings I've had this year. But I see a brighter future in 2021 and beyond.
Love Always,
Icearrows