Chapter 1

There was nothing about the morning that seemed in any way unusual. In fact, as Skiff grabbed a slice of bread from the kitchen counter, put on his yellow coat, and headed out of the door, he found himself thinking about how just how perfectly ordinary every single day in Brigodston was. He woke at 7 most days, and would read for an hour before getting ready and setting out of the house to do a perfectly normal job. He, like his late father, his father before him, his mother before him, and the countless generations of Eastport's prior had all done the same thing.

Before his untimely sailing accident, Finn had succeeded in training his son to be a fisherman. Skiff could tell his tuna from his haddock blindfolded, and any trick that there was to be known by a fisherman, he knew. Not a cod alive could escape the tempting bait and quick reel of his handiwork. Skiff also had a little boat of his own, it was small with a flat bow and stern, its hull painted white. Its upper woodworking's were a cobalt blue, including its mast, whilst it's lower was a bright cyan. The sail Skiff flew from it was white with 2 diagonal yellow stripes. This little dinghy provided the vessel that the man would sit in for his day's work.

Many stalls lined the southern Brigodston pathway. There was a small stall by the harbour wall, and this stall was Skiff's stall. He kept buckets of fresh ice cold throughout the day whilst he fished in the morning. During the afternoon, around lunchtime, he would sell a hard day's work. It wasn't a lot of income, but it was enough to sustain a single man with few wants or desires.

So when Skiff returned that afternoon with 27 fish – less than he'd hoped, but more than earlier that week – he didn't suspect that anything out of the ordinary was going to happen as he set up his stand.

He'd also caught a squid that day, which was a pretty rare prize, and he already anticipated the weight of the extra few coins in his pocket. He put the squid in the centre of his stand, and sat down with his book to await the onset of customers. There were a couple of people walking their dogs along the harbour who stopped and greeted Skiff, and one of them commented on the squid, remarking that he was regretfully planning to have beef stew that night and couldn't buy it. Skiff didn't mind, he was sure that there were plenty of others willing to clamour for it. An hour and a half later and 6 more chapters into his book, Skiff was beginning to grow anxious. Not a single customer had arrived yet. In fact, he hadn't even seen that many people walk down the path at all, apart from some more of the occasional dog walkers. Was there some sort of festival he'd forgotten about happening? His calendar had been blank for the next week or two.

"Excuse me!" He called to a young girl that was walking a chocolate brown Labrador nearby. "Do you know where everyone is today?"

The girl's mouth hung open for a moment or two as she tried to recall an answer. Something seemed to click in her mind.

"Oh! They were gathered around the big boat in the harbour!"

"Big boat?"

The child nodded, pulling her dog back from trying to steal one of Skiff's cod.

"HUGE boat! It was big and black and shiny"

"What was the boat doing?" Skiff asked, nervous and curious at the same time.

"Didn't see"

"Oh ... well" Skiff nodded and waved goodbye to the child.

A huge, black shiny boat sounded interesting. It also sounded like trouble. It had already succeeded in stealing Skiff's customers for the day. Hopefully they'd come along later that evening once they'd had their fill of the size of it.

A few minutes later, an old man walked down the street and Skiff tried his question again.

"Ah yes, the big black boat" The old man glanced down at Skiff's stall, and suddenly came over a little solemn.

"I'm sorry"

But before Skiff could ask what he was sorry about, the old man had shuffled down the street and around the corner. This was all very perplexing. When at last a middle aged woman rounded the corner pushing a pram, Skiff asked a final time whether she knew anything of the black boat, and why an old man would be sorry for him. Her cheeks grew pink and she avoided looking at Skiff, instead staring sheepishly at the wheels of her baby's pram.

"There was a large sign on it saying 'Pescecorp'"

"What's that?"

The woman shifted uneasily on her feet and tried to move away, but Skiff was ready this time.

"Please!"

Her eyes grew wide and she scanned the empty street as though she were about to reveal a deep secret.

"I don't know enough about them ... or if they're staying" She admitted. "They ... they fish"

"Fish?"

She nodded, her expression grave.

"Huge nets ... thousands of fish"

"T-thousands?"

"Or more"

Skiff looked back to his little stall. Suddenly his impressive 27 fish catch didn't seem quite as impressive. And if Pescecorp were here, that's where his customers had gone. Slowly, he sunk onto the chair behind his stall, feeling as though someone had punched him hard in the stomach. The mother stood over him worriedly, nibbling her lip. She, like everyone else in Brigodston, knew of the Eastport's line of great fishers, and how much the profession meant to them. But a few thousand fish certainly brought in the crowds.

"A-are you alright?" She asked.

Skiff inhaled sharply, and then blew out hard through his nose.

"I suppose I will be" He ran his fingers through his hands "It all depends"

The woman placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Your father was a great man Skiff"

The fisherman nodded, a tear welling up in his eyes. Finn had been a great man alright, and a most excellent fisherman. If the storm hadn't of blown his boat over all those years ago, the news of Pescecorp was bound to have finished him off this day. Perhaps it was just as well neither of Skiff's parents were here to see the dooming of the Eastport's profession.

The mother brought a couple of Skiff's fish to try and lift his spirits, but when he trailed home that night he'd only managed to sell a further 6, which was as humiliating as it was pitiful. Skiff ate his prize squid that night, feeling the weight in his stomach compensating for the emptiness of his wallet. The thoughts of Pescecorp were making his meal taste like rubber, and even as he washed up, he wondered how many thousands of prize catches the nets had stolen from him that day.