Rover of the Sands
“Men!” shouts Captain McCann. “Ma’am,” he says more quietly as an aside to Viola, whose long loose caftan flaps in the arid wind. You can’t help but notice that most of the men are still looking at her. McCann has noticed too. “Men! Look sharp!”
A long moment passes as he sizes up each and every one of you, stopping short at Viola, who seems very engrossed in petting Old Dog, her face concealed in her ample hood.
“I am sad to announce officially that our crewmate and cook, Mr. James ‘Slugger’ O’Toole, leapt to his death from the rails into the sands while in a state of profound intoxication. I do not suspect any foul play; however, I welcome and in fact require, all those to step forward who might have any knowledge of what made our troubled but gentle friend resort to this desperate act. There is much yet to be learned in these wearing New Times and we must depend upon each other for mutual counsel and support. In fact, I had meant to call this muster two nights ago, but was obliged to postpone for obvious reasons. The simple truth, men—ma’am, is that we are not alone in the Moon Sands.”
Murmurs break out amongst the crew.
“I have reason to believe that we have a stowaway aboard, and not just any stowaway, but a sand survivor and her…we think it’s a ‘she’; and her Apparition.”
Again, an agitated buzzing from your fellows. Oh God, they’ll find out! And then what will you do? You look to Viola, but she resolutely avoids your eyes.
“Sir,” says Barnes, “How can we be sure? Are we not maybe all just a wee bit sea-mad by now?”
“You mean sand-mad,” quips Bill Tracy.
“Slugger saw an Apparition, which sighting was confirmed,” says McCann. “I will not go into further detail, except to say that you must all be on your guard. I am restricting the movement of the crew to strictly essential operations. You should avoid the dark, especially when alone. We will send search parties in the next days to scour fore and aft till we find her.”
“And what about our beer?” insists Tracy.
“It will be served up by you at the same hours Slugger once served us.”
“I’m not your damn scullery maid!”
“You are anything I tell you to be. This meeting is at an end.” You all return his salute and break into your usual groups.
Tracy passes Viola in a huff, rudely announcing, “You’d better look sharp, little girl. Seems you’re in for a bit of competition now we have a lady ghoul to keep us company and throw us in the drink.”
What surprises you isn’t Tracy’s customary rudeness, but rather the reaction of the men. Instead of laughing and joking, they look sullenly towards the hooded woman as they shuffle along about their business. Soon it is just you and she still standing on deck. You lift her hood slowly, looking into her bright, frightened eyes.
“I won’t let them hurt you. I promised not to let anyone hurt you and I stand by that promise. Let’s go home now, love.”
A long moment passes as he sizes up each and every one of you, stopping short at Viola, who seems very engrossed in petting Old Dog, her face concealed in her ample hood.
“I am sad to announce officially that our crewmate and cook, Mr. James ‘Slugger’ O’Toole, leapt to his death from the rails into the sands while in a state of profound intoxication. I do not suspect any foul play; however, I welcome and in fact require, all those to step forward who might have any knowledge of what made our troubled but gentle friend resort to this desperate act. There is much yet to be learned in these wearing New Times and we must depend upon each other for mutual counsel and support. In fact, I had meant to call this muster two nights ago, but was obliged to postpone for obvious reasons. The simple truth, men—ma’am, is that we are not alone in the Moon Sands.”
Murmurs break out amongst the crew.
“I have reason to believe that we have a stowaway aboard, and not just any stowaway, but a sand survivor and her…we think it’s a ‘she’; and her Apparition.”
Again, an agitated buzzing from your fellows. Oh God, they’ll find out! And then what will you do? You look to Viola, but she resolutely avoids your eyes.
“Sir,” says Barnes, “How can we be sure? Are we not maybe all just a wee bit sea-mad by now?”
“You mean sand-mad,” quips Bill Tracy.
“Slugger saw an Apparition, which sighting was confirmed,” says McCann. “I will not go into further detail, except to say that you must all be on your guard. I am restricting the movement of the crew to strictly essential operations. You should avoid the dark, especially when alone. We will send search parties in the next days to scour fore and aft till we find her.”
“And what about our beer?” insists Tracy.
“It will be served up by you at the same hours Slugger once served us.”
“I’m not your damn scullery maid!”
“You are anything I tell you to be. This meeting is at an end.” You all return his salute and break into your usual groups.
Tracy passes Viola in a huff, rudely announcing, “You’d better look sharp, little girl. Seems you’re in for a bit of competition now we have a lady ghoul to keep us company and throw us in the drink.”
What surprises you isn’t Tracy’s customary rudeness, but rather the reaction of the men. Instead of laughing and joking, they look sullenly towards the hooded woman as they shuffle along about their business. Soon it is just you and she still standing on deck. You lift her hood slowly, looking into her bright, frightened eyes.
“I won’t let them hurt you. I promised not to let anyone hurt you and I stand by that promise. Let’s go home now, love.”