A week later, the expedition officially began.

Owin looked out over the shore, docks teeming with vessels. Galleons by the dozens—two dozen, it looked, were sitting in the bay. Owin and Cloud weaved through the crowds, hearing chatter and chitter and all sorts of gossip.

“There hasn’t been an expedition in over three-hundred years,” said a concerned woman, readjusting her bonnet.

“Every time they go, they never come back,” said another, closing her hands over her apron. “Even that Gavin Avidius and his pirate crew met their end at the hands of the sea!”

“And by Gadha, it will happen again,” said a man, the sea-brine breeze blowing into his open white shirt. “A captain goes down with his ship!”

With so much commotion, the dock’s wood panel planks rumbled underfoot. Owin pushed past the crowd to get a better look at the ship. He and his rainwolf emerged near the edge, able to spy the beauty of a ship up close. Enormous and looming, the vessel was painted orange like the field of Marniko’s flag, a black seashell decal adhered to the hull. Its crew was raising the sails, dyed textiles flying high.

Queen Camila, it was named. Queen Camila, the last ship of the fleet.

Why can’t I go? Owin thought, clenching his jaw. I’m the one who found the ruddy bottle…

He remembered it clearly. The mage insisting he take the bottle and message, insisting it was not of this world… and that was that. Owin couldn’t fight a mage—to do so was treason. They were protected by the divine word of Kunalla’s three Gods, Dwen, Kaive, Twella… if a mage told someone to do something, that something should be obeyed.

There were not many mages, Owin recalled. Less than four dozen, their magic given only to those chosen by the Gods of Kunalla.

Owin balled his fists. If he had been chosen for a crew, he’d be able to go on the voyage and see the edge. But he hadn’t been chosen. He’d been told to sit still in Marniko and wait for things to clear up, and the only bit of excitement he’d had was promptly swept away, taken right out of his hand.

“To sail again,” said a man to his left, “all of this gold just to go sink and rot. Gadha take me. Rubbish, it is.”

“Yeah!” agreed another man. “We need these ships if the north tries anything funny, don’t we?”

“They already are!” shouted a woman. “They’re extorting us!”

“This voyage is a good thing, you bloody woman!” said another man.

“Piss off!”

Shouts were erupting on the dock. The crowd, piling into one another with rising volume, only served to make Owin angrier. Cloud nudged him, softly biting his heel.

“I know,” Owin said down to him. “Knock it, Cloud.”

Cannons fired. Some of the crowd gasped, but the others within it who wanted the ships to sail pushed through, hanging onto the dock’s support beams. Children, wide-eyed and smiling toothily, gaped in awe at the fleet.

“Look at them!”

“That’s The Revenge of Manda!” said a little boy, pointing at one of the ships far up the front. “My dad’s on that ship!”

“My dad’s on Gold Talons!”

I should be on one of those ships, Owin thought again with anger. Why? Why? Why not me?

And then he realized—he could be on one of those ships.

Below them, floating in the soft waves, sat an unmanned fishing boat. Tied to the dock. Inside, as Owin could see with a bit of craning, were oars. I know how to row, he thought. His father had taught him how on the Talanda river when he was ten. He had capsized then.

Not this time.

“Cloud,” he said, “follow.”

Cloud perked up and trailed him. He pushed through the crowd again, walking down the steps to a lower platform. He grabbed the rope, pulling the boat closer. No one noticed at first—they were too busy watching the ships take off. But when he untied the boat and hopped in, Cloud with him, a man above him shouted.

“Aye lad! What in good gravy are you doing?!”

Owin ignored him. Cloud looked over the edge of the boat as Owin frantically shoved the oars into the oarlocks, paddling like a madman.

“Look at that boy!” shouted a woman.

“Oi, he means to chase the ships!” said a man. The docks erupted with laughter. Owin felt a hot sting slide down his back, but it just made him want to row faster. The crowd booed and laughed as he paddled forward to Queen Camila’s stern. Owin looked around and shouted, “Just wait! I’ll see the edge of the world! Just you wait!”

Their jeers were distant, but only after he put all of his strength into paddling. He hadn’t realized just how fast galleons were. They looked so slow from ashore, but when one was trying to catch up with them in a one-man craft, it was like an ant and a boar. The muscles in his arms grew sore, and come several minutes they screamed out in anguish, tightening, squeezing, begging him to stop. But all the while, he didn’t. When his arms felt about to pop he kept rowing. When he wanted to stop and cry right into Cloud’s tiny furry face, he kept rowing. Biting down hard, teeth near glued together, Owin kept rowing.

Miraculously, he made progress. The wind was dead on arrival, blowing westward, shifting and fading. There was nothing to prop up the sails, nothing to push the vessels forward. They slowed.

The rudder was near feet away. Owin watched as seawater flapped up against the ship’s hull, barnacles and grimy brine crust dressing the orange wood with freckles and spots.

“We made it!” Owin said to Cloud. Cloud barked, looking up at the enormous ship. “Gods above, we made it!”

Now how to get up?

Owin’s heart sunk. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

He watched the sails billow. The ship (and ships around it) had momentarily stopped, but were about to begin moving once more. Panicking, Owin looked around the boat for something to use, but there was precious little. Two oars. A small bag. He certainly had nothing in his backpack…

The rope! The rope sitting on the floor of the boat!

Owin had only moments. He looked in the bag, noting small wooden boxes of bait. Dead worms, dead crickets, soil… the bag was a bit heavy, but just the right size. “We have one shot, Cloud,” Owin said down to his friend, who looked at him with inquisitive blue eyes.

Owin tied the bag to the end of the rope. Swinging it at his side like a lasso, he launched it into the sky, an overhand throw that sent it soaring.

The bag landed over the side of the ship, sliding into the rail when Owin tugged. He pulled the rope taut. It looked like it would hold his weight.

Heart hammering, Owin’s jaw dropped. “Cloud! Cloud! We’re almost there!”

The rainwolf was barking. Owin threw off his backpack, pried it open, and shoved the pup inside. “It will only be a moment, stay quiet.” He fed Cloud a nibble of sugar he had stashed in his pocket to keep the pup occupied. Closing his bag and tying it tightly shut, the added weight of Cloud definite and noticeable, he slung it back over his shoulder and grabbed the rope, swinging from the boat.

In just the nick of time, too. Mere seconds later, Queen Camila had left it in the dust.

Owin bounced against the hull. He tightened and steadied, stuck his boot against the ship for leverage, and kicked off, pulling himself up the rope with hands gripped tighter than any sailor’s knot.

“Hang in there, Cloud.”

He looked back at the docks, a decent length away. Too far to hear the crowd, but close enough to still see them.

With an iron will, Owin stepped up, climbing. It was harder than he’d thought… if he fell back down into the water, with Cloud in his backpack and no boat with which to sail back, it would be over. This was the greatest risk he’d taken in his life. Even so, he did it with pride.

When he was but feet from the rail, he quieted. Chatter could be heard aboard, spoken by the lips of working crewmen. He pulled himself up, and peered over the side.

A lot of the crew, all dressed in their orange button-laced vests, had congregated toward the main mast. Some pulled ropes strung up in the mast rafters, some fiddled with things on the rails. But in what could only be described as a miracle, Owin quickly noticed that no one was looking his way.

He lobbed himself over the rail, the weight of Cloud in his backpack yanking him toward the floorboards. He landed like an ape, clumsier and just as dumb. Standing carefully, he looked quickly for a place to hide. One of them would turn around any second now, he just knew it.

Directly beside him was the quarterdeck door. Owin leapt for it, tiptoe-lunging with each foot so as to not make a sound. He caught whiffs of something tasty being prepared in the kitchens. It smelled like lobster, crab, and steamed vegetables. His mouth watered—he could feel Cloud wriggling behind him. He did that when he wanted to yap.

“Quiet down,” he said, making it to the door. “We’ll have some of it soon.”

He noticed two barrels and a lantern sitting beside the door. He tried to open it, but it was locked.

Drat!

He pried again—no success. Panicking now, he looked for a place to hide. His gaze swept across the deck, noticing now the crew had started to disband.

Oh dear, he thought. He looked over one of the barrels, and lifted the lid. A small bit of mead was left within, only enough to submerge the tip of his finger. He threw caution to the wind and hopped inside, taking off his backpack to hug close, and setting the lid back on.

He opened his backpack. Cloud looked at him in the darkness of the barrel, and moved in to lick his face.

“Quiet, bud,” Owin said, suppressing a giggle as he pet his friend’s head. “We can’t be heard.”

The mead soaked into his trousers, making his rear wet and cold. He endured it, only wishing not to be noticed. There were no holes in this barrel, and no way for Owin to see out of it unless he lifted the lid and poked his head out the top. But he wasn’t about to do that—he’d just climbed the side of a ship and snuck aboard all his lonesome. Somehow, he’d also not yet been discovered. He’d bide his time.

But Cloud wouldn’t. Because after what felt like hours (but likely wasn’t much more than one), Cloud started padding at Owin’s belly.

“I know, I know,” he said, “just hold it for a little longer.”

Cloud whined. He gently clasped his palm over the rainwolf’s snout, rubbing it back and forth. “Shhh.”

A moment later, he heard footsteps. More than one pair, too, likely four or five. The crewmen’s voices swam out of the blue, greeting his ears with their hearty enthusiasm.

“Sails steady?” one man asked.

“Aye,” said another. “Steady and sailing.”

“Good. Take these barrels to the kitchens and have them refilled, I’ll make sure Do Jarra knows the signals. Good Gadha, I’m fixin’ for a swig.”

Aye’s around, the men chuckled and agreed. They lifted both the empty barrel beside Owin, and to his dismay, he and Cloud’s as well. He shifted to the side; what was left of the mead spilling to the lid and soaking his front. Cloud slipped and tapped against the side of the barrel with him.

“Oi,” said the man holding them, “it’s bloody heavy.”

“Nah,” said another, “you’re just drunk.”

“I ain’t had no mead today, buck-face,” he said, shaking the barrel. Owin and Cloud rattled around inside. “I think there’s somethin’ in here!”

“Hey,” said yet another man, “I think he’s right! You hear it shifting?”

No! Owin thought. His cover would be blown in seconds—they’d open it and see him! He tried to think of an escape plan, but it was already too late; Cloud blew it right then and there with a small yap, “arfing” loudly in the darkness.

“You hear that?” he said, dumbfounded. “There’s a wee dog in here, there is!”

“Lords above!”

They lifted the lid, and peered down.

“It’s not just a pup, lads!” said a bald, toothless man. “It’s a pup and a boy!”

...

Owin sat with his head down, Cloud nowhere in sight. He heard the pup barking, but didn’t know where it was coming from.

The room was lit only with a bit of torchlight. The smell of food still wafting through the air, he waited for the men to say something. But they didn’t—they just stood there, sometimes snickering, watching him sit in the chair with his head hung. Finally, however, one spoke.

“Wait until the Captain tears him a new one,” said a bald man.

“He won’t know what’s comin’,” said a ginger.

One with long black hair rubbed the back of his neck. “You went and sent for the Cap, right?”

Just then, the door opened.

Standing in the threshold was a figure. Slender, dressed in a brown button-up vest and a long orange captain’s coat, a tricorn hat sitting atop their head. They moved forward, door slamming shut.

It was a woman. Long black hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes, wide with fury, were a sweet spring green, framed by a crisp tan complexion. Her lips, pursed at first, peeled into a snarl. She strode through the cabin, pushing past the men to crouch in front of Owin. Her snarl then turned into a grin, pressed up into the side of her face.

“So you snuck aboard my ship, did you?”

Owin was star struck. The captain! he thought. I pissed her off, I did… what is she gonna do to Cloud?

The captain tapped the tip of his nose, squinting with a grin. “You gonna answer me?”

“I…” Owin looked away. “Where’s Cloud?”

“Your little pup?” she licked her lips. “Real daft of you to come aboard a ship with a rainwolf, kid. He’s gonna need food. A place to piss, and drop steamers. You’re gonna clean em’ up, right?”

Don’t say no, Owin thought. Don’t dare cross her.

“Y-yes.”

She started laughing, and the crew behind her joined in. “I have you groveling! Don’t say… you’re scared, are you?”

Owin didn’t know what kind of response would be appropriate.

The captain was chewing something—something that stunk of seaweed. She smacked her lips together. “I’m Caspia Carter, boy. You?”

“Owin,” he said. “Owin Karr.”

“Where do you come from, Owin?”

He took a breath. “Just Marniko.”

“Don’t we all,” she said, standing. “Well, Owin Karr from just Marniko—I think you’ll find yourself very welcome on our ship.”

The men behind her, once snickering, suddenly stopped. “What, boss?” said the bald one.

“He has initiative,” said Caspia, moving away from Owin after ruffling his hair. “Any boy his age that can paddle to a big galleon and climb the side? Without any witnesses? We’ll keep him, thank you very much.”

The bald man saluted her. “Aye aye!”

The others followed suit with some reluctance. Grinning to the side, Captain Caspia left, but before closing the door, turned around again and said, “Give him deck duty until further notice, Brann.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” said the bald man.

“Wait!” Owin said. “Cloud! Where’s Cloud?”

Caspia slipped through the door. “You’ll get him back when you swab the deck from bow to stern, Karr.”

And the door closed.

The men dispersed, but Brann moved into a closet and returned with a bucket and a mop. “You can stand now,” he said. “Cap didn’t bite off your nose, so you’re good to go.”

It was as simple as that, it seemed. Brann handed Owin the mop and the bucket. Owin stood, taking the mop in his left hand, and buckling when he lifted the weight of the bucket in his right.

Brann laughed. “Now imagine my plight when I lifted a barrel of you!” He kicked Owin in the backside on the way out, lightly but precise.

Angry he had been given chores (but glad he wasn’t thrown off the side), Owin made for the deck and began his duty.