The next day, Wilhelm was largely left to his own devices. He told Absalom in the morning that he wanted to join his crew. The man asked him if he was sure and told him he had until the end of the day to change his mind, but Wilhelm saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Absalom let him roam the ship on his own, trusting him to be out of the way of sailors trying to do their job. When asked about Quinn and Nate, he was told the two of them were “eager to return to their duties as soon as possible.” Poor lads.

He decided to take the day to do just that: roam the ship. He’d never really been anywhere but the prison cell (unpleasant) and the mess hall (drunk).

He explored the various rooms, eventually finding the crew’s quarters. Nobody was inside since they were all on deck or elsewhere working, and he got a good look at it. They were stacked bunks, but the beds didn’t seem too bad. Chests were at the edge of each, as well as lined up against the wall for those in the upper bunks. The smell of the room left something to be desired, but Wilhelm supposed months at sea with subpar cleaning technologies would do that. Instead of beds, some sailors hung up hammocks instead, the ropes of which dangled around the room like spiders thread as they strung them up anywhere they could. He felt a little less bad about sleeping in the cleaned cell the night before.

He explored the rest of the ship – not that there was much. He found the medical quarters which he left immediately after getting hit with a nearly physical wave of disinfectant smell. Wilhelm wasn’t sure what kind they had in this world compared to his own but judging off scent alone it was about one hundred times more pungent. He knew the ship’s doctor – a woman named Estelle – would be inside and decided against staying around too long. The curses and moans of pain from within certainly didn’t help his nonexistent desire to stick around from getting any better.

The only other oddity to him was the abundance of mirrors. There seemed to be one in every room, and all of them were pristine. It must have been someone’s job to polish them all, though he never saw anyone doing so. Maybe they were avoiding him.

Eventually, he was standing on deck leaning over a railing looking out into the ocean. He let the briny spray wash over his face and couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He was in a whole other world, and it instead felt like he was in an old version of his own. There was no magic, no fantastical things. He’d read and watched enough fantasy to expect mundane uses of magic like runes to keep food from spoiling, barriers that stopped sailors from falling overboard, magical weaponry, and more. Instead, the most magical thing he’d seen was a stupid coin two gambling addicts bet back and forth forever, and that seemed to only glow. When he shared this with Absalom, the Captain nodded in understanding.

“You’re right. Our vessel is far less magical than most naval ships. Many of them have things you just described: runes that keep food from spoiling, keep the cabins dry and warm even through storms, keep rain out of the windows, magic artillery, and so on. We have none of that; it’s part of the reason I recruit the way I do. We may have no magic on the vessel, but we compensate through odd quirks of the crew. Take Esteban, for example. For some reason, the food he cooks lasts longer, the ingredients stay longer, and he creates a higher quantity with less. Don’t know how, but he does. He puts three carrots in a stew, turns around, grabs something, comes back, and there’s five. We may not have top of the line runes to keep our flour stores free of mold and fresh even after months on the sea, but we do have Esteban. He accomplishes the same thing and more through his very presence.” Absalom explained.

“And why doesn’t this ship have those magical additions?” he asked.

Absalom waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’ve risen to the challenge and overcome it. I’d take our mismatched crew of quirks and skills over some shoddy runes carved by the trainees at the Conservatory any day.” He said with pride.

Wilhelm frowned. There was more to the story than Absalom was letting on, but he didn’t press further.

“So,” the Captain began casually, “You haven’t changed your mind, then?”

“No,” he responded, “I think it’s the best option that I have available. You’ve all been good to me, and it sounds like I’m wanted here, if only because I’m aspected. Whatever that means; there’s been a lot of talk about it, but not a lot of definition. Most of it seems to be generally understood – a complication when you come from another world.” Wilhelm said.

The Captain Nodded and shifted his hat, “You’ll learn. I’ll teach you, as will Calypso and Jie-Ming. The rest of the crew will teach you how to be a sailor, and I expect you’ll learn about our world along the way. You have a path forward, something that can’t be said for everyone in this world already, let alone someone hailing from another.”

He considered his words again for a moment and added, “I don’t mean to suggest your situation is not difficult, or to tell you to be grateful. I am only attempting to show you that your situation is not all bad.” The Captain rested a hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder as he walked past.

“For as long as you are in my crew, you will be considered family, and you may stay as long as you like. Whether that is until you find a way home, decide it isn’t for you, or longer.”

Absalom walked off, leaving Wilhelm alone at the railing of the ship, still looking out into the distance. The sun had begun to set, and the sky was painted in vibrant shades of orange and violet. He’d never been out in the middle of the ocean before and was stunned at how far the sky seemed to stretch in every direction.

He felt insignificant, in the face of such infinity. It was an odd comfort when his situation felt so monumentally out of his depth and control. It wasn’t lost on him that he ultimately was at the whims of Absalom and the crew, and while he had found himself in a largely great situation considering the circumstances, it could have just as easily been terrible. Absalom could have been a crueler Captain and never heard him out, he could have been more cautious and not held back when he drew his sword, and a million other things that he and the crew could have done differently which would have resulted in either Wilhelm’s death or subsequent enslavement.

They were small blessings when his problems were so large. But, when he felt so miniscule already, those were the only kind he needed.

* * *

Wilhelm vomited over the railing into the ocean and panted to catch his breath.

“Can’t we,” he said as he gulped down air like a dying man, “Slow down a bit?”

Absalom approached, practice sword in one hand, white shirt undone and skin glistening from sweat in the sun. He looked like a storybook hero come to save the princess, while Wilhelm looked like a wet dog a few highschoolers thought it would be funny to beat with a stick.

“Hard work is the basis for everything in this world. You won’t use your aspect to its fullest extent if you don’t have the skills and muscles to back it up. The principles of swordsmanship apply to everything you will be learning, and so we are starting with it.” The Captain beckoned Wilhelm to get back from the railing and into the center of the deck, but his legs were stuck fast.

Absalom’s entire demeanor shifted, from affable training coach to authoritative Captain in an instant. Wilhelm began sweating more, which he hadn’t even known was possible.

“Wilhelm, you are a member of this crew now. I am your Captain, and that means you do what I say when I say it, no later. You have a degree of leniency because of your circumstances, but do not forget your place. I am the Captain; you are the subordinate. I say bark, you say woof. Get up.”

He forced himself from the railing, and back to the center of the deck. Sailors moved around the periphery, some watching with amusement as they did their daily tasks while others blatantly ogled at Absalom’s glistening form. Not that he could blame them; the Captain certainly struck a figure.

The pair stepped towards each other once more, Wilhelm desperately swinging the practice sword while Absalom calmly dodged or guided his strikes out of the way, striking him in just the right way to correct footwork and bad habits as they sparred.

Eventually, Wilhelm made a desperate rush, only to be laughably rebuffed by Absalom, leaving him sprawled on his back. He stared up at the rigging and sails above him, as well as the snickering man in the crows’ nest, when a purring face stepped over his.

“Oh. Hello there.”

He reached up and started petting the cat – an orange tabby or some such – who rubbed its face against his hand appreciatively.

A nearby sailor moving a crate chuckled nearby,

“It seems Cracker likes you. He scratches most people who try petting him; you’re lucky.” She said.

Wilhelm smiled at the name Cracker and continued his petting.

“I wasn’t aware you had a cat on the ship.” Wilhelm said.

The woman shrugged and put the crate down. She had tanned skin, brown hair cut close to her head, and wore a shirt with the sleeves cut off to reveal sincerely impressive muscles.

“It’s an old sailor’s tale. Cats on a ship bring luck, and Captain says this one’s special. Not sure how, but,” she scratched Cracker behind his other ear who purred in appreciation, “I like having him on board even if none of that is true.” She said.

“Wilhelm.” Absalom said, gesturing with his sword.

He looked to the woman and sighed. “Back to work, I suppose. I’m Wilhelm, by the way.”

She grinned, “I heard. You haven’t exactly laid low since you’ve gotten here. I’m Scotch.”

Wilhelm waddled stiffly back to the center of the deck, and she called out behind him.

“Go easy on him, Captain. He’s a soft one.” Scotch said.

Wilhelm turned around, affronted. “I am not a soft one! I’m not even sure where you got that idea.” He pointedly ignored his softness as he spoke.

“Sure you are. Cracker doesn’t like the hard ones.” Her smile turned predatory, “For that matter, neither do I.” She gave him a wink and walked off, carrying the crate once more.

Wilhelm swung around to face the Captain with a shocked look on his face.

“Was I just-“ he pointed towards where Scotch walked away.

“Did she-“

“But I-“

He shook his head to get his thinking straight.

“Did I just get flirted with?”

Absalom rolled his eyes and settled into a combat stance.

“Welcome to sailing. Congratulations, you have a heartbeat.”

Wilhelm scowled as he stood opposite Absalom and squared off.

“I am not one of the soft ones.” He muttered

Absalom’s training sword tapped him on the shin and he leapt back, yelping.

“What was that?” Absalom said.

Wilhelm scowled. “Is it insolent if I tell my Captain to shut up if he really deserves it?”