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Ixxy had trouble thinking of Wenna as the Commodore, but since there was now another captain aboard their tiny fleet of two, she supposed she’d better start getting used to it. Wenna had decided to “throw a Float”. These were sailor’s parties, between multiple boats, often when travelling vessels returned to their larger fleet families or for commissioning of new vessels with a new crew before they first set sail. The Commodore had thought it appropriate and useful to have a “joining of the crews” party. Nothing to settle the nerves quite like a few casks of bamboo gin. Ixxy wondered whether she was the only one with some degree of trepidation. She knew how rowdy River-folk could be, especially with a few drinks in them, and rival crews, with possible scores to settle? She couldn’t imagine what could possibly go wrong.
She hoped that still being in the infirmary would give her immunity to the goings on outside, but she wasn’t pinning everything on that. She still had the pocket knife her mother had given her. Clenched in her hand, it gave her a bit more confidence. There was a mighty crash and the curtains to the infirmary blew open. Hydn and Pops followed on a cloud of bamboo gin. Ixxy felt guilty about the knife she was brandishing.
“Shhhhhh!” hissed Pops, “you’ll wake the patient!”
“Oh yeah, shhhhhhh!” said Hydn.
“The patient’s already awake, you clowns,” Ixxy stuffed the knife under her pillow.
“Ooh good,” Hydn lumbered towards the bed, “we thought you were missing out on the party, so we should bring the party to you!”
“That’s what I’ve been lying here trying to avoid. Has anyone been stabbed yet?”
“Oddly no,” said Pops.
“I reckon someone’s going to stab the Princess before the span’s out,” said Hydn. “She’s even more annoying when she’s drunk.”
“We did bring you some food, if you’re interested?” Pops rustled in a shoulder bag.
“Hells yeah, I’m starving. Whatcha got?”
He produced some spicy-tasting dried fish and some extremely delicate leaf wraps with very flowery-scented sweet filling. They tasted amazing. Perhaps this pirate lark mightn’t work out that bad after all.
“Want something to wash it down with?” Hydn proffered a metal flask.
The alcohol fumes stung Ixxy’s nose. “What the hells is that?”
“Full proof bamboo gin. Skink said they nicked it off a trading boat upstream.”
“Skink?” Ixxy tentatively took a sip. She’d never drunk a liquid that burned before. She coughed and handed it back.
“Yeah, my mate who was meant to be guarding this very place when we snuck you in. He’s not very bright, but he climbs like a demon.”
Ixxy fumbled beside her bed and found a wooden cup with water in it. She really was thirsty and the stuff in Hydn’s flask was going to do nothing to fix that.
“So,” said Pops. “Since you’re in here to avoid fighting and you’re in no fit state for dancing, how about we tell you a story instead?”
“Ok.” Ixxy took a good swig of water and shuffled down in her sheets. Pops pulled up a camp chair and sat on it opposite Ixxy, and Hydn sat on the end of the bed. “What about one concerning this Net then?”
“Ah now, that is a tale,” said Pops. “Where to begin?” He stretched out his legs and cracked his knuckles.
“You know how every pipe has it’s flow? Every runnel and cistern has an in and an out?” he paused.
“Uh—I guess so,” said Ixxy.
“Well, where do you thinks they all go?”
“I—I dunno?”
At the end of the bed, Hydn sighed. He’d clearly heard this one before — many times.
“Down. Down through the Lychgate. Down and down. To the End of the World. Every stream, every drop of water is pulled down there eventually, down to its doom.”
“Dooom—” said Hydn, earning himself a kick for his troubles from Pops and Ixxy.
When all was quiet, he went on, “Well, before the last great drop, they say there’s a Net. A last great net into which all things fall. Every treasure ever lost, every last offering thrown overboard, everybody ever given to the waters, all wind up at the Net.”
Ixxy felt a tap on her arm— Hydn offering the flask again. She waved it away.
“So here, the stories differ. Some say the Net was placed there by the gods, to sieve out the souls of the departed and that those who don’t want to go on to the final resting place, linger on there. Others say that the Net is more a real thing, maybe even a person. That Net has laid out her web like a fine spider, collecting all the treasures of the deep and waiting for the unwary to fall into her clutches...”
A crash and a cheer from outside, broke the mood. Actual sounds of a fight ensued until there was a splash, more cheering and someone brought out a wooden flute and dancing began. Pops was up at the curtain, twitching his whiskers. When he seemed satisfied, he came back to the chair but did not sit, “Well let’s leave it there for one span. That’s the end of the tale anyway.”
“What?” said Ixxy. “That’s it? You can’t finish a tale like that! What kind of a storyteller are you?”
“Ah, but that’s how that story ends,” said Pops. “No-one really knows.”
“Truth be told,” Hydn said, “no-one really knows what’s on past the Lychgate anyhow.”
The Lychgate was an actual physical gate that crossed the main river pipe some leagues downstream of Last Lake. No-one ever sailed beyond there. There was no civilization past that point and so, for the River Folk, no profit.
“Nothing good down there, that’s for sure.” Pops pushed Hydn off the end of the bed. “Time to all get some rest. I suspect we’ll need it.”
Ixxy curled back into her blankets and dreamed of treasure hoards and the whole world sitting on a huge spiderʼs web being slowly pulled into a massive spidery maw.