Water swirled in aqua-green spirals under the curved body of an enormous ship as it cruised toward the shore. Behind its white sails the sun climbed through the sky, casting a morning glow onto the coast and town where the ship would dock.

On the deck, leaning out over the side railing, Captain Tierney Fern adjusted the sleeves of his coat as a voice came from behind him.

“Easterly looks the same.”

The captain did not need to turn to identify the voice’s owner. The airy tone, as if spoken by someone about to tell a funny story, gave it away. Fern turned to his oldest friend.

“It does, Ulysses. Good thing, too. The rest of the world’s changing fast enough. And not for the better. I’m happy this place is different.”

Ulysses’ short stubble followed his mouth up in a grin, “Come on, you know things don’t change for the better on their own. It takes a little hard work. A little… belief.”

Fern looked into the man’s dark-blue eyes and smiled. The serene calm that graced Ulysses had always impressed him. He had hoped that their many years of friendship had seen some of it rub off on him, but as the town drifted closer, he did not feel serene or calm, only uneasy. The captain took a few steps toward the ship’s bow, folding his hands behind his back. Other, more modern looking boats, passed them, and he nodded to the sailors on board. The sailors nodded back.

They were mostly fisherman or lobsterman making their way to work. Even though Fern, Ulysses, and the crew took on a very different kind of work than typical sailors, they were known in the town, and, in the early morning hours, any sailor appreciated a friendly nod.

Fern turned back to Ulysses. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the world isn’t such a dismal place. I just worry we put too much faith in people.”

Ulysses sighed. “Don’t really have a choice. If we don’t believe in each other, then what’s the point?”

Ulysses nodded out toward the shore and the town. “You know it’s quaint. Easterly. I never looked at it till now, you know, studied it like it deserves, but it is. A quaint little Rhode Island town.”

“Quaint how?” Fern had to ask.

“You know, weird. Like us. Trying to exist in a world that doesn’t seem to notice or care.”

A salty chill scurried down the captain’s spine. “The Regulat cares.”

“Yeah, but they don’t count.” Ulysses smiled. “Crazies don’t count.”

It was Fern’s turn to shake his head and smile. “The crazy ones count for double.”

“Maybe.” Ulysses shrugged. “But we can’t worry ourselves with secret organizations or the notions of the insane. There’s a world a ‘wonder out there to protect. People are forgetting about the Fringe, and it’s up to us to help them remember.”

“Now you’re sounding like me,” said Fern. “And we can’t have that.”

The two men, similar in height and build, looked at each other and grinned.

Then, his voice somber again, Ulysses asked, “So you still think this is a good idea?”

Fern exhaled, and watched his breath float out on the cool September air. The town was closer now, close enough that they could see rain falling on the townspeople as they walked along the sidewalks with their umbrellas and sidestepped out of the way as the passing cars sprayed water onto their path.

“This is what we signed up for,” said Fern. “If we don’t help, they won’t make it. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve witnessed enough loss. I need to show Juniper that there’s hope for others like her.”

Ulysses nodded. “So, when’s the meeting?”

“This afternoon.”

“I’ll go with you.”

The rain had reached them now and fell over their faces and eyes.

“I’ll go alone,” Fern said, and then, grinning through the rain, added, “besides, you need to be here to welcome your nephew.”

. . .

It was late afternoon by the time the ship had docked, and Fern wound his way through Easterly’s streets. The rain had ceased, and the air warmed with the sun whose light streamed in scattered sunbeams through a blanket of opaque clouds. Ulysses was right, he thought. Somewhere between the windy streets and buildings that looked plucked out of a Grimm’s fairytale, the town possessed charm. Like a piece out of the old-world puzzle that did not fit into the current paradigm. A place suspended in time.

A small group of locals passed on the street. “Captain. Nice to see you again.” Fern did not like socializing, and despised small talk, but he recognized some faces, and so he nodded and smiled back. This happened a few more times in a mannerly mixture of “Captain, been a long time,” and “Captain Fern, nice to see you back in Easterly,” until, with a palpable sense of relief, Fern saw the familiar sight of the Wanderway come into view.

Built of the gray stone like many of the buildings of Easterly, the archaic wooden sign that hung just above its door identified the tavern. Fern stopped before entering. He had always liked the picture of the letter ‘W’ which, instead of the typical straight lines, wound and curved its way up the gnarled wood of the board. A line underneath the tavern name read:

IT MATTERS NOT HOW NEAR OR FAR ONE WANDERS,

ONLY THAT ONE FINDS THE WANDERWAY.

Fern tasted the familiar mixture of seawater and beer as he stepped inside. The tavern’s tiny rectangular windows allowed only silvery strips of outside light to fall across the mismatched sets of antique tables and chairs, while starving candles burned away their waxy bodies, one per table.

Fern grinned. The place was almost empty, though he expected it would not stay so for long. He knew the sea made sailors hungry and, even more, thirsty. They liked to drink, and he knew from firsthand experience that drink tasted best as soon as the ropes hit the docks.

A man behind the bar wore a raggedy white T-shirt which contrasted his messy mane of black hair. He wiped a hand across his chest, back and forth, leaving a wet smear.

“There’re bets going that they got you. Maybe even killed you.”

Fern took a seat at the bar. “Is that all?”

“Or that you deserted.” The barkeep shrugged.

“You know me.” Fern gave the man a warm smile. “I won’t run.”

“I do.” The barkeeper flipped a glass up into the air. “And that’s why I win all the money. Because I know you best.”

The glass the barkeeper flipped had not come back down. It had vanished. Fern looked at his watch and then pointed at the long line of taps that ran the length of the bar. “Still have that ale on tap?”

“Dragon’s Tale?”

“That’s the one.”

The barkeeper placed a fresh glass of amber-colored liquid on the bar. Fern took it, raised it to the man in a silent toast, and drank. He set the empty glass down with a soft thud.

“Good to see you, Tierney,” the barkeeper said.

“You too, Eryk,” said Fern.

Fern watched Eryk shift his eyes toward a doorway at the back of the bar. “Your guest is waiting back there. Just keep in mind that customers will come in soon. I’ll do my best to keep them out.”

. . .

A moment later Fern pushed aside the heavy canvas curtain which led into a back area known as the living room. It was smaller and cozier than the primary dining area, and a fire burned in the fireplace. He took a deep breath in and felt drowsy. Except for the light of the fire, the room was dark, its edges shrouded in shadowy quiet.

Above the fire’s stone mantle, spread out to fill the entire back wall, was a map of the world drawn on a vast piece of fabric that was frayed and torn around the edges. Fern knew the map well. It always amazed him to see how it maintained its vivid colors: the deep blues of the oceans and rivers, the golden brown of the landmasses, and several varying pigments in between for the many creatures and places it showed. His eyes dropped from the map to a person concealed under a black jacket with the hood pulled up over the head.

“That’s a very special map,” said Fern. “Made by Amerigo Vespucci’s little brother, Alexi.” The other person said nothing. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he tried again.

“You are Captain Fern, of the Curiosity?” The voice was soft, clandestine, more than a whisper but still hard to hear.

“I am,” he answered.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry,” said the captain. “But the message we received was basic. I’m afraid I don’t even know your name.”

“Does it matter?”

Fern caught the traces of an accent. Just what kind of accent, he could not say. The words were clean but short. Then, as if to approach a sleeping animal, he joined the stranger in front of the fireplace. The person was smaller than the captain by some inches, but Fern could not see beyond the jacket’s hood.

“I know these are scary times,” he said, “but you are safe here.”

“Nowhere in the world has been safe for things like me for a long time.”

“That’s what we’re trying to change.”

The person turned and two hands brought down the hood to reveal a woman unlike any Fern had ever seen. Her eyes were bigger than the average person, and the dark gray-and-white color of clouds just before a storm. They drew him in, and he drifted toward her, stopping inches before her face. In the irises he saw strands of yellow, crisscrossed and messy, like threads of destiny.

“Aurora,” she said. “That is my name.” Tangles of brown hair fell across Aurora’s eyes and fair face. She pushed some away with a hand and Fern saw that like her face, her hands were as pale as papier mâché.

“What do those mean?” He pointed at the dotted patterns tattooed across her hands.

“Endeavors,” she said. “Undertakings, quests.”

“Stories?” Fern tried.

She shrugged and nodded. “It’s all stories.” She looked young though her body, while athletic under the gray sweater and black jeans, appeared malnourished and fragile. Fern may have guessed she was only a little older than his own teenage daughter, but something about her demeanor, the way she held her chin high and her shoulders back, told him she could not be as young as she looked.

“Your message said you are in grave danger,” he continued. “Can you tell me more?”

Aurora looked from side to side, as if she expected that danger to emerge from the shadows of the room at any moment. “What do you need to know? Do you want to know about last summer when they came into our villages? How many of us died? Do you want to hear how we hide in the caves of our ancestors and starve? Or maybe you need to hear about what they do. With their black suits and killing spears.”

“Black suits?”

The pale woman nodded. It is them, Fern thought but did not say, not wanting to upset Aurora, who looked anxious enough.

“I just want it to stop,” she said.

“They won’t stop,” said Fern. “I’m sure of it.”

Aurora’s gray eyes turned watery. Fern noticed for the first time the tiny perforations like freckles spread across her forehead. In that pattern they looked like a natural tiara. “Your boat, it’s legendary,” she said. “I don’t know if it can do all the things I’ve heard, but if it can, it’s our best chance.”

“There is no ship,” said Fern, “like Curiosity.”

Aurora’s face changed. “So, it’s true?” Renewed energy entered her face. “You can take us to that place where we’ll be safe?”

Fern was about to answer but stopped. He sensed movement in the shadows of the room. Aurora must have felt it too because before the captain realized what had happened, he saw a blur of motion and heard the thud of metal sinking into wood. Aurora strode with nimble steps into the darkest part of the room and returned a moment later with a long hunting knife in her hand, a white blade with an icy-blue handle.

“Sorry,” she said, “I thought I heard something.” Then, as if to tell a secret, she whispered, “I’m scared. And I am tired of being scared.”

“This place you talk about,” Fern continued, “is difficult to get to. The journey alone will take some time and can be dangerous.”

“Nothing can be worse than how we live.”

Fern nodded. They could hear muffled sounds on the other side of the living room curtain as new arrivals to the Wanderway took their seats. “I must arrange some things here in town. Could you be ready in three days?”

Aurora nodded.

“Good. Then in three days you will come to our ship. Bring the others. One hour before midnight. Post Thirty-Seven at the docks. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Captain Fern.” Aurora’s voice trailed off. “They are not here.”

Fern stopped. “What do you mean?”

Aurora turned back to the map above the mantle and pointed to a spot close to the top. “They are there.”

Fern felt a jolt of understanding. “That explains the cryptic message.”

“Please. I was afraid you may not come if you knew.”

“The journey you’re proposing will take weeks.”

“If your crew is the one I’ve heard about, we will make it. Otherwise my people die.”

If we don’t do this, Fern thought to himself, we are all lost. He looked back into Aurora’s pleading eyes. “Okay.”

She smiled for the first time, revealing teeth that looked more befitting of a carnivorous animal than a person. She is beautiful, the captain thought, in the way wild things are beautiful.

“Three days,” she said. She pulled her hood back up over her head. “I will be there.”

Fern only nodded.

Aurora was halfway out of the room before she stopped and turned.

“Captain?” she asked. “Why do you do it? You’re human. Why help things like me?”

Fern did not look at Aurora directly. He was watching the embers of the fireplace flicker like the lights of a tiny city. “Things like you,” he said, not taking his eyes off the tiny, glowing city. “Those I love most are things like you.”

Fern stayed for a minute longer after Aurora had left the room. The crew might mutiny, he thought. Many of them felt the situation was already too dangerous. Then again, this was what they signed up for.

The captain’s fingers drummed once across the stone mantelpiece. Then he glanced up at the giant map adorning the wall and left. Fern acknowledged the familiar faces who had since taken up their usual spots as he passed through the dining room of the Wanderway.

. . .

Neither captain nor stranger had noticed the slight flickering of movement in the far corner. Neither heard the almost silent breathing as they spoke. They came close, thought Roach, considering how sharp the mythos’ blade had been and how close it had come to his chest. He was sweating in a mixture of adrenaline and warmth, for the room held the heat from the fire like an oven and he finally had information his associates would want to hear.