Lady of Baltimare dipped below the waves, for five whole seconds this time. Morning Breeze’s tether creaked, but frayed though it was the heavy rope held. The bitter water forced its way into his nose, and not for the first time he thought that he would drown.
The wave passed as abruptly as it came, dropping the colt hard on the rough wooden deck. He sputtered and gasped as he unclipped one carabiner and moved it a slot towards the stern. His hooves went numb an hour ago, but his shift was far from over. It was only four in the afternoon, but the running lights and deck lamps were all lit up, like devilish eyes daring the colt to quit his post.
By a flash of lightning Breeze saw the old pilot bent over the wheel, his wings splayed for balance. Though he had a roof to work under his neatly-trimmed beard was dripping with rain. He had no mane, and his tail was braided short. Having nothing else to look at, he watched the deck with hawkish yellow eyes. Breeze thought they were staring straight at him.
He stopped at the middeck hatch and rattled the little door. It was latched from the inside. He felt like he would collapse there and die, but the glow from the pilot’s cabin taunted him with the possibility of comfort.
Those last twelve metres were as hard as a vertical climb. Breeze was submerged two more times, but only up to his chest. Finally he switched his tether to the inside railings and threw himself into the relative shelter of the three-walled deckhouse.
“What are you doing here?” Wandering Wings snapped, locking the wheel temporarily and giving Breeze a hard kick to the gut. When the colt did not try to get up he sighed and turned back to his work.
“Those sails better be tied up right,” he mumbled.
Breeze curled up as close to the pilot as he could without getting in his way. The ceiling only blocked about half the raindrops, but the wind was cut down considerably.
Despite his apparent roughness, Wandering Wings was one of Morning Breeze’s favorites. He was as hard with a whip as the mate, but he rarely used it, and Breeze was sure that he would not tell anyone else about his most recent transgression.
Lying in the icy puddle, Breeze soon began to shiver. The pilot noticed soon enough, and produced a large wool blanket from the dry box. Its smoky scent was oddly comforting to the colt. He pulled it over his eyes and tucked the edges beneath him, so that only his muzzle was exposed. He felt completely weightless as he drifted off to sleep.
“Breeze, come here.”
The unicorn was beautiful. Her honey brown face radiated calmness. Her sandy blond mane was braided with a blue ribbon that almost matched her eyes. She reached out for him, spreading her dark cloak.
Morning Breeze walked to her slowly. He was tired out of his mind, yet he could not resist the kindness and love that he saw in her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to feel her soft coat on his mangy skin, to be held in her gentle embrace. He wanted to cry, to tell her about all the four years of his life that he could remember. And she wanted to hear him; he could see it in her face.
He reached out and leaned into her, and closed his teary eyes.
Morning Breeze was too sick to work for two days. The mate, an earth pony mare with a wooden hoof on her rear right leg, flipped his hammock on the morning after the storm. Breeze responded by throwing up on the floor. He got twenty lashes for that, but was immediately put back to bed with extra blankets and a hot water bottle. One of the new deck hooves watch over him grudgingly. He was a boring fellow, though Morning Breeze was in no mood to talk.
The day felt longer than a day; Breeze slept for a half hour or hour at a time, dreaming of all kinds of things. Once he dreamt that he awoke to see the mate sitting beside him, and nearly fell out of the hammock when he actually woke up. Then there were times he thought that they had landed at the same port from which they had left, or at a tropical island where zebras in war paint waited on the dock.
He dreamt that he was two years old again, lying on top of a deck box and watching ponies on a dock. The cook had dropped a hot kettle on him by accident, and Wandering Wings had convinced the captain to make an unscheduled stop for ice.
It was then that he had first noticed other children. There were about a dozen running around the boardwalk chasing birds. Several adults stood some distance away, periodically calling to the children or turning around to check on them.
“Who are they?” Breeze asked.
“I don’t know,” Wandering Wings had said.
“Why she do that?” This was in reference to a unicorn mare with a flower behind her ear, who reached out and stopped a small filly as the children ran past.
“I think that’s her mother,” Wandering Wings replied.
The mare spoke rather snappily. The child nodded, always trying to pull away. In the end the mare smoothed down the filly’s long pink mane before letting her go.
“What’s a mother?”
“Well, when a mare and stallion fall in love…”
Breeze did not understand most of what he said next, not even three years after the fact. At the time he gathered that it had something to do with how children came to be.
“Do I have a mother too?”
“No,” Wandering Wings said, patting down the bag of ice on Breeze’s back. “You see, not all ponies come from two grownup ponies falling in love and all that. Most do, and most ponies will try to convince you that every pony who ever lived was created that way. But some ponies like you, they just appear one day. Out of thin air, and usually in the strangest places too.”
“Okay,” Breeze said blankly, and went back to looking at the ponies on the dock.
Wandering Wings sat with him until the dinner bell rang, and then carried him into the hold even though Breeze could walk just fine.
He wet the bed at some point in the night, but Wandering Wings managed to convince the mate to lay off the whip until he was at least able to stand. He was moved to a cot for the rest of the morning, and was well enough to help the cook with the evening meal. The shipping circuit was short at only three weeks, and all the stops at island ports meant that food was mostly fresh. The hardtack was still sealed in barrels.
Because he was the best rested, Breeze was put on the graveyard watch. The sea was as calm as one could ask for; after checking that everything on deck was in order, he went to the pilot’s house and again wrapped himself in the emergency blanket.
The pilot on duty was Anchor Watch, an earth pony stallion who looked half as old as Wandering Wings. He had joined the crew from a rocky northern island not six months ago. The work bored him, there was no doubt about that. Breeze personally believed that he was previously a pirate, or planned to become one. He even carried a cutlass, which was uncommon for a pilot.
“Do you see that light there?” He asked suddenly. He sounded exactly as Breeze thought a ghost would, drawling yet not so hard to understand.
Breeze held the blanket at his throat and stood reared up against the starboard wall. He barely reached the window. In the distance was a shimmering orange light, too low to be a star. It waned and waxed in a five second period, never disappearing.
“Which island is that, sir?” Breeze asked after clearing his throat.
“Five Stiffs,” Anchor Watch said. “We will anchor there tomorrow night, with the captain’s permission.”
Breeze’s heart sank. He knew the day would come. Five Stiffs was Wandering Wings’ home. He had a house there and some land. In Breeze’s five years of life he only recalled seeing the island twice before. It was large enough to be self-sufficient, and a little removed from the most profitable shipping routes.
The first time they merely sailed by, carried off-course by unseasonal winds. It was then that Wandering Wings had prophesied that the next time he set foot on the island he would never leave again.
That turned out not to be true, for a little more than a year passed before they went again, going into the big harbor this time. Captain Zahrah accompanied Wandering Wings onto the dock and gave him his pay in a not-too-small pouch. They talked for a while, and then Wandering Wings went up the dock. That night as he lay all alone below deck (everyone else was staying at an inn near the piers), Breeze felt loss for the first time. So he was overjoyed when the crew returned the next morning with Wandering Wings walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the captain.
Now he knew that Wandering Wings would leave for good. Breeze wanted to cry, but that was sure to annoy Anchor Watch. He didn’t want a beating before the twenty lashes carried over from the morning.
Breeze sat through the rest of his watch in silence. Lost in his own thoughts, Anchor Watch started to hum. “Fiddler’s Green” of all tunes! Breeze covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking violently as he fought back his tears.
Breeze’s fear was confirmed when the bell rang once at lunchtime. The sails were lowered and the ship left to drift, and everyone gathered middeck before the door to the captain’s quarter. The door opened, and a zebra with faded stripes emerged wearing a deep blue woolen jacket.
Captain Zahrah rarely dined with her crew, so although Breeze had worked with her for the longest he also knew her least. He had seen her many times negotiating prices and instructing the mate or the pilot, but she rarely spoke to him. Even when she was cross with him, it was the mate who dealt out punishment. The badges on her chest said that she had been an officer in at least two navies, but the jacket itself was from neither. She had a deep voice for a mare, and spoke slowly.
“My crew,” she said, “today is a sad day. Wandering Wings, our oldest and most loyal friend, will be leaving us forever. Fifty years he has sailed the wide ocean, twenty as my pilot. He has proven himself courageous and wise, and I am sorry that time would rob us of such a fine sailor. We wish you the best, Wandering Wings, wherever those wings of yours will take you.”
The crew stomped solemnly, and the old pilot stepped forward. Breeze kept his head down so nobody would notice him crying.
Wandering Wings had a short speech to give. It was all standard stuff; Breeze had attended a burial at sea before, and the content and atmosphere were frighteningly similar. Afterwards there were some treats in the kitchen, and even Breeze was allowed to partake. That seemed to him the cruelest part of the humorless farce. A soft butter scone with a liberal spread of strawberry jam; how he would have enjoyed it a year ago, or even a week!
The ship pulled up against the pier by the last light of day, casting a shadow halfway up a five-storey inn on the waterfront. A ramp was lowered, and the crew assembled in two rows. Presently Wandering Wings emerged from the sleeping quarters with his brown duffle bag on his back, wearing a grey vest and a matching cap. Standing next to the gunwales and wearing nothing because he had nothing, Morning Breeze hardly dared to look up. He thought Wandering Wings hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the ramp.
Captain Zahrah followed him onto the pier and shook his hoof. She was about to go back on deck, but Wandering Wings put a hoof on her shoulder. They both lowered their heads and started speaking in hushed tones.
The conversation did not go well. Wandering Wings grew stiffer and more aggressive, and even started to raise his voice. The captain remained unmoved.
“Well screw you too!” Wandering Wings yelled in the end, jabbing a hoof at Captain Zahrah. “May you run aground soon, you treacherous beast! And may you pick up a hundred plagues! Goodbye!”
Having said this he turned and walked up the pier towards the sea wall. Captain Zahrah returned walking stiffly, with a sour look on her face. Breeze lay on the deck, covering his face with his hooves.
“Anchor Watch,” Captain Zahrah said formally. “Take the helm for now. The rest of you get the sails up.”
“Aren’t we staying for the night?” Anchor Watch protested with a longing glance at the bars and restaurants and other businesses so close to the shore.
“I don’t want to be here if he rallies up some trouble,” the captain said. “Go. I’ll pay you fifty bits extra; to each of you.”
This last offer raised morale somewhat. The deck was soon bustling with activity. Breeze thought that he had been forgotten. Slowly he stood up and looked past the gunwales at the Wandering Wings’ receding figure. He never looked back, and it seemed he never intended to.
Morning Breeze could not hold back anymore. His whole body shook as he cried. His legs crumpled, and he fell against the gunwales. He tried to call out, but his numb mouth would not form words.
The Captain was on him in an instant, and the mate too. He was lifted up and thrown against the mid mast, and was struck dozens of times. Only then did he learned that the captain wore shoes.
“Tie him up in the hold!” she snarled. “Do what you will. Keep him out of the way!”
He was bound with rough hemp ropes and thrown down the hatch. The mate whipped him until he stopped screaming out of exhaustion, and then closed the hatch. He lay there completely still, sobbing quietly in total darkness.
“Morning Breeze. I’m here.”
She took his head in her lap. Very gently she dabbed his bruised and swollen face with cool water.
Breeze cried harder. How he wished the mare would stay, or take him away to wherever she disappeared to. But she would be gone by morning, and he would still be drifting over inky water.
If only Captain Zahrah had swallowed her pride and given Wandering Wings what he wanted! Surely the sea would not be so rough then, nor the sun so hot, nor the bugs so fierce.
The loop through the tropics was sure to be profitable, but all it brought for Morning Breeze were long thirsty days and tropical diseases. And bugs, oh the bugs! Fleas and bedbugs, flies big enough to carry off coins, and worms everywhere. They sought out Breeze in particular, who slept close to the perishable cargo and could not afford the balm and ointments sold on almost every pier. Soaking his bedding in seawater helped, but after a few days his light brown coat shed almost completely and he came down with a fever that would not go away.
All the mercy the mate had had left with Wandering Wings. Breeze learned quickly that with enough whipping and kicking he was always well enough to work.
Weeks passed in a feverish haze, and Breeze could only think of one thing: water. His mouth was dry as soon as he emptied his mug. He begged the cook for more water, and spent every second on land looking for water. Eventually the captain stopped letting him unload cargo after he was caught drinking out of a puddle.
Wild winds blew in those parts, but there was only one instance of rain in the four month; a sickly warm tropical storm. Breeze lay on top of a deck box for the whole two hours, greedily drinking the flows that came off the boom and sweating the whole time. He yearned for cold rain, even hail. Or a scalding hot bath.
For the rest of the crew shipping in the tropics had enough upsides. Islands were so frequent that they were paid daily, and soon the crew’s quarter looked like an extension of the hold with all the exotic goods they bought.
The cook was convinced that fresh food in large enough helpings could cure anything, and Breeze would later reflect that he was not entirely wrong. He likely would not have survived without being practically force-fed each new concoction, and some things did make him feel a little better.
His only comfort came at night, and not every night. The mare would sit by him or lay down beside him, and listen to his words. Things that he could never say to anyone he said to her without fear; he said everything he ever wanted to say, in fact, except one. And each time he would beg her not to go.
“I will be back,” she would reply every time. “I promise. Be strong, Morning Breeze.”
By the last week of the circuit, Breeze’s deteriorating condition was painfully obvious to everyone. Despite the cook’s best effort the colt had withered. He could not speak above a whisper, and no amount of yelling and beating could keep him awake for a full shift at any time of day. The mate moved his bed to the hold lest he infected the others, and gave him tasks like mending old sails and waxing ores.
There was hushed talk of getting rid of the cabin boy. The captain was ready to throw him overboard, or so Breeze thought he heard one night. Even the mate was against that idea, though Breeze was ready to agree to it if they had asked him then.
The cook did his best to take care of Breeze for the rest of the journey, but his attention was divided. Though the mate would never say so, Breeze had done a decent share of work. At the very least he could be put on deck at night so somepony else could sleep. Now there were twelve more hours of work to do every day.
Never before had Breeze slept for so long without interruption, yet he never woke up feeling rested. The cook fed him whatever he could find when he woke up, which meant more than one meal of biscuits soaked in water. At the last island he procured some goat milk for a steep price, drawing the captain’s ire.
“He’s not a foal,” she said, her voice muffled by the deck. “He is soft enough without your coddling. Let him be. If he is worth his price he will be well again in time.”
“He should be dead, if he’s worth his price,” the cook said indignantly. “You bought him for a day’s wage, and I dare say he’s done more than a day’s work! And besides, this is my money.”
The cook went into the hold to find Breeze crying.
“What’s the matter kid?” He asked. He often spoke like that, as if he had forgotten that Breeze had not spoken a single word for nearly two weeks.
When Breeze kept crying, the cook picked him up along with the blankets and sat him on his knee.
“You listen here,” he said, wiping some sweat off the boy’s colorless face. “I don’t mind if you cry a little now, if it makes you feel better. This isn’t the best place to spend the first years of your life, but you’ve survived so far. Stay strong. When we get to Baltimare, I’ll see what I can do for you. There’s an orphanage there. That’s a place for colts like you. Just stay with me until we get back to Equestria, and everything will be better.”
The cook fed Breeze and rocked the colt until he fell asleep again. The milk was soothing to his stomach, but he knew it was a rare treat.
Without heating the bugs became more manageable as the ship sailed north. Breeze slept through much of the remaining journey. He loved the times when he woke up with the cook already in the room. Breeze had bandages on his hooves to stop him from ripping his delicate skin, but the cook removed it sometimes to give him a little relief from the bug bites that covered his entire body. And of course he was most comfortable in the realm of his dreams where the nameless mare dwelled.
At last the ship reached the calm waters of Horseshoe Bay. Early on the morning of arrival the hatch to the hold opened abruptly. Breeze was startled awake and immediately curled up beneath his sheets. He had caught a glimpse of the figure on the steps with the lantern dangling from one hoof. It was the captain.
“They’re quarantining ships,” she said. “If they see the boy we’ll be stuck here for two weeks.”
“He needs a doctor,” the cook said, jumping out of his temporary cot.
“He will get one tomorrow when we reach Saddle Horn Island,” the captain said. “Move him to my cabin now, and keep the curtains drawn.”
Breeze struggled when the cook tried to lift him. Breeze covered his eyes as he emerged into daylight. The cook carried him to the captain’s cabin and placed him on the floor of the writing room. The curtains were made of translucent blue silk, and the room was too bright for Breeze’s dark-adjusted eyes.
“I’m going on deck,” said the cook. “I’ll come back for you, I promise.”
Only half understanding, Breeze tried to hold onto the cook’s neck. He looked back regretfully before closing the door.
Breeze looked at the world outside through the curtains. There were gigantic buildings right up to the shore, and cranes like the skeletal remains of sea monsters. Ponies moved up and down the pier, workers in bright oilskins mixed with the gawkers and the swindlers, and the ones who were genuinely minding their own business. He did not know why he was so fascinated with such a mundane scene. He had seen zebras in war paint; fierce ponies with smoking beards; donkeys with shaved and tattooed faces; crowds denser and more varied and more exotic than this. But there was comfort in familiarity: the earth ponies in overalls and jumpers; the unicorns with unblemished faces and tired eyes lifting crates many times their size.
Breeze’s eyes shot open. He smashed his head into the bookshelf beside the desk, knocking over a few dog-eared volumes. The pain brought tears to his eyes, and his headache blinded him for a few precious seconds, but he tore the curtains aside and forced himself to look again.
She was walking along the edge of the dock, followed by a fleet of colorful little cloaks. She was not wearing her hood. Her eyes were bright and kind. Perhaps no kinder than most ponies, but to Breeze they seemed to glow.
Mommy…
He mouthed the word, but only a low hiss left his dry throat. He watched her walk down the dock, dangerously close to the edge. The children behind her were of all different sizes, ranging from about Breeze’s own age to twice that. Some stared at the ship with starry eyes, while others turned away and herded the group along.
Breeze pressed his nose against the glass; what punishment he might earn for smudging it was of no concern to him. He put his hooves up to the window and waved. If only she could see him, he was sure that she would take him away.
“Mommy…” he whispered. He tapped on the glass, but his bandaged hooves did not make a sound.
The mare walked out of his field of view. The children disappeared behind the bulk of the ship one at a time. Breeze struck the glass with all the strength in his bony legs, but a ship’s window was not easily moved.
“Mommy…” He collapsed on top of his blankets and cried.
The imprint of his runny nose and dusty hooves on the glass taunted him. He imagined what a hundred lashes would feel like, or a thousand. Or perhaps he would be thrown overboard with the anchor. The captain had no love for him, and could he count on the cook’s protection? Wandering Wings would have done it; Breeze was sure of that. But Wandering Wings had been gone for half a year.
He had nothing to lose.
Gathering all his strength, Breeze stood up and staggered out of the writing room. He climbed the stairs like a mountaineer pushing for the summit, and was rewarded with the chill salty wind. Only seagulls cheered him on as he raised his head above the gunwales and searched the dock.
The mare and her children had stopped at the next ship in front. She was speaking to the captain of the vessel, which was an unusually tall brig. Even her voice was perfect, like music to his ears.
“Mommy,” he mumbled excitedly. Keeping his head down, he snuck towards the loading ramp.
Breeze saw nopony else on deck. The deck hooves were moving cargo into a warehouse on the dock, and he could hear voices in the hold. The ramp was unguarded. He had one chance.
He collapsed suddenly; his hind legs went limp. It took him a second to feel the line of pain across his back.
“Where do you think you’re going, boy?”
There was no blood on Anchor Watch’s sword. He had struck the colt with the blunt side of the blade.
“Mommy…” Breeze whispered, knowing defeat. His head was resting at the top of the ramp, and he could see the group walking away. He told himself that she would turn around and recognize him. That voice screamed louder and louder as the pain in his chest grew. It was worse than Wandering Wings’ retirement, worse than the end of every sweet dream where she promised to return.
Anchor Watch picked him up by the gruff of his neck. Breeze kept staring at the mare, and she kept walking.
“Mommy,” Breeze sobbed. His throat burned, but it seemed trivial compared to the growing pain of his broken heart.
“Settle down, boy,” Anchor Watch said through his teeth. “I won’t tell the captain if she doesn’t see you.”
But the captain would know when she finds him in the hold.
“Mommy!” Breeze called. He did not recognize his own voice.
“Your mummy’s not here,” Anchor Watch said, trying to cover Breeze’s mouth with a greasy hoof. “She’s dead, probably.”
The mare had walked too far. She had turned away from the waterfront and was heading up a street. Her children skipped along behind her or chased each other amongst stacks of crates. Breeze closed his eyes, trying to purge the happy scene from his memory.
But he didn’t want it to go.
“MOMMY!”
His voice echoed through the harbor, and for several seconds even the seabirds fell silent. Breeze hissed and gasped, but no more words came out of his mouth. Bloody froth bubbled up his throat, which felt like it had been slit at the base. Anchor Watch dropped him on the deck, and he collapsed in tears. It was all over, and he dared not open his eyes.
“Get out of the way, boy!”
The captain delivered a bone-shattering kick. Morning Breeze skidded over the deck and off the side of the ramp, belly-flopping into the cold greasy water. He did not try to swim. Bubbles rose from his nostrils, and he let them go. The stinging in his nose made him cough. Water rushed into his lungs.
Suddenly he started to float. No, it was faster than floating. He shot out of the water, and felt as if a giant clamp was squeezing his chest. Water gushed out of his mouth and nose, to be replaced with air. He landed gently on a wooden surface, and was immediately covered with thick warm fabric.
“How much for your cabin boy?”
The sound of that voice gave him new strength. Morning Breeze dragged himself across the deck and grasped the mare’s leg. She looked down at him with a familiar smile and reached down to pull the hood of the cloak over his soaked head.
“It is more than you can afford,” Captain Zahrah shouted as she came down the ramp. “He is a slovenly and careless boy, and you will grow tired of him.”
Morning Breeze hugged the mare with all his strength and cried into her coat. He shivered with fear listening to Captain Zahrah’s approaching steps.
“Don’t believe her,” he mouthed. “Don’t make me go back. Don’t make me go back!”
“How much?” The mare said coolly. “How much do you want? He’s mine regardless.”
Captain Zahrah paused. Breeze did not look up.
“Five hundred bits,” she said rather smugly. “So how big is your purse?”
“Five hundred bits then,” said the mare without skipping a beat.
Breeze heard a great rattling from beneath the mare’s cloak. A large burlap sack floated out, landing neatly at the bottom of the ramp.
“Five hundred bits, probably more,” she announced. “And now you must never speak to this boy again. He is under my protection.”
Having said this, the mare lifted Breeze up to her chest and looked into his face. New tears filled the colt’s eyes; joyous tears, bittersweet because he had lost so much. His mouth formed words which he could not speak. He held onto her neck and stared into her face, memorizing every detail down to the wear in her teeth. Then he hugged her tight and sobbed into her chest.
“Mommy… Mommy…” he mouthed again and again.
“I love you too,” she said softly into his ear. “You’re safe now. Welcome home.”
