The Blue Kingdom

To Macha’s surprise, the trip north was going smoothly. Petita, a Gaff rigged sloop with brown sails and copper-bottomed hull, was plowing through the intricate maze reefs with the grace and ease that only a sailor like Em could achieve. AhLong had shown himself to be of equal skill and the challenge kept him busy. And not only that, it kept him quiet most of the time.

Rob, which mimicked the obnoxious talking of a sailor who had spent too much time under the sun when AhLong was on a break, radically changed its behaviour when the captain returned to the steering wheel. So, the periods when the two of them engaged in loudly crazy conversations were short and punctual, and the rest of the day was filled with long stares at the horizon and placid existential monologues, the machine didn’t expect anyone to listen.

When Macha awoke from a placid snooze, Rob was sitting next to him, raising a hand with the intent of feeling the breeze on his metal claws. “Are we there yet?” Macha asked in a raspy voice.

“Wait for it,” The Automata raised the hand between the rising sun and his enormous eyes, moving the long fingers to play with shadows and rays.

At the stern, AhLong jumped up and punched the air above his head while letting out a yell of euphoria. “There.” Rob’s fist closed, leaving only the index pointing at the baffling captain.

“What’ai tella ya? Eh, eh? The holes of Yommo! Old crazy Long never lie, nay! Hah!”

Around, and as far as the eye could see, Macha could only witness a flat surface. The same desert of salt and water that had surrounded them for days. “Incredible, Long. We have reached a darker blue!”

Rob’s bobble head turned with a squeak. “You are being condescendent.”

“Excuse me?” Macha sat up and massaged his numbness legs while the Automat motioned to face him closer.

“Whenever you speak to him, you do it with a sneer, and that hurts his feelings.”

Macha took a brief glimpse at the captain and shook his head in denial. “Nay, he doesn’t notice.”

“Incorrect. It makes him sad, but he pretends otherwise because he doesn’t want to hurt you. You are his friend, after all.”

“Well, my feelings are not as delicate as his. He can tell me anything.”

“I was not talking about your feelings.” Rob’s head squeaked to face the man approaching with monkey jumps. “Blow me down if this is not the best Cap’n my salty eyes have ever seen, ye lubbers!”

AhLong giggled like a toddler enjoying a candy and tapped the Automat’s head gently. “Ye a good nav, boy! Where is spyglass?”

“Good job, AhLong,” mumbled Macha, his eyes drifting from the captain to the Automat. Long gurgled an indistinguishable reply and rambled the deck to scout the surroundings. “That’s why you act like a fool in front of him? To make him happy?”

“Partially correct. My behaviour unfolds in the most optimal way to keep him away from his troubled mind. I don’t have a default personality. I only act according to what each person needs.“

AhLong hollered, raising an arm towards bow waters, where a rowing boat was slowly swinging between them and the shadow of a ship fading like a mirage in the distance.

The lighthouse keeper hurried to redirect Petita’s course and Rob crawled to the hull’s hatch. The machine calmly huddled in a corner and tossed a rag over his body. “I don’t think we’ll meet again, young Macha. Do you have any last questions for me?“

Macha hesitated for a moment, taking his time to adjust his shoulder holster and check the gun’s mechanism. “Any advice on how to behave as those sea dogs need?”

Rob covered his head and spoke from under the rags. “Uri and her men take honour very seriously. Do not mock it.”

When the boat reached starboard waters, Petita already had the sails lowered, and the anchor dropped. AhLong’s good humour had completely vanished, and facing the two approaching pirates, he imposed himself with folded arms and the penetrating gaze of his darker self. Both men bowed to the knee. The youngest, a tiny boy with feminine features, threw a rope and stood aside without saying a word. The other, a man with greying hair and incredible size, rose to his feet without even rocking the boat, and bent down to the level of an enormous belly his shirt couldn’t cover.

“My name AhLong!” the captain said as he was yelling directly to the people of the furthest ship. “His, Macha. He my very good friend. You take care or I come back! I no lie, aye?”

The giant pirate, with his head still down, replied with similar energy. “I name Mataro, son of Oshi. I word is honor. I take care of he!”

AhLong chuckled under his breath and hastened to raise the anchor. The delicate-featured pirate raised a helping hand, but Macha leaped across gracefully and unassisted. The boy, who bowed repeatedly, raised his palm again, even after Macha sat down on his plank. “Give him yer gun!” AhLoong snapped from Petita, his voice rising louder as the ship drifted further. “Hah! Lubber boy always lubber boy! Take care, aye? See again one day!” Macha complied, and the boy took the weapon gently. AhLong waved and shouted one last time. “No lies to Uri, lubber-boy. Never! She always know!”

With a knot in his stomach and a shy hand wave as farewell, Macha silently watched his recent travelling companions sail away. The new mates, united in their silence, did nothing but row all the way to his boss’s ship.

The White Fox, a ship whose name AhLong had revealed days prior, was a kind of a galleon of old design but in fantastically good condition. Unlike the modern vessels, more common in Tampra, it was covered in excessive ornamentation, which, while making it look like a floating work of art, made one wonder if so much carved wood and goldsmithing were necessary.

Macha reached to the boarding net deployed over her side with wide-open eyes. The hull and masts were painted in gold and maroons and the sails were of a soft grey linen. Nothing, apart from her own name and the eyes of the grotesque, monstrous faces painted in each of the gun’s hatches, was actually white on that ship.

When he reached the top, another hand raised to for help, an aid he also refused. Around him stood a half circle of men with defiant looks and hands ready to grasp weapons. Each and every one, tense, ready to attack. Macha’s first impulse was to bring his hand closer to a revolver that was no longer in his holster, so, impotent and unarmed, he instead clenched fists and inflated lungs in a vain attempt to appear bigger and more intimidating. When Mataro leaped the railing with remarkable ease for a man of his size, he rushed to answer the incessant rain of yells from the group. Macha understood nothing of Jo’s language, but the arm and chin movements that many made towards the black dot over the horizon that was Petita, made him wonder if their concerns were about AhLong.

Em never dared to speak about his past, but he had hinted at times the old lighthouse keeper was as wildly mad as his eyes showed. So, when hands eased their grips, frowns softened, and the mob returned to their menial tasks, Macha promised himself if he ever saw his captain again, he’d insist on knowing about that peculiar man who seemed to strike fear into the hearts of hardened men.

The girl-faced sailor approached with an already comical bow and invited him to follow. On the way to the castle, he realised how little scared he was, and his surprise turned into a rush of pride that gave him even more courage. On the side railing, right next to a large wooden wheel governed by a yelling navigator, there was a woman playing a transverse bamboo flute. The song was sad, melancholic at times and, apart from a couple of misplayed, slightly strident notes, it was one of the best played melodies Macha had ever listened to.

Captain Uri was a woman with long black hair and a round face of delicate features that made her look much younger than she possibly was. She had the soft, pale skin of the Jo people, a remarkable feat for a person that roamed the world under the unforgiving sunlight. She was austere, and like her subordinates, she wore only a wide sleeve blue shirt, loose fitting shorts held up with a drawstring under the knees and a bright red sash on the waist. It was overall a sagging dress over a slim, petite build that could never convince Macha she was a fearsome pirate captain.

When Uri’s song finished, she gently put her flute in the sash, next to two short, black wooden sticks. “That was a mourning song for our lost friend Ced. Did you like it?”

“I have faith he is still alive.” Macha soon realised, after the immutable reaction from either sailors or captain, there was no conversation unless he stuck to answer only to what was questioned. “I did like it, Captain.”

“No one but my crew calls me captain. Please call me Uri. That means ‘oriole bird’ in my language.” Uri’s almond-shaped eyes narrowed, hiding completely her eyeballs. “Your mouth says one thing and your eyes another. You noticed the flaws of my music, yet you prefer to flatter my ego than correct my mistakes.”

Macha decided to put aside his submissive posture and crossed arms and spread legs. It was time for the self-confidence he felt to be noticed by others. “You asked me if I liked it. Not if I thought you played well. I am a man of little musical culture, and for someone who finds any tavern’s singing a delight, your music sounds nothing short of heavenly.”

For a face that seems to have been carved from porcelain, even granite, Uri’s lips tightening to hide a smile was a great victory. She leaned forward to hug the leg on the rail as the one dangling from it began to swing. “My ears are pleased. Please follow my blood sister, so you can please my eyes and nose as well. She will take care of you until we reach.”

The sailor that Macha had mistaken for a boy since her appearance dragged her feet to his side and, once again and much lower than any of the many times before, she bowed. With a hand over her chest and a shy, trembling, soft voice, she spoke. “I Tiko. Come, follow I.”

Macha stomped down the stairs, raising his arm to scratch his head and sneakily sniff his armpit. “Is that bad, huh?” he whispered under Tiko’s furtive look, who seemed either repulsed or shocked by his doings. At the girl’s silence, Macha turned to the giant, who was following them closely. “Excuse me, Mr. Mataro. How long until we reach Master Otoke? My people are in a hurry for help.”

The sailor halted suddenly and put his huge hand on Macha’s shoulder. “Rabbit. I name I give you friend for respect. Please, no say that. Use I garden name. Ammo. Mean ‘bear’.”

“I apologise.” Macha said. The man called bear was talking as politely as he could, but his eyes gave off a penetrating fierceness impossible to hide. “Is Rabbit my garden name?” He asked as they all three reprised the way towards the belly of the ship.

“Name Macha no mean rabbit for Tampra people talk?” Asked Ammo with overplayed surprise.

“Not really. My name has no meaning.”

Ammo hummed and scratched his chin. “Then I think find proper name for messenger boy.”

After crossing a couple of gloomy corridors, Tiko went ahead to open a door that unleashed a cloud of steam. Macha's words blurted as he stepped into the damp room, taking in the sight of stools, pans, and a massive steaming barrel in the centre. "You have a bath inside a ship?"

Tiko hurried to grab towels from a rack and answered when she returned. “Clean, very important, Naru.”

Ammo leaned against the doorframe, causing it to creak under his weight, and nodded emphatically. “Tiko find! Naru mean ‘messenger bird’... ahh… what name?”

“Pigeon?” said Macha. Ammo snapped his fingers and clapped loudly, overplaying an excitement Macha found pretty convincing for once. “I always wanted to be called pigeon, thanks Tiko.”

The girl nodded and reached for Macha’s shirt. “Hey! I can do that!”

Ammo laughed his lungs out and reached for the door. “No worry Naru. Tiko no take advantage of you. She best!”

After Ammo closed the door, Tiko attempted to undress him once more, prompting jump from Macha, which led to yet another apology of an already neverending and infuriating back and forth of her head. “Turn!”

Just in time, Macha hurriedly undressed and slipped into the tub as three other girls entered the room, each carrying steaming buckets. After exchanging a few words with Tiko, they undressed and joined Macha in the bath, using soapy sea sponges to gently scratch his arms and back. “Fine, but I’ll wipe the lower my self!”

Flushed by the heat and the overwhelming embarrassment, Macha's chest seemed ready to burst while his wandering eyes found only a decent place to settle on the moist ceiling. The cleaning felt endless, and though it should have been an enjoyable experience, it was instead overwhelmingly uncomfortable, and he olny found a relief of heart when the girls, having thoughtfully attended to everything above his waist, decided to put the sponges aside and head out.

As his desires momentarily overpowered his sense of decency, Macha couldn't resist stealing a glimpse of the girls drying themselves. He noticed that they were all covered in cotton rags where modesty required. Although they were petite, their figures were well-proportioned, and their skin glowed with a pristine whiteness where sun didn't manage to reach. As the furtive glance turned into a numbed stare, his mind drifted to memories of another woman— an ebony princess of astounding perfection, none of these pretty creatures could come close to matching.

When caught in the act, the three girls couldn't help but giggle. Engulfed in shame, Macha dipped his head into the water, hiding his flushed face as a stream of bubbles escaped his lips in a long puff. Their giggles escalated into a brief but intense laugh before they composed themselves, returning to the decorous silence with which they had entered the room and with which they left.

After regaining his composure with a long moment of calmness, Macha emerged from the steamy hideout and reached for a sponge, all the while muttering under his breath. "Stupid AhLong." He had acquired the skills of the trade and the art of sailing. He had mastered the ropes and perfected his shots. But despite all his progress, he couldn't deny that, in some aspects, he was still a lubber.

He dove back into the welcoming warmth with his thoughts lingering on his beloved captain and the Lady of Cards. Macha wondered if the old loner could have some valuable wisdom to him on a matter and if the Harpy’s daughter would ever put her interest in someone like him. As he submerged, the daydreaming banished. And his focus returned to worrying about the harsh reality of dangers over their heads, and with all his heart, he wished Em and Ivy were doing fine.