The Everlast - Star Light, Star Bright #01

(B. Schatz)

The Everlast
By B. Schatz

Part One: Strands.

Chapter One • Star Light, Star Bright

Right Here and Now

The boat rocked and creaked gently as it sailed through the Low Seas, coming ever closer to the cobblestone shores of The Jolly Old. The sky was full of stars and those that filled the upper deck were all yawning with exhaustion as they went about their duties. The hour was late, and sleep would soon be upon them all, but before that moment arrived, a stop would have to be made, and a package would have to be retrieved, and none would sleep until the task had been completed.

Using the broomstick he had been charged with moving about the deck to hold himself up, Pips sauntered over to Lewis, who himself was leaning against a wall, hat covering his eyes.

‘You’re sleeping,’ Pips snapped as quickly as his sluggish mind would allow his mouth to move.

“Am not,” Lewis grumbled, also quite sluggishly, “ ‘M mindin’ my hat. Don’t want it to run away or nothin’ so ‘m keepin’ an eye on it.”

‘Your hat is not going to run away,’ Pips claimed, ‘It doesn’t have a reason to.’

Pips was both wrong and right respectively: while Lewis’ hat might’ve been quite fashionable, it was also one of the very few remaining “Thinking Caps” that N. Consistency and Co. had put on the market a few years back as part of an ironic line of caps that sold quite horribly. They actually thought for themselves, and were not very content to remain atop people’s heads, as the task was thankless and boring. A few hours after purchase, they tended to abandon their owners when they weren’t paying much attention to them, which infuriated many, and caused the company to prompt a total recall of the caps.

Stores returned their entire stocks, and often sent back the equally quirky “Bowler Cap”, the angry and spiteful “Hard Hats” and the outright bizarre “Butt Heads”, as the concepts weren’t being readily accepted by consumers.

Despite all of this, however, some people managed to keep their “Thinking Caps” and continued to wear them until this very day through means of trickery, or friendship.

Lewis maintained his, through sheer trickery. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t a very friendly sort of person, oh no. In fact, Lewis had gone out of his way to be nice to his hat, cleaning it quite regularly, and only wearing it on occasions of great importance, but the hat would have nothing of it, often dreaming of the day that his owner would venture near the edge of the boat, so that it could jump to freedom.

So, it could be said that the hat didn’t have a reason to dislike Lewis, but it did so just the same, and Lewis let Pips know this in his own eloquent fashion of speaking.

“Says you,” Lewis muttered.

Pips sighed, much to tired to get into an argument about a hat, and took a quick look towards the bow. Not too far off, he could see a bright white star growing quite large as the ship drew closer.

‘Almost there,’ he said, his voice sounding a little more chipper at the thought that sleep would soon come to him, ‘Someone better warn the captain.’

“If that someone’s supposed to be me, you’d best go to make sure the job gets done,” Lewis advised.

‘Quite,’ Pips muttered, and he quickly hobbled off towards the captain’s quarters, moving with all the speed and motivation of a slug holding onto a broom.

Below the ship’s main deck, Peter Torrington sat at his desk, head in hands while he stared despairingly at the hodgepodge of papers that covered the top surface. He, himself, hadn’t slept in days, and that fact wasn’t agreeing with his body: it was trying to shut down and leave him for dead. Or, at the very least, that was what it felt like.

It was not a kind sensation.

Carefully listening to the sounds around him, Peter took note that none were close to his quarters, so he shoved his chair back a little, and reached for the top left desk drawer. Upon drawing it open, he lifted the short stack of boring looking papers that occupied the space, and felt around the edges of the false bottom for a place where his fingernails could pry. He soon found the spot, a mere two-and-a-half inches from the back, and pulled the panel covering the obviously quite secret lower compartment off.

All of this effort was rewarded by the sight of a small clear cloth bag containing a fine, powdery golden substance that shone in the cabin light. It was tied tightly near the top with a short, silver rope, which he used to grab at so that he could place the bag atop the desk.

He spent a few long moments admiring his own private reserve of The Sleeping Dust, contemplating its usage. Surely, his ship was nearing their first destination, and there would be a whole lot of time to sleep afterwards, but he was nearing the edge. The edge was not a kind and friendly place, and it was quite easy to fall off of. The temptation pull on the rope and open the bag was becoming all too great.

Thankfully, it was at this moment that he realized he could hear the tell-tale swishing sound of Pips coming down the hallway.

He quickly tossed the bag down into the compartment and busied himself with putting all of the business that hid the reserve in place, and went back to the pose that made him look like he was fretting over the muddled state of his desk top. Soon after, there was a rapping at the door.

‘Request to enter, captain,’ Pips voice spoke through the door.

“Come in,” Peter stated with all the boldness of a sleepy ship captain.

The door opened with a creak, and revealed the body of Pips, who didn’t venture forward. Instead, he continued to stand in place, arms holding onto the broom while his body rested.

‘We’re nearing the quarry,’ Pips informed, ‘and you attendance is requested for the star-catching.’

“Tell the crew to be at the ready,” Peter explained, “If we miss this one, we’ll surely have a rough ride on the way to The Jolly Old, and none of us want that.”

‘Righto,’ Pips mimicked a chipper attitude, before reaching out and closing the door.

Peter used his arms and pushed himself upwards and stretched his arms.

The night had been a long one, and the entire crew’s state of fatigue was not going to make the remaining bit of it easy, but Peter had faith.

He had to. After all, he was the eldest member of the ship, having ripened to the age ten-and-a-half, while carrying the sophistication of a man of twelve, and was the only one with the means to stand upon the deck and point his right index finger towards any given direction with the confidence of a person who quite obviously knew where they were going.

If he didn’t seem confident, the night would surely be a bust, and the future would become all the more uncertain, and that, would not stand.

Not when the fate of Everything would soon be in the balance.