“Be ready,” My‑re said. She moved through the rowers in the lower deck of the Nightie. Half of the ship's oars were damaged or destroyed, and the remaining thirty had two Lord Protectors on each.
Rao, the lead rower, nodded to her and said, “Say the word.”
My‑re looked at the hull patches where the Lake of Mists’ monster had attempted to break through. The leaks had ceased.
“They’ll hold,” Rao said, following her gaze.
My‑re then looked at the ankle-deep water she splashed through. Debris floated on the surface and underneath. Efforts to bail the remaining water had ceased.
“We won’t break. We’ll row to our last ounce of strength.”
My‑re noticed a corked bottle caught under the water and lodged against a bench. She picked it up, removed the cork, and drank. Strong with a fruity flavor, the wine tasted good. She breathed out heavily in delight and trepidation. She corked it and proceeded to set it back down.
“I’ll take that,” Rao said, taking it from My‑re’s hands. “A little liquid courage can’t hurt.”
My‑re nodded, and as she proceeded up the creaking stairs, Rao said quietly, “Get us home.” She paused for a moment and then continued. Emerging from the lower deck, she saw the contingent of Primus’s elite tower guards gathering at the ship's bow, preparing to light the remaining torches and lanterns. The captain of the Nightie, Phetmolge, had taken a position in the crow’s nest while Ssskah, the tuxedo-colored were-cat, operated the massive wheel at the aft section. Standing beside her were Lady Sheila Greywand and Tim the Enchanter. The Nightie drifted, surrounded by the lake’s mist. Like pin-pricks on black cloth, stars watched like spectators from the heavens. Turning east, dawn had not broken, and time remained before they’d be fully exposed to the morning’s light.
“Speed and care are needed,” Ssskah said, wringing her hands around the wooden spokes of the navigation wheel.
“Proceed,” Sheila Greywand said, motioning.
An elite tower guard lit the lanterns and torches at the ship's bow. The entire area around the front of the boat and surrounding waters glowed and extended some distance out to sea. The crow’s nest illuminated as Captain Phetmolge ignited a lantern holding two navigational flags. Ssskah seemed to understand the flag motions and began to turn the wheel.
“My‑re, begin,” Sheila said.
My‑re went to the top of the stairs and said to the crew below, “Row.”
The Nightie lurched forward. The oars were in time with each other. The remaining thirty oars, fifteen on each side, moved in rhythm. Water splashed, the wind blew, and the ship proceeded.
My‑re looked behind her. The lake remained quiet. Turning to Ssskah, she watched Captain Phetmolge’s motions with the flags. The Primus warriors were steadfast at the bow of the ship.
“I see the edge of the barriers,” Phetmolge called down and conveyed navigational instructions with the flags.
The Nightie moved diagonally to the western shore of the Isle of the Eye toward the abandoned port called the Suicide Gate.
After an hour, Phetmolge called out, “There’s the trench!” The ship leveled off and headed eastwards toward the western shore.
“Hold steady! More than five degrees to either side will cause us to beach on the shallows!” Phetmolge called out. “This is going to be tight!”
My‑re sat on a miniature hogshead barrel. She noticed her legs bouncing in uncontrolled nervousness. Stopping them, she rose from her makeshift stool and watched the water behind them from the ship's aft section. While limping, the Nightie made good progress through the water. The lake’s mist thinned, a hopeful sign they were getting closer to the Isle of the Eye. A moment later, the eastern sky changed to a light blue, and an orange glow hit the horizon. Rays of yellow streaked the heavens. Dawn broke. Sunrise.
“By the nine hells,” My‑re cursed to herself out loud. While beautiful, the first rays of light also exposed a bleak picture of the damage the Nightie sustained during the night. The railing was broken in three places, large chunks of splintered wood sat like jagged daggers on the deck, and shattered oars looked like broken teeth on the ship's side. Various objects on deck were rolling freely with the waves, and the vessel listed slightly. The Nightie looked like the loser from a drunken brawl. Even the crew was disheveled from being wet, tired, and on edge from the constant attacks from the Lake of Mists’ monster.
Approaching the helm, My‑re joined Sheila Greywand and Ssskah.
Sheila seemed to read her expression of concern and said, “Steady.” However, My‑re wasn’t sure if she meant the comment to Ssskah, herself, or both.
My‑re looked out to the lake. It remained quiet as the mist hovered, but more and more water could be seen shining through. The scent of grassy seaweed rode on the breeze, an almost constant smell on the beaches. They were getting closer. The familiar shadow of the Isle to the Eye formed in the distance. Home was near.
“In the water!” Phetmolge called out from the crow’s nest. “Off the starboard quarter!”
The crew drew weapons and rushed to the right, back section railing.
Eyes focused onto the lake. Nothing stirred. The mist instantly parted. Something underneath bulged the water.
“It’s coming!”