Thieves of the Black Sea. Joe O'Neill
OF AN OSPREY
1914—HOLD OF THE VAGABOND SHIP—THE OSPREY
Tariq awoke to the sounds of clinking glass and the smell of salt water. Shards of green, red, and blue glass moved rhythmically over him—a mobile gently swaying back and forth, blown by the wind from an open porthole just over his bed. The room creaked. It seemed to breathe, inhaling and exhaling, to the ebb and flow of the sea. Soft cotton sheets covered his bare skin. Slowly stretching his body and then his toes, Tariq tried to register his new surroundings.
Around his bare neck was the medallion of a black panther worn by his best friend, Aji, and on a table next to him sat the diary of Alexander the Great, nestled in its protective bag. Lying next to the diary was a sheathed knife that Tariq always kept strapped to his right calf.
For a few moments, Tariq was disoriented. He couldn’t shake the images of being stranded on the balloon basket for days without food or water after Melbourne Jack died.
Then it came to him, the urgency of his mentor’s parting words: “You must return Alexander the Great’s diary to my circus in India. You must find Foster Crowe.”
Flashing images filled his head—of falling into the sea, watching the surface fall away, and then a boy and shark. A boy and a shark?
Where was he? He had to find some answers.
He suddenly remembered Fez and Aseem and felt panic creep in. He had to find their whereabouts and if they had survived.
As Tariq began to lift himself out of bed, he saw the doorknob slowly turn and then the door opened. It was an old woman. She smiled broadly and started talking in a foreign dialect. She sat on the side of Tariq’s cot, gently kissing him on each cheek and making the figure of the cross with her right index finger on his forehead. She brought her wrinkled hands down to his cheeks. As she held Tariq’s face in her hands, she looked into his eyes. Tariq saw pure joy in her expression.
He tried to get out of bed, but she motioned for him to stay.
Retreating to the hallway, the woman returned with a large glass and a beautiful ceramic pitcher painted with intricate designs in vibrant colors.
She handed Tariq a glass of water, and when he had emptied it, she poured again and again, until Tariq had consumed four entire glassfuls and the pitcher was empty.
Tariq’s entire body felt like one big bruise. His head was wobbly and felt full of cobwebs. He thought of nothing else but Fez and Aseem, and he had an urgent desire to discover if they were still alive or if they had perished in the sea along with Melbourne Jack. His chest felt tight as panic returned, worrying about his friends and their safety.
His pants were hanging beside him on a wooden peg, only now they had been cleaned and smelled of soap and lemon. He put them on, dressing under the sheet. When he stood up from the bed, he instantly fell to one knee. His equilibrium was thrown off from being at sea for so long, and his lightheadedness from dehydration only added to his lack of coordination.
The old woman came to him and urged him to lie back down. He shook his head and forced himself to stand up, and then stumbled to a wall, holding onto it for balance. He pointed out the door, hoping the old woman understood that he meant to find his friends.
Understanding Tariq’s gesture, she held him by the arm and guided him as they wobbled and staggered out of the bedroom like two drunken sailors.
Down a narrow and cramped hallway, they continued until they came to some stairs. The hallway smelled damp, and the weathered and warped floorboards creaked beneath his feet. It was difficult to balance as the boat rocked to and fro with every wave. The old woman motioned for him to climb up the stairs, which he did slowly, then he smiled and thanked her with a kind look and a small bow. He was still woozy and weak, but was able to slowly make his way up the stairs with the help of a handrail.
At the top of the stairs, Tariq reached for the hatch, pushed it open and emerged to find himself on the deck of a large sailboat. Sunlight blinded him, and he stood still for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust.
“Tariq!” Aseem yelled and ran to him and hugged him.
Tariq smiled haggardly, still tired and dizzy, but managed to hug him back. Aseem’s strength seemed to have completely returned to him and even the sun sores on his face were largely healed.
“You’re looking good, my friend. A bit skinnier, but aren’t we all?” Aseem said with a laugh.
“It is so good to see you, Aseem,” Tariq said, and he meant it. The last time he’d seen Aseem, he had been clinging to life—near death from dehydration. To see him healthy and alive brought Tariq a deep kind of relief.
The two boys stared at one another for a few moments, each grateful for the life of the other, not knowing exactly what to say. Finally, Tariq spoke.
“Fez? Is he okay?”
“Look!” Aseem said and pointed upward to the main mast of the boat.
On the mast, forty feet in the air, Fez dangled, pulling in a slack line. A sailor beneath him was giving him instructions, laughing as Fez pulled until, finally, it was snug.
“Tariq!” Fez yelled down from his perch on the mast.
Quickly he and the sailor made their way down until Fez was able to jump onto the deck of the boat.
Once he landed, he sprinted to Tariq and hugged him.
“Wow Fez, you were up really high!” Tariq said with a smile.
“We thought you would sleep forever!” Fez replied.
“I feel like I could have. I’m still confused as to exactly what happened,” Tariq said and began studying his surroundings more carefully.
The boat was long, over eighty feet, with three masts. Laundry hung from every available railing and line. The floorboards were warped and scratched from salt. Green paint flaked and peeled from the cabin walls and roof. Many of the lines were aged and looked to be on the verge of shredding. Black mold spread in the corners of the floorboards where moisture had collected. Crewmembers, their shirtless torsos bronzed and rugged, shouted and waved to Tariq and he waved back. An old man with gray stubble on his cheeks, his body skinny and tan, came over and smiled and shook Tariq’s hand. He was missing his two front teeth, and there was a huge scar down his neck.
Raggedy sails attached to each mast held steady in an eight-knot wind.
“Where are we?” Tariq asked.
“We were rescued by Captain Scopas and his clan. They call themselves sea gypsies and travel around the Mediterranean. They are the nicest people, and we owe them our lives!” Fez replied.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Five days! Aseem and I woke up two days ago and have been exploring the boat.”
Tariq looked over the side and saw a dorsal fin next to the boat. The fin skipped up and under the water and reminded Tariq of a dog running next to a wagon. Sailboats of all different sizes and shapes surrounded theirs, all sailing close together. Most were in equally poor condition as their boat.
“Was I dreaming, or was I rescued by a boy and a shark?”
Aseem and Fez looked at each other and started laughing.
“You weren’t dreaming. There is a boy named Panos and he rides a shark! Apparently, he rescued the shark when it was just a baby, and he and the shark became best friends. The shark’s name is Lako, and he’s kind of a scout for the fleet—that’s how they found us! Lako came upon us, and when he was circling the basket, he was trying to help us! Amazing isn’t it?” Fez explained. He was obviously very excited.
“So, he wasn’t trying to eat us?” Tariq asked.
“No, he knew we were in trouble but didn’t know what to do. He stayed with us until the fleet was close enough and he could return with Panos to help us.”