The Unmapped Sea: Chapters 11–Epilogue

“Ahoy, did you say? Ahoy! Pirates! Scurvy knaves!”

“Out of my way, Simon! This time I won’t let those ruffians take you without a fight!”

And with Edward Ashton lurking around Brighton for nefarious reasons yet unknown, she dare not leave the Incorrigibles behind.

“The natives were kind to us at first, we strange fairhaired men who came from the sea. They shared their papaya fruits freely, and taught us the lilting songs of their tribe. I think I remember a bit of one. Raise your voice with me, sir!”

The hunter must vanquish his prey, or the prey must vanquish the hunter.

It was a strange and unlovable lineage, perhaps, but as far as Penelope could see, the Ashtons descended in a straight, unbroken line.

The mournful singing and the slow rocking movement of the carriage soon lulled the children to sleep.

He scratched behind his neck and glanced up at the inscrutable sky.

Penelope had come to trust the old coachman somewhat more than she used to, but his enigmatic behavior still rankled her; why was it so difficult to speak plainly about things, and leave out all the mysteriousness?

The only explanation she could come up with seemed so wildly implausible, so utterly improbable, so completely lacking in verisimilitude—it could not possibly be true, could it?

“As Agatha Swanburne once said, ‘When an unstoppable force meets an immovable post, it is bound to create quite a ruckus,’” she remarked to Simon.

As the philosophers among you know, a collision between an unstoppable force and an immovable post is an example of a “paradox,” which simply means an idea that contradicts itself: a hotel clerk who cannot abide guests, for example, or a doctor who cares nothing for the sick.

Yet most of us are more than willing to suspend our disbelief if it means we can enjoy a rollicking tale about genies who live inside lamps, angry wolves who spew curses, seashells with romantic insight, or any number of other, well...unusual topics.

Tonight she wore a dress of ocean-blue silk, with a diamond brooch in the shape of a whale pinned to the collar of her matching coat.

Clearly the old sailor’s knack for things theatrical had prompted him to embellish his role, but as long as he did nothing to spoil the evening’s illusion, she saw no harm in him enjoying himself.

“I have heard it said that impending fatherhood can make men as hungry as their expectant wives, but Fredrick, you are attacking your dinner like a hungry wolf!”

Veronika closed her eyes and clasped her hands to her heart, as if imagining the most romantic ballet ever devised, while Alexander gaped at her in ardent wonder.

Penelope discreetly signaled a Double Sea Sway, to indicate the boat taking its berth at the port.

One could easily imagine taking a relaxing hot soak at the end of a long day delivering orations in the senate.

She ventured one pale hand outside the imagined shade and quickly snatched it back.

“What I am saying is that Pax Ashton had a sister. They were twins, just like these two scalawags in the droopy diapers.”

“The coroner couldn’t tell what kind of ravenous beast did them in. Something vicious, it was! After it was done feasting on the admiral and his wife, there was scarcely enough left to tell them apart.”

Penelope felt suddenly groundless, as if she were falling headlong through the air, but at the same time it felt like flight, like joy.

Yet none of them could remember drawing Emperor Nero, the famously tyrannical Roman emperor who was said to have set fire to the city and fiddled while it burned.

Just as his invalid mother was more fierce than one might expect from a person so ancient and frail, Captain Babushkinov now looked more sheepish than one would have thought possible for a person so large and imposing.

“Up to no good, I’ll wager! Did you mean to set another fire, you rogue? Hanging would be too good for you!”

For a moment, it looked as if they were about to pummel each other.

“Good evening. Forgive me for remaining seated; I am somewhat hobbled at the moment.”

“That was the last straw. There was never any fire; I just wanted you all to go home! I sneaked behind the scenery and set out some smudge pots, like they use in the theaters to create the effect of smoke and mist. I had some left over from my thespian days. When the ghost of Hamlet’s father made his entrance, and the stage swirled with fog—talk about spooky! This toga was from a production of Julius Caesar, in which I performed the title role. ‘Et tu, Brute?’” he declaimed.

On and on he babbled, and a pitiable figure he was.

“In the first place, he’s not really a judge,” Simon said, indignant.

Veronika was the first to recoil. She let go of her mother and gazed at Alexander like a tragic fawn.

With catlike poise, Edward Ashton slowly rose to his feet.

“You wish to throw us to the wolves, in order to save yourselves,” she said, without rancor.

“Correct. And this time I had a whole pack of hunters from our gentlemen’s club in pursuit! They had been told the children were more animal than human, but even so, some were squeamish. It did not matter. Any of them would have stood aside and let me take the shot, for to have a judge owe you a favor is more valuable than money to a rich man. I would have preferred to let Fredrick do the honors, but as you may recall, my son was indisposed that evening.”

“Another man would have given up. But I would not quit. Instead, I had to face facts—that despite all the soothsayers I had consulted, and all the spooky tomes I had read over the years, I did not understand this curse well enough. I must have missed some important clue. That is why I combed through Agatha Swanburne’s letters and sought the old sailor’s boyhood diary. That foolish, lilting poem!”

“Page after page of useless, rhyming doggerel that told me nothing I did not already know. And then, when the news of the pregnancy reached my ears...” He paced the width of the pier so quickly and so carelessly that Penelope thought he would surely fall in the water.

Her nod of thanks was nearly imperceptible.

“Dear old Brighton! Once more, you and that callow, swaggering playwright friend of yours led me to my prize. To pose as the admiral was a brilliant stroke, and so obvious I was shocked to not have thought of it myself. But no matter. The old fool, Pudge, told me precisely what I needed to learn. Finally, I know what happened that long-ago day on Ahwoo-Ahwoo.”

Or would it be more like the Tidal Post, an unpredictable maelstrom of currents and wind?