e wax—if wax had the audacity to be tougher and saltier.
After forcing down the unsavory meal, Duncan felt no satisfaction, only a lingering frustration. The goat head's casual theory from earlier—about Ai possibly being a projection from some deeper dimensional layer—had wormed its way into his thoughts, pushing him into a maze of speculations.
He glanced toward Ai, who was presently pacing along a wooden shelf like it had just filed its taxes and found inconsistencies. The longer he watched that pigeon, the more disconcerting the implications became.
He had always assumed Ai was the byproduct of his Earth-born soul colliding with the brass compass during his spiritual projection—that it had manifested from "Eliot Vance" as a sort of bizarre familiar.
But what if he'd been wrong?
What if Ai wasn't created by his soul but had emerged independently, drawn from the "deeper layers" of this world's spiritual fabric? A creature, or an echo, that merely adopted the language patterns stored in this realm's forgotten timelines—patterns that just happened to resemble Earth?
Duncan's head buzzed with the possibilities until a voice snapped him out of it.
"Do you want me to do the dishes?" Alice asked, standing up from the table.
Duncan blinked. "What?"
"I mean… I'm already living here," the doll said, scratching her head sheepishly. "I should do something to pull my weight. Otherwise, it just feels like I'm freeloading."
"You don't even eat," Duncan replied, eyebrow raised. "But fine—take the dishes to the washroom. See if the sink agrees. If it doesn't splash you, you're good to go."
He stood, muttered something about checking the deck, and exited before she could ask for clarification. Ai immediately flapped over and perched on his shoulder with the proud entitlement of a cat who'd claimed the warmest spot in the house.
Alice was left alone at the navigation table with the goat head.
"Captain seems grumpy," she muttered.
The goat's wooden voice rumbled like an old record. "The Captain's mood is like the sea. Don't interpret—just endure."
She hesitated. "And when he said to 'talk to the sink'—what did he mean?"
"Simple," the goat replied, "if you wash the dishes and end up soaked, the sink doesn't like you. Oh, and do you know how to actually wash dishes? If not, I've got some theoretical—"
"Nope! I'll figure it out! Thank you, Mr. Goat Head, goodbye!"
And with that, she gathered the dishes and ran, leaving the goat head blinking in surprise at the sudden peace.
"Wish I had legs," it muttered, then sighed. "Back to work."
It turned its attention back to the charts as the Vanished glided through receding fog, adjusting her sails as if she understood her duties. With mechanical precision, the old ghost ship surged forward, and the goat head hummed a tune that might've been a sea shanty… if sea shanties were written by the damned.
"Raise the sails, raise the sails, the sailor leaves his home behind.Through storm and song, where death's but planks away…Pull the boom, hold the line, the ocean swallows time—And keep away from the fish, aye, keep away from the fish,They guard the lines where their children swim…"
A Change in the Wind
Duncan, meanwhile, wandered the lower holds—inventorying food, checking the kitchen (such as it was), and pacing the mid-deck. There were still only meat jerky and fossilized cheese. He might not be eating maggoty biscuits like sailors in Earth's Age of Sail, but at least those biscuits existed. Here? Nothing.
He reached the railing and leaned over, Ai still balanced on his shoulder.
The wind was calm, the waves placid. Duncan was deep in thought again.
"The Vanished needs a resupply strategy. I'm not living like a literal ghost.Alice will probably need new clothes soon…I need contact with a coastal city. Civilization might've changed in the past century, and who knows what kind of power the Vanished still really has left…"
He glanced at Ai. If anyone (or anything) could fetch things from across dimensions, it was that pigeon. Maybe, just maybe, after some rest, it would be time to attempt another spiritual walk—another dive into the liminal realm.
"Coo?"
Duncan turned to find Ai finally making pigeon noises, not bizarre Earth-culture references. He smiled faintly.
But then—something shimmered.
His eye caught a glint below the waves. A flash of movement. Water stirring.
He leaned over farther. Something was swimming beneath the surface. Several somethings.
Then it hit him.
"Wait… fish. I'm at sea. There are fish out here!"
His eyes widened.
He'd been so wrapped up in magic compasses, cursed dolls, and cosmic scars in the sky that he'd forgotten the basic truth of being on a ship: the ocean had food in it.
His mood surged. He remembered the ship's storage room had a few heavy-duty fishing rods. There were even mounting slots along the rail—designed, no doubt, for long voyages.
And for bait? Well… who wouldn't be tempted by century-old jerky and cheese?
A Captain at Leisure
While Alice attempted to negotiate with the sink, and the goat head softly hummed its eerie ballad, Duncan set to work.
He unearthed three stout rods, gathered dubious bait, and mounted the equipment along the starboard railing. With a little improvisation and a lot of hope, he baited the hooks and cast the lines into the deep.
He even fetched a wooden barrel to sit on—throne of a king awaiting his catch.
In truth, Duncan had never fished the sea. His experience was limited to creeks, maybe a pond or two. But what did it matter? The lines were in the water. The ocean stretched forever. And something—something—might bite.
He leaned back, relaxed against a winch, and felt the gentle roll of the ship beneath him.
And then he drifted. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. A liminal moment—just like the space between tides.
Dream on the Deep
In the haze between dream and reality, Duncan stood barefoot atop a calm ocean. The sea was glass, the sky blue. The sun above was warm, familiar, whole.
He looked down. Beneath his feet, the water shimmered, golden flecks catching the light.
A splash. Then another.
He turned—and golden fish leapt from the ocean, bubbles trailing behind. They floated around him, tiny, elegant creatures no larger than his palm. Their scales shimmered like polished coins; their tails swished through air as if it were water.
One swam right in front of his face.
Big round eyes. Gills twitching. Tail flicking.
Its mouth opened, as if to speak.
And Duncan thought:
"They look delicious."