Gideon Rook carried
An aged bottle of rum
And two crystal glasses
Towards Booth Six.
Before he reached the velvet curtain,
A booming laugh rolled across Nocturna,
Followed by the unmistakable voice
Of Captain Abercrombie Marlowe.
The old sailor was quite a character
A well-liked long-term member of the club.
His pale grey eyes and large bushy white beard,
Were framed with cropped white hair
And crowned,
With a navy fisherman’s beanie.
He wore his heavy sea-farer’s coat in any weather
And constantly puffed an old clay pipe,
Carved in the shape of a mermaid.
“I tell you they are real.”
Marlowe tapped his fingers
Loudly on the tabletop.
“I saw them with my own two eyes.”
Sitting opposite him
Was Walter Crookshank,
A curiosity travel writer.
Finely dressed.
Highly educated.
Impeccably spoken.
And seemingly intent
On antagonising
A man twice his size.
“Two-headed sharks?
It’s absurd.”
“Gentlemen…
Your rum.”
Gideon smiled politely.
“I trust
Everything is well
This evening?”
“I do apologise,
We will endeavour
To be less… boisterous.”
Replied Mr Crookshank.
“Aye that we will son.”
Added Marlowe
With a wink and a puff of his pipe.
Rook left the men
To their conversation.
Gesturing that all was well
To the ever-watchful Manager Marcel Carreau,
Who in turn glanced across
Standing down the approaching doorman Mr Hargraves
With a slight shake of his head.
Back in the booth
Marlowe and Crookshank
Could be heard
Laughing loudly.
Like two unlikely old friends,
Sharing adventure stories.
Walter poured a second glass.
“I shall admit,”
He smiled,
“You tell your stories with admirable conviction.”
Marlowe leaned back,
His heavy coat creaking softly.
His old clay pipe,
Hung comfortably
From the corner of his mouth.
His weathered face,
Etched by sixty years
Of salt,
Storm,
And sunlight,
Broke into
A mischievous grin.
“You see Walter,
The world is not nearly
As well mapped
As cartographers
Would have you believe.”
He tapped
The side of his nose.
“Most folk
Spend their whole lives
Sailing only the first ocean.”
Walter raised an eyebrow.
“The first?”
“Aye.”
“There are more?”
“Oh, many more.”
He lifted his rum thoughtfully.
“Every ocean
Hides another ocean
Beneath it.
Most sailors
Turn back before they reach
The second one.”
Walter laughed.
“You expect me
To believe that?”
“I expect nothing.”
The Captain shrugged.
“I merely tell stories.
Whether they’re true
Depends entirely
Upon how far you’ve travelled.”
Walter smiled.
“Very well.
Tell me something
No gentleman
Could possibly invent.”
The old sailor’s
Pale grey eyes
Seemed,
For only a moment,
To darken.
“Have you ever heard
Of the Sea Without Dawn?”
Walter shook his head.
“No.”
“Neither had I…
Until I found it.”
The laughter
Inside the booth
Quietly faded.
“It lay beyond a fog
So thick
The gulls walked upon it
Rather than flew.
For nine days
The sun never rose.
Yet the sea itself
Shone brighter than midday.”
Walter leaned forward.
“And?”
“We dropped anchor.”
“You anchored
In the middle of nowhere?”
“There was no bottom.”
Walter frowned.
“No bottom?”
“None.”
The Captain smiled.
“The anchor
Never stopped falling.”
Walter blinked.
“I fail to see how that is possible.”
“So did my crew.”
He took another slow sip.
“On the third night
Something
Rose beside the ship.”
Walter waited.
“A woman?”
A mermaid.”
Walter chuckled.
“Naturally.”
“Not at all.”
Marlowe shook his head.
“They’re terribly uncommon.”
“And what did
This mermaid want?”
“Directions.”
Walter stared.
“…Directions?”
“She’d become hopelessly lost.”
The Captain nodded
As though this were perfectly ordinary.
“So I unfolded my charts.”
“You carry maps
For mermaids?”
“I carry maps for everyone,
I trade with old Carter-Smythe.
Best map collector I ever met.”
Walter could not
Suppress his laughter.
“And?”
“She thanked me.”
“That was all?”
“Not quite.”
The old sailor touched his beard
Almost absent-mindedly.
“Before she disappeared,
She kissed me
Upon the cheek.”
Walter smiled broadly.
“I presume
That bestowed some magical blessing?”
“It did.”
“What blessing?”
“I’ve never once been sea sick since.”
Walter laughed so loudly
That several nearby members
Looked toward the booth.
“And you expect me
To believe such nonsense?”
“I’ve no need for belief.”
The Captain replied gently.
Walter shook his head,
Still smiling.
“And did you bring back
Any evidence of these impossible seas?”
Marlowe’s grin widened.
“I brought back
Something far stranger.”
Slowly,
He reached inside
His weathered coat.
From a hidden pocket
He produced an object
Wrapped carefully
In faded blue sailcloth.
Walter leaned closer.
The Captain unwrapped it
With utmost care.
Resting
In his enormous palm
Lay a compass.
Fashioned from
Black brass.
Its crystal face
Perfectly clear.
Its needle
Turning slowly…
Not north.
Never north.
Instead
It drifted,
Paused,
Then pointed
Toward a place
That existed
Nowhere
Either gentleman
Could name.
“I found this
Inside a lighthouse,”
Said Marlowe quietly,
“A lighthouse,
Built upon the back
Of a sleeping whale.”
Walter smiled politely.
“I suppose the whale
Was cooperative?”
“Exceptionally.”
“And it simply allowed you
To climb aboard?”
“Well… it asked me
Not to wear me boots.”
Walter burst into another fit of laughter.
The Captain joined him.
At last,
The laughter subsided.
Walter’s eyes
Drifted once more
To the compass
Now resting quietly
Upon the table.
Its needle had stopped turning.
It pointed
Beyond the velvet curtain.
Beyond the walls
Of Nocturna.
Walter frowned.
“Curious…”
“What is?”
Marlowe asked.
“The needle.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Walter looked up.
“It’s moved.”
Marlowe smiled.
“Of course it has.”
“No…”
Walter whispered.
“It wasn’t pointing there
A moment ago.”
The Captain simply
Slipped the compass
Back into his coat.
“Compasses,
Like stories,
Have minds of their own.”
For several minutes
The booth echoed
With the cheerful sound
Of two elderly gentlemen
Entirely content
To occupy a place
Where impossible things
Required no explanation
Beyond a good story,
A decent rum,
And someone
Willing
To listen.
