Free Immortal Moon by June Stevens Page A

lanterns popped to life around the
edge of the boat, casting the water with a blue-tinged glow. Then
he took a small crystal from his pocket and pushed it into a
depression next to the gears on the dash. A soft rumbling started
below our feet.
    “Water-crystal engine. It works great for
navigating the river,” he said.
    I watched as he went out and untied the boat
from the dock and moved around the deck, preparing to sail.
    “I love your boat,” I said when he came back
into the wheelhouse and sat in the tall chair behind the steering
wheel. “It’s really beautiful.”
    “She,” he said.
    “What?”
    He smiled. “A boat is a she, not an it. It’s
an old sailor thing, humor me.”
    “Okay, then. She is beautiful,” I said,
running my hand across the polished wood. “How old is she?”
    He turned the wheel and we began moving out
into the middle of the river. I stumbled back and fell into the
seat next to the window.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    “I’m fine, just never been on a boat like
this before. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a boat at
all.” If I had, it was when I was too young to remember, though I
doubt I had, even then. The gypsy tribe I grew up in before Pinky
had found me had stuck to the woods and mountains of Appalachia.
We’d gone to the banks of the Mississippi Sea, as well as the
Atlantic Ocean in Atlanta, but we’d never attempted to sail on
them.
    Concern flashed across Jarrett’s face, and
then was gone. “Okay, but let me know if you feel queasy or
anything. I might have some herbs in the galley that will
help.”
    “I’m fine. Now answer my question.” I smiled
at him in the dim blue glow of the lantern.
    He turned his attention back to the water,
watching where he guided the boat as we slowly moved through the
water. “Well, she was originally built around three hundred years
ago, give or take a decade. I found her about sixty years later in
a junk yard. She had a hole in her hull and was in pretty rough
shape. Whoever owned her had erased her name, taken her maintenance
records, stripped off everything of value, and left her to
rot.”
    He patted the wheel as if petting a beloved
dog. I didn’t quite understand it, but I found it endearing. I
experienced a pang of regret on The Minnow’s behalf.
    “That’s horrible,” I said, meaning it. “So
you restored her?”
    “Yes. I restored her as close to original as
I could come without having her records. And, since I couldn’t find
any record of her original name, I renamed her. But over the years,
I’ve made some major modifications to her,” he said, and I could
hear a tinge of regret in his words.
    “What kind of modifications?”
    He sighed. “The Minnow was built as a
cruising yacht. Her only source of power was a diesel engine. When
the Paranorm Council informed the Blades of the Cataclysm
predictions and warned us to start taking precautions, I knew
diesel would eventually become scarce, and then non-existent. I
modified her to be a sailing ship. She already had a mast and boom,
so it wasn’t as hard as it could have been. Later, I had a mage
help me modify the motor to a water-crystal-powered engine like the
ones used in rickshaws and surreys today, but more powerful. Also,
I can use sea or river water, so I never run out of fuel.”
    “That’s really cool,” I said, not sure what
else to say. It was clear he really loved his boat. And I didn’t
blame him. It, she, was beautiful and had obviously been his home
for centuries. How nice it must be to have a home that could
take you almost anywhere, I thought. Then, I was shocked at
myself. I had a home like that once, a wagon, and it had never
brought me any happiness. Though I had to admit, my miserable
childhood had nothing to do with where I’d slept. I had enjoyed
traveling from place to place. It was the people I’d had to travel
with that I could have done without.
    No, I told myself silently. I would
not let thoughts of my childhood