Chapter Text
As always, Goro awoke to the sound of gulls and the smell of salt. As always, he left the warmth of his bed to tend to his personal hygiene and get dressed in an off-white men’s kimono. As always, he set a kettle full of water on the stove to boil and retrieved a ball of dough from the freezer to bake in the oven. And as always, while the stove warmed and the oven pre-heated, he wandered downstairs, careful not to catch his ankle chain on anything, and out to the railed balcony that circled his abode.
The ocean stretched out endlessly in all directions.
Technically, it wasn’t really endless. Land was but a few miles to the east and west. But if it was far enough away that he couldn’t see it, it amounted to the same thing. The skies above were sunny, a tinge of pink still in the clouds to the east, but there was a certain smell to the wind, which whipped at his face, that assured him a storm would arrive later in the day. He grimaced and went back inside.
Up the spiral staircase Goro climbed, past the generator, past the septic tank and rain filtration system/fresh water tanks, past the storage freezer and washer/dryer, back to his living quarters. He adjusted the monthly calendar, which hung from a thin nail near his bed, by crossing off the last day of May and flipping up the page. Then he watered his plants. Gardening wasn’t his forte, so they existed only to supplement his monthly rations, but it felt nice to have something around that needed him.
The oven was ready, so he popped the bread in to bake and set a timer. The kettle was screaming, so he turned off the stove and poured the water into a mug with instant coffee. It being the beginning of the month, his fridge was nigh empty. Goro being himself, that was because he had portioned out his rations perfectly. One last breakfast’s worth of orange marmalade; one last portion of preserved meat. Soon enough, he had a breakfast of toast and jam with sliced summer sausage and coffee to drink.
As the sunlight shifted, so too did the outside sounds. Goro diligently washed, dried, and put away his dishes, then dusted the shelves, swept the floors, and gathered the trash. He carried the trash bags up to the light chamber where, at night, a brilliant light spun round and round for the good of the seafaring community. It, too, was surrounded by a railed balcony. As he waited for the galleon liner now on the horizon to complete its approach, he cleaned the floors, panels, and windows. It was a routine he had down to an exact science; he finished just as the ship arrived and had time enough to walk out to the balcony and greet the captain.
Said captain, dark-eyed and silver-haired, clad in a dark gray naval uniform with gold trim befitting her station, disembarked first--as always, of course. She strode, straight-backed and square-shouldered, across the boarding bridge to the topside balcony to greet him. Goro stepped back in deference to allow her room and gave her a polite nod, which she returned curtly. He didn’t smile at her. She didn’t smile at him. Instead, she barked orders to her crew, who brought in the new month’s supplies with practiced speed.
The captain handed Goro a clipboard with a list on it. In silence, he surveyed what the crew brought on board and checked it off the checklist accordingly. In the box at the bottom, he wrote in a list of the long-term supplies that would need replacing in the near future. Then, as always, he listed his personal requests: books, newspapers, coffee. He handed the clipboard back to the captain, and she surveyed it, her expression severe. As always.
“You never ask for anything more,” she remarked, which was a little unusual.
“I ask for what I can reasonably expect to receive,” he replied. Ah. His voice was somewhat scratchy. When was the last time he’d spoken…? Was it days? Weeks? Probably only days. It was only scratchy, rather than rusted into near-uselessness.
She looked at him, or perhaps more accurately, stared him down. He met her stare with apathy. Even without the severity of her usual glare, her regard was piercing, but he’d long since learned how to meet them without backing down.
“You can ask for a little more,” she said.
He smiled. What an absurd sentiment. “Why do you say that?”
Her lips pursed. Was it his imagination, or was she hesitating? “It… is a special day, tomorrow.”
His eyelashes drooped. Ah. “I don’t think my father--excuse me. I don’t think His Imperial Majesty would like hearing you speak like that.”
To her credit, she didn’t flinch at the pointed reminder of--everything. She only turned her scowl to the line of supplies going back at forth. “Have you been well? No sickness or injuries?”
What did she have to push this for? He shut his eyes. “None.”
“There’s a fresh store of medicine with this shipment, as you can see from the list. Even if you’ve been well, medicine does eventually lose its efficacy,” she continued.
I know that. “How kind of you.”
She paused. He opened his eyes to see her staring at him with narrowed eyes again.
“What?” he added.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” A beat. The basic crew had finished moving supplies and taking away the trash; now the engineers were coming aboard to make their routine inspections. She pulled one of the crewmen aside and murmured something to them before sending them on their way. Then she resumed her position next to Goro. “Any issues with any of the systems?”
“No. At least, none that I’ve noticed,” he added, watching the engineers pass by. One of them snuck a glance at him; when their eyes met, the engineer practically fled inside. His lips twisted into a sour smile. “I imagine your people might have a keener eye.”
“And the lighthouse light…?”
He laughed coldly. “It still burns bright, I assure you.”
She nodded once and said nothing more.
Eventually, the engineers retreated too. The captain commenced her own inspection. Goro followed dutifully behind her to the extent his chain would allow. He wasn’t concerned. She hadn’t found fault with his execution of his lightkeeper duties in over five years, and she wouldn’t today either. And she didn’t. Finding the controls clean, the window panes clean, the weather instruments fine-tuned, and the central illumination source curled up obediently in its lantern-cage, she gave him a curt nod of approval--the best he ever got, each month.
At which point she usually left. This time, though, she asked, “Have you seen any pirate ships in the area lately?”
“Pirate ships?” he echoed in surprise. He shook his head. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. I don’t know whose flags signal what companies.”
“I see. In that case, be on the lookout for a ship that flies a flaming top hat. If you see it, be sure to record the sighting precisely and report it to me next month.”
He laughed. He had to, at such an obvious joke. “Yes, I will definitely do that.”
“Good,” she replied with unabated gravity. It abruptly reminded Goro that this was not a woman who made jokes. Ever.
Before he could question her further, though, she strode for the exit. A crew person greeted her at the gateway. They handed her a medium-sized crate, which she turned and handed to Goro.
“Here,” she said brusquely.
He accepted it. It was rather heavy. “What’s inside?”
“See for yourself.”
He frowned. Presumably she didn’t mean right this second, but he was briefly tempted to do exactly that. He squelched the urge. Nearly seven years on this godforsaken rig hadn’t killed all his social skills yet.
“Also…” She folded her arms and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Before we arrived, we received word that a typhoon is forming to the east and headed this way. Do be careful.”
I know that too. And was that concern? How cute. “I will.”
She strode out, raising an arm and barking orders. The last of the crew followed her. Soon, her ship left too. Goro watched them go for a while. Then he brought the crate downstairs.
The other supplies had been unloaded already, the crates they’d been carried in carried away. Fresh foods were on the table and counter; preserved and frozen foods would be downstairs in the storage freezer; other goods were stacked up on the floor next to the counter. Goro would need to put everything away, but first, he made room for the crate on the table and opened it up.
Inside was a stack of old newspapers, several columns of secondhand paperback books, and a few bags of instant coffee. His usual extras. Also inside was a meticulously wrapped, soft, rectangular package and a card. He opened the card first. It read:
Goro,
It’s been six and a half years since you were sentenced to maintain this lighthouse. While I’m sure you find it preferable to the alternative, I’m just as sure that you’re terribly bored at your post. While there’s nothing either of us can do about that, I hope this eases the tedium somewhat.
You’ve done well so far. Parole isn’t impossible once you make it to your tenth year, and you’re closer to the end than you are to the beginning. Keep working hard and behaving yourself. You have so much more to offer to the world than this.
Happy 25 th birthday. I’ll see you again next month.
--Sae
Goro sighed and set down the card. Was she really that sentimental, or was she mocking him? She wasn’t sentimental. She had to be mocking him. What idiot would actually believe his father would ever let him go free, after all?
He unwrapped the package next, and its contents changed his mind. With a gasp of delighted surprise, he picked up a ribbon-bound package of fine roasted Jamaican Blue Mountain number one coffee beans. He dared loosen the ribbon just enough to breathe in its scent. Ahh…! A genuine smile curled up his lips. How many years had it been since he’d last had truly quality coffee? He breathed in again. So good. She couldn’t be mocking him, at least not intentionally, if she’d slipped in something this nice. How droll. He never would have guessed Sae still expected anything from him.
A hunch made him dig through the rest of the box. Goro appreciated any and all reading material, even if it was old and cheap, but--yes! There, at the bottom, was an actual hardback, and a lunker of one, entitled The Midnight Fog. A Naoto Shirogane detective novel, purportedly based on an actual serial murder case where several bizarre deaths shattered the seemingly idyllic peace of a small rural town. Dismay and excitement thrilled through him in equally electric measures as he moved from the title to the blurb. While he was familiar with the case, he definitely hadn’t read the novelized version before (unlike most of the secondhand paperbacks), so it would be new and engaging, but… did it have to be a mystery novel?
But you love mysteries, he could just hear her say, eyebrows furrowed in lack of comprehension. And that was true--or rather, it had been at one point. Now…
Well, now beggars couldn’t be choosers. Sae meant well. For right now, Goro could let his bitterness go enough to acknowledge that much. Once he finished putting everything away, mopped up the footprints everyone had tracked inside, and secured all doors and windows for the coming storm, he curled up on his beat-up old sofa to read. He’d save the coffee for his actual birthday tomorrow, and indulge in literature for tonight.
For all his initial trepidation, the storyline yanked him in and kept him engrossed. He didn’t even notice when the typhoon darkened the skies and began to moan. He did notice when the central light went on, but the way his chest throbbed couldn’t be ignored. He endured the pain for the moment it spiked, then fixed a light meal and returned to his reading.
The unusual thing about this particular novel was its emphatic focus on matters outside the murder mystery itself--about the bonds the investigation team formed with one another. So much rich character development! So many subplots weaving in and out of the main narrative! When he was younger, Goro might have found it tedious and annoying; in the present day, it was nepenthe to his scarred soul. This drug carried him into the earliest hours of morning, and no howling winds could pull him from it.
No, what accomplished that was the lighthouse shuddering from the crash of a storm surge.
Goro dropped his book, which rebounded off the couch and flopped to the floor. He cursed as he picked it up, then looked around warily. The lighthouse was built on a steel and stone structure that went all the way down to the bay floor, so it was remarkably sturdy, and he’d taken care to secure all entrances for the storm. Still, that had been a hell of a jolt. That wave had even slobbered on the window near his perch.
I’d better check the light, he thought. Just in case.
Climbing the spiral stairs up, he looked first and foremost to the light in its cage. Rays poured out in a spinning circle, piercing the ravenous gloom of the storm. Goro clutched his chest as he watched it for a moment; then he looked away. No. It was fine, for a relative value of “fine.” The windows were holding up--naturally; they were made of stronger stuff than mere glass--and while they rattled even in their steel nests, nothing sounded in danger of coming loose--
BANG BANG BANG BANG.
Goro whirled to face the noise and nearly jumped out of his skin. There, ramming a fist on the door as if his life depended on it, was a man. A human being? Irrationally, he thought at first it must be a sea monster in the guise of a human, but there was something about the desperation with which he pounded again on the door, the words PLEASE LET ME IN that his lips formed, the sounds stolen away by the storm. Goro gawked at him, wondering if he was hallucinating. Then the man pounded a third time, weaker than before, and clutched at the entrance as the storm winds surged again.
He shook his head and rushed over to the door. Much longer, and the storm would blow this mysterious stranger away. How had he even gotten here? Was he indeed human, or was this some sort of ghost? Goro didn’t know. But he wanted to know with a ferocity that sped his hands as he unlocked and opened the entrance.
The typhoon immediately tried to rip them from his grip. The man immediately collapsed on him. Goro yanked the doors shut with the stranger’s waterlogged weight to aid him, then rammed the locks shut again.
The man trembled in his arms as he panted for breath. Goro held him out at arm’s length to get a better look at him. At a guess, they were about the same age and height, though it was hard to tell for sure. His skin was clammy and pale; his black hair was plastered all over his face; his high-necked dark gray vest corded shut with gold buttons, white button-up shirt with ruffled wrists, thin gold chain necklace, black trousers and boots, and red gloves and sash were soaked and dripping seawater everywhere. As Goro looked him over, the stranger heaved, convulsed, staggered away a few steps, and vomited more seawater all over his floor. His freshly-mopped floor!!
“Would you stop that?” he demanded, aggravated, as he grabbed the stranger by the shoulder.
On the one hand, the stranger did stop. On the other hand, the stranger stopped because he passed out. Goro had to catch him. Well, he had weight, and for the time being he had a pulse, so he was definitely alive. If Goro wanted to find out his story, he’d have to keep him that way. He dragged him downstairs to the bathroom.
First he peeled the stranger’s waterlogged clothing off. Then Goro toweled him dry. It was at this point, now that the stranger no longer resembled a drowned rat, that he noticed his face (attractive) and physique (lean and strong). By then, it was too late not to ogle. Goro brushed the (tall, dark, and handsome, he noticed wryly) stranger’s damp curls from his face and watched him breathe for a moment. Then he shook his head to clear his mind.
The stranger’s skin was still alarmingly cold. His pulse was weak; his breath, shallow. Goro tied a clean towel around the stranger’s waist for modesty, then carried him to bed and tucked him in with all the blankets he had. Little by little, the stranger’s breath deepened, and his color improved a bit. Goro noted these things while he knelt at his side for a time. Eventually, he left to start a load of laundry and re-mop the upstairs. The boots, he left to drain and dry in the shower. At last, fatigue prickling at his consciousness, he retired to the couch.