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The brigantine Dychev was returning to home harbor with the tide that bright April afternoon, engineless and dependent on currents and sail, when the call came through on the radio.
When the Dychev had been built, radios didn't yet exist, but a tall ship crewed exclusively by teenaged students needed some safeguards, and the radio was one. In theory it was for use in emergencies, but one of the crew that year was something of an amateur enthusiast. Jamie had lobbied for the position of radio operator, monitoring communication just to be sure they weren't sailing blithely across shipping lanes, or into some kind of trouble. He'd pitched it as educational, a chance to learn more about radio operation and nautical law, so the headmaster had allowed it.
The radio was in a little sheltered hutch on the aft deck, next to the wheel, and first mate Noah Deimos was at the wheel itself, so he heard the conversation clearly. A distress call; there was a ferry going down en route from Genoa to Corsica, having struck something and ripped open its hull. Seventy-six souls. Two ships responded, and then Jamie did; the other two were further out than the Dychev, albeit faster.
Noah was, nominally, in charge; the captain, Rachel, was one of his classmates and was home sick, unable to lead that day's sail. He looked at Jamie, who looked back at him with wide eyes.
"Midshipman Lev!" he called to one of the crew, who jerked her head up and nodded. "Fetch Mr. Balushev. Tell him we're changing course and I need to speak with him on an emergency matter, carry on."
She ran for the companionway to belowdecks. Noah turned back to Jamie.
"Radio that the Dychev is on its way but we're sail-only and may not make good time. Bo'sun!"
"Sah!" a voice called from the stern, as the bo'sun hurried up.
"Distress call on the radio. Get their coordinates from Radio and calculate a route, then let's get going as fast as possible. We'll be passing home harbor. Carry on."
"Sah!"
"Are you sure?" Jamie asked, for a second betraying that he was, in fact, sixteen, and not actually a seaman of the Shivadh navy (the Shivadh had no navy).
"Carry on," Noah told him. "I'm in command, I'll take any blame."
Jamie turned back to the radio. "Vessel in distress, this is the Dychev. We are en route, arrival time pending, and can take all passengers on board. All ships, be advised we are sail-only; please respond if you are within range."
"How the hell big is the Dychev?" someone asked over the channel.
"What the hell is the Dychev to start with?" Someone else asked.
"The Brigantine Dychev is the tall ship of the Maritime Academy, sailing under the Shivadh flag," Jamie replied automatically.
"Did they just say brigantine?" someone asked, and someone else cut them off.
"Keep the channel clear of chatter. Dychev, this is the Good Custom, we are also responding," they said, in what sounded like an Australian accent. "Be advised we are fast but small, so try not to run us down."
"Noted, Good Custom," Jamie replied, off Noah's nod that he'd heard.
"Got the route for you," the bo'sun said, offering Noah a slip of paper, and he began to adjust their course. "We've spread sail. Bout ten minutes out," he added, and Jamie relayed it over the radio as Mr. Balushev arrived. He was really the one in charge, a senior teacher at the Academy and a constant on every sail.
"What's this I hear about an emergency?" he asked.
"There's a ferry in distress off Corsica," Noah said. "Jamie says it's going down. We're closest, I've set a course."
"A ferry?" Mr. Balushev asked, blinking.
"Seventy-six souls in peril."
"I'll take the wheel," the older man said grimly. "Go, get the lifeboats ready."
Noah bolted down from the aft deck to the midship, yelling orders as he went: for some to fetch the students who were in class below, for others to set a watch on the bow, for able hands to man the lifeboats and prepare to receive survivors. The crew on kitchen duty began heating pots of water for tea, and reheating the leftovers from lunch.
"If you don't need your coats, empty the pockets and pile them up!" Noah called over the sounds of the lifeboats being made ready. "All spare clothing goes in the pile. Survivors may be wet, we want to get them warm and dry."
They were barely ready when the foredeck watch called, "VESSEL SIGHTED!" and Noah and the others relayed the yell, the sound rippling from bow to stern.
"BRING HER ABOUT!" Noah called to Mr. Balushev, who nodded. As the Dychev creaked to a stop, sails trimming, he gave the order to lower the boats.
The Dychev's lifeboats, sensibly, did have engines, little outboard motors designed to get them to shore in an emergency. They hit the water one after another, with a steersman and a crewmember in each. Soon a tiny flotilla was puttering towards the ferry, which was already half-submerged and tilted dangerously, rolling onto its side even as the bow began to point towards the sky.
There could be no saving the ship; it was foundering. People were already bobbing in floatation vests in the water, or huddled in the ferry's lifeboats -- which didn't appear to have engines.
"HALLOO!" a voice called, and Noah leaned over the railing to see a sleek pleasure yacht pulling alongside them -- less than a third of their length, but screaming of wealth. "DYCHEV?"
"GOOD CUSTOM?" Noah called.
"Aye! How can we help?" a voice called back.
"Lifeboats are away," Noah yelled down. "Follow our crew and take on as many as you can. What can you carry?"
"Maybe fifteen, sixteen?"
"Get whoever you can and bring them back, we'll take them aboard."
"Aye!" the Good Custom repeated, and began to speed towards the wreck of the ferry. Noah, seeing that there was nothing more to do with other students manning the ropes to eventually pull the survivors to safety, bounded back up to where Mr. Balushev was battling the wheel to keep them stable.
"Headmaster might have our guts for this," the man told him. "Good call, Deimos, I'll do what I can to keep you out of it."
"Don't bother -- what's he going to do, expel me with six weeks of school left?" Noah asked cheerfully, and Mr. Balushev laughed.
"Good point. If he does, I'll write you a letter of recommendation, not that you need it."
"Has anyone called the school, speaking of which? They'll be expecting us back," Noah said.
"Ah, shit," Jamie said, and turned to the chest nearby where they kept their cellphones during a sail, rummaging for his own. "I'll call."
"It's maritime law that we had to respond, anyway," Noah said, as Jamie turned on his phone.
"Sure, let's go with that," Mr. Balushev said. Noah leaned over past Jamie and got his own phone out of the trunk, trotting down to where a permanent clamp on one of the railings held mounts for cellphones, so the students could film as they sailed. He set the phone up, aimed it at the ferry, and hit record.
The lifeboats came zooming back soon enough, led by the Good Custom, a flock of ducklings following a mama duck; the students went to the ropes and began hauling people up the sides, children first and parents with babes in arms. The youngest students began shuffling them into the galley to dry off. Noah leaned over the edge and hallooed.
"How many have we got?" he asked, as lifeboats began turning back towards the ferry.
"Eight a boat, every boat full, six boats, forty-eight here," Amani called up. "I counted heads as you hauled them up. Don't know how many the big one picked up."
"We've got fifteen!" the Good Custom said. "Scooped up everyone we could see!"
"So did we," Amani confirmed. "Sixty three all told, then."
"That's still thirteen unaccounted -- " Noah began, when a groan like a dying leviathan split the air. The students all turned, horrified, as the ferry creaked and rolled. It slid under the green Mediterranean waters a second later, faster than seemed possible. Like a cartoon, or a bad horror film.
"Stay there!" the Good Custom called. "Lifeboats belay! We're big enough to get past the waves."
"Good luck!" Noah called. "Deck crew, get the lifeboats up! Carry on!"
It was organized madness for about six minutes, as they dropped tackle to pull the lifeboats back up. At one point, helping crew out of the boats, Noah managed to catch Amani before they did a header into the deck. He steadied them and felt himself pulled into a hug, both of them exhaling with relief, Amani shaking with adrenaline.
By the time the boats were in and the crew was accounted for, plus sixty-three ferry passengers, the Good Custom was returning, riding rough water thrown up by the ferry.
"THIRTEEN ON BOARD!"
"THIRTEEN ON BOARD!" Noah relayed. "ALL SOULS SAFE! JAMIE!"
"ALL SOULS SAFE," Jamie called back, and bent to the radio as Noah stopped the recording on his phone, pocketing it.
There was a dull roar, growing louder, and a helicopter shot overhead. It hovered over the oil slick where the ferry had been, as if considering it, and then slowly pulled back. As the last of the survivors were pulled onto the Dychev, it shot away again.
"Boat crew! Any serious injuries?" he asked. Twelve headshakes. "Deck crew, anyone come up from the Good Custom hurt?"
"Just wet, nothing visible," someone called.
"Jamie, any word from literally anyone on what we do with these people?" Noah asked.
"Working on it!"
"Get everyone belowdecks, last thing we need is someone falling over the rail," Noah said. "Everyone who goes below gets stopped and checked for injury -- bo'sun, you're in charge of that. Anyone hurt, put them in the smaller classroom and break out the first aid. Carry on!"
With the helicopter gone and the students herding the survivors below, Noah leaned over the railing and got his first real look at the Good Custom's crew -- three men in polos, swim trunks, and deck shoes, plus a woman in a bikini with a beach wrap thrown over it.
"Thanks for your help, Good Custom," Noah said.
"Happy to," one of the men called up -- an older man, father of the other two by the look of them. He had that accent, maybe Australian, that marked him as the man on the radio. "You're young to be captain of a ship that hefty -- did you say you sail under the Shivadh flag?"
"Out of Fons-Askaz," Noah said. "We're the sail-training ship for the Shivadh Maritime Academy, at your service. I'm first mate Deimos, currently in command -- our captain couldn't come on the sail today. We've got a teacher as senior officer if you have questions. Anything we can do for you?"
"Not a thing," the man replied. "Fons-Askaz, you say. Headed there now?"
Noah lifted his head, feeling the wind, frowning.
"Might make it to harbor before the tide goes out, but we're not sure where we ought to go," he said, then turned. "Jamie! Who've you got on radio?"
"French coast guard," Jamie called back. "They want us to make for Corsica, see if we can dock at Bastia, where the ferry was headed."
Noah looked at Mr. Balushev, who shrugged.
"Don't want to piss off the Coast Guard," he said. "And Corsica will have resources for the survivors that Fons-Askaz might not be able to handle. I'll set course."
"I guess we're going to Bastia, on Corsica," Noah said, turning back to the Good Custom.
"We'll join you, they'll want a report," the man said. "And probably from someone old enough to vote. Deimos, you said. Are you Noah Deimos?"
"Aye, sir."
"Prince Noah Deimos? Brother of the Shivadh king?"
Noah laughed. "Only on land! Do you know His Majesty?"
"I do, young man. Well, let us go ahead so we're not in your wake, and we'll see you on Corsica."
Not far out from the harbor at Bastia, two French coast guard ships fell in alongside the Dychev, not so much an honor guard, he thought, as armed escort. Docking a tall ship at a port not really meant to take them got dicey for a second, but they managed, and Noah imagined nothing was ever so welcome to the wet, miserable, frightened passengers and ferry crew as the thump of the gangplank hitting the deck.
The students, watching the ferry passengers disembark towards waiting ambulances, clustered around Noah and Mr. Balushev, many of them looking anxious.
"You want to give the speech or should I?" Noah asked Mr. Balushev.
"You go on, I'm going to intercept the cops," he said, tilting his head at the gangplank, where men in intimidating uniforms were waiting for everyone to finish disembarking.
"Sailors," Noah announced, putting his diaphragm into it. Everyone fell silent. "Job well done today. We are not issuing shore leave yet."
He got a laugh for that, which he mock-frowned at.
"We are docked in a foreign port and likely to be detained. The Academy knows we're here, they're telling your families. Please give the authorities respect, but don't let them push you around," he continued. "You have the right to have an adult advocate if you're being questioned, so if they get you alone, keep it zipped except to request the presence of a lawyer. They can't get the Dychev out of this harbor without us, so nobody's getting left on Corsica. They'll know that I'm Prince Noah, and I intend to use that to throw a little weight around. So if you find yourself in a jam, you stay silent and wait for me to pull rank, understood? Bo'sun!"
The Bo'sun stepped up and bellowed, "FOR! THE! IDIOTS! Tell the truth! Fuck the cops! Trust His Highness! What do we say?"
"Tell the truth! Fuck the cops! Trust his highness!" the students echoed. Mr. Balushev was backing up the gangplank now, clearly still trying to stall the police.
"Carry on," Noah said. "Get below and make yourselves useful or go to the galley and sit quietly."
He could see, behind the police, the man he'd spoken with on the Good Custom. He was about Michaelis's age and, if he owned the yacht, someone with a bit of power and standing. Noah stepped to one side as Mr. Balushev led the police onto the ship; once he had, Noah darted behind them to greet his new guest with a bow.
"Your highness," the man said, offering his hand. "Oliver McAllister. I own the Good Custom."
"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Noah replied, shaking it.
"Pleasure's mine. That was a very neat rescue. Your crew are well-trained."
"Thank you, Mr. McAllister. We do our best."
"I imagine you do," he said. "I'm here to make sure nobody gets rode roughshod. I'm sure you know how the French police are."
"Fortunately not," Noah replied. McAllister laughed.
"I'd heard you were a well-spoken young man," he said. "I should have expected a sense of humor."
"You said you know King Gregory," Noah said.
"Yes, a little. I'm more familiar with the king emeritus. Your stepfather, I think?"
A hand landed on Noah's shoulder, and he stiffened; from behind him someone said, in thickly accented English, "Young man."
Mr. McAllister snapped out a reply in French before Noah could react. Remove your hand from Prince Noah before I make your entire squadron regret it.
The cop who'd grabbed Noah looked from him to Mr. McAllister and back, then slowly lifted his hand away, holding it up in surrender.
This is his highness Prince Noah of Askazer-Shivadlakia, brother of the Shivadh king, McAllister continued. He and his crew are to be given every respect you would give me, understood?
"Oui, monsieur," the man murmured, and then began calling instructions to his fellow officers. The students, who had been pulling together in tight knots defensively, relaxed a little.
Now, we'll have some order about this, McAllister said. Nobody who crewed this boat leaves it without an adult advocate. If you want to be of actual use, YOU leave and get us some food.
"Who is this guy?" Jamie asked Noah in an undertone as the police glanced back and forth between themselves.
"Guardian angel, I guess," Noah replied.
They got the students situated in the dining room, at the long rows of tables, and handed out cellphones so they could text their families, while Mr. Balushev had a long conversation with the headmaster of the Academy and the police hovered near the gangplank, waiting on orders. Noah, who had to hand out the phones and keep order, didn't get to text his parents immediately. By the time he did, they'd clearly already spoken with the headmaster.
I'm fine, he typed, without even reading all the messages his parent Jes and stepfather Michaelis had sent. Not to mention the king and the royal cousins, all of whom were freaking out to various degrees, including Gerald threatening to commandeer a seaplane to come get him. We're docked and safe. Some cops came on the boat but they left pretty quick, I think they're figuring out what to do with us now.
Don't talk to the cops, Eddie, Gregory's husband, advised.
He knows not to talk to the cops, his parent Jes added.
Don't have to, some guy who helped us ran them off. Michaelis, do you know Oliver McAllister? Noah asked.
His phone rang.
"You didn't have to call," Noah said, answering it.
"You sailed past the harbor into a shipwreck rescue and then made for Corsica and you think we weren't going to call once we knew you'd answer?" Michaelis asked. "I'm putting you on with Boss."
"Hey, hon," Jes said, and Noah did feel a certain surge of relief, hearing their voice. "Everyone safe?"
"Yeah, we're all fine."
"When the headmaster called it scared the hell out of me. Are you scared?"
"I'm okay," Noah said. "Little bit maybe. It'll pass."
"Just sit tight and keep quiet, and we'll figure something out. Love you bunches."
"Love you too," Noah said, voice tight.
"I'm putting Michaelis back on, he has questions," they added. Noah could hear a murmur and then Michaelis's voice again.
"You said Oliver McAllister is there and says he knows me?" he asked.
"Yeah, he showed up on a fancy little yacht, helped us get the last survivors out. When we docked he came on and kicked the cops out and hasn't left. Why, is he trouble?"
"No, not at all -- you can trust him, it's a stroke of luck he's there. Can you give him the phone?"
"Sure, hang on," Noah said, and waded through the seated students. McAllister, who seemed perfectly at home and not inclined to go anywhere, looked up from where he'd been entertaining some of the younger kids. "Mr. McAllister, my stepfather's on the line, he'd like a word."
"Brilliant, here," McAllister said, taking the phone. "Sit, rest, you look done in. Michaelis!" he said into the phone. "Yes, a lucky coincidence. Well, you know me, always in the right place at the right time. No, no idea what's to be done yet but I've nothing better to do than stay here and supervise. Love this ship, by the way. No, I hadn't heard -- must see about learning more. Surprised the lad's not at Institut Alpin. Ah, really? Well, I imagine after today I'll end up in Fons-Askaz soon enough, we should have dinner. Delightful. No, I'll stay until the children are away again. Ciao indeed," he said, and passed the phone back.
"What was that all about?" Noah asked into the phone, walking back towards the quieter part of the room, near the doorway.
"Olly and I were at school together," Michaelis said. "He is a very wealthy, very influential man, and he has a particular soft spot for tall ships."
"Any instructions, king to prince?" Noah asked. Occasionally it was useful for the two of them to clarify -- most of the time the relationship was parental, but occasionally it could be political. Noah was asking for advice as a leader and a diplomat, not a beloved child who was scared and far from home.
"Nothing you wouldn't expect. Be polite, let Olly help you however he can. If he doesn't bring you home personally he may escort the Dychev back when you leave. You heard Jes -- sit tight and keep quiet."
"Will do, but..." Noah bit his lip.
"What is it?" Michaelis asked gently.
"I'm in a foreign country with fifty other kids and I'm the senior officer," Noah said. "What am I supposed to tell the other students?"
Michaelis made a soft noise, a wordless hum that Noah knew meant he was thinking.
"When I became king I was three years older than you are now, and my father vanished to leave me to rule on my own," he said at last, "which is absolutely terrifying to think about, actually. I know you must be scared, and knowing you, you're scared you'll do the wrong thing and someone will get hurt, so listen to me closely. This is what I wish someone had told me."
"Okay," Noah said anxiously.
"You are going to do your best, because you always do, and that's all anyone can expect of you," Michaelis said. "It will be fine."
"Reassuring, but low on actionable items," Noah told him.
"I'm coming up on that. Here's how you make it simple: pick a few clear goals and only take action to follow those goals."
"Like what?"
"Keep your crew safe, first and foremost. Next step, get out of port and bring them home. If you start to get confused or you don't know what to do, remember what your goals are: keep them safe and bring them home. Keep your phone charged, and call us -- we'll have our phones with us any time from now until you're home, and we can talk you through it. At the absolute worst, one of us will come and get you, damn the ship. Gregory's already speaking to the authorities about getting the Dychev released."
"Okay. That helps. Thanks, Michaelis."
"That's why I'm here. I'll be in touch. Love you."
"Love you too."
Noah hung up the phone and tapped it against his chin, wondering; what could he be doing right now to keep the others safe and get them home faster?
"Jamie, can you raid the classrooms and get a bunch of pens and paper? Notebooks if possible but we want everyone to have paper," he said to Jamie, who was sitting nearby.
"Got an idea?" Jamie asked.
"Yeah. Hey, I know we're not really crew at the moment but -- you're second mate, and right now you're first mate because I'm captain," Noah said. Jamie nodded. "So, listen, here are our goals: we gotta keep everyone safe and get them home. We don't do anything unless it helps do one of those things."
"You got it," Jamie said. "Be right back."
"Thanks. Hey, everyone," Noah called, as Jamie slipped out. Heads raised from phones; some people turned to him, stopping conversations. "Listen, I don't know what's gonna happen but we have some adults on our side now, so it's up to us to help out and protect each other. Jamie's grabbing some paper and pens and everyone's gonna write down exactly what they saw and did, so we'll be ready if we have to give statements. Don't worry about anyone else, just say what you did. Lifeboat crews, find the other person who was in the boat with you and buddy up with them. Everyone else, get one other person to buddy up with. If your buddy gets into trouble or you don't know where they are, report to the bo'sun who'll help you out or bring it to me. Is there anyone who hasn't been able to get through to their parents?"
Two hands went up.
"Okay, send me their names and your addresses and I'll have the palace find them for you. Everyone keep an eye on your batteries and if your phone is low, report to Jamie, he'll help you find a charger. If you want to sleep, get your buddy, report to the bo'sun, and go belowdecks. We might be sailing out tonight and I want people rested. Any questions?"
"You don't know when we can go home?" someone asked. Noah shook his head.
"Not yet. I know the palace is working on it. Believe me, nobody wants us to leave Corsica more than Michaelis does," Noah said, to a ripple of laughter. "Sit tight. Things are in motion."
"Good news on that front," McAllister said, looking at his phone as Noah sat down across from him again. "I'm about to blackmail the police into letting you go."
"Sir, don't put yourself in legal trouble," Noah began.
"Oh, it's not like that," McAllister replied with a reassuring smile. "I've just asked a journalist friend of mine to threaten to break a story about the French police's shameful detention of a group of foreign students after their heroic rescue of the survivors of the ferry accident that's currently all over the news. I don't love to pull such levers but I find it's often the best way to speed things along in situations like this."
"We appreciate the help," Noah said. "Michaelis said we could trust you."
"High praise," McAllister said. He glanced past Noah towards the door, where one of the police officers was lurking. "Come along, Your Highness, let's get you launched towards home."
It had only taken about two hours to get to Bastia from the ferry wreck, but they'd already been out at sea. The trip home was closer to four hours, and Noah was glad some of the crew had slept. None of them were at their best after the normal eight-hour Friday cruise, and they now had several hours of nervous detente with France plus the trip home to manage. Still, once they were given permission to leave, they made haste, in case the French authorities changed their minds.
Mr. McAllister and the Good Custom escorted them as far as Shivadh waters to make sure nobody harassed them. He radioed in a farewell and then peeled away when a whole navy's worth of yachts, small fishing boats, dinghies, and tour boats appeared outside the harbor, blazing with lights, to welcome the Dychev home.
Noah was the happiest he'd ever been to sail into home harbor that night on the late evening tide. Word about the Dychev's misadventure had spread and it looked like the whole town was waiting for them; every light on the waterfront was lit, and the restaurants that overlooked the quay were crammed with people. As they came in to dock, a cheer went up from the shore.
Down on the quay, the students' families were waiting, not in the little parking lot as usual but gathered in anxious groups in front of the school, barely corralled by the Headmaster. Mr. Balushev supervised the dropping of the gangplank, calmly checking the students off the ship at the top as if it were a normal sail. As first mate, Noah checked the rigging and moorings to make sure everything was secure, though he'd already had permission to do only the most basic of safety checks. They could do the usual overzealous checklist later.
He was last off except for Mr. Balushev, ensuring everyone else left safely; most of the families had already left, and so had the news cameras. Jes tackled him into a hug as soon as he was on land.
"Oh, my kid," they said, voice wavering. "My brave grownup kid."
They let go and wiped their eyes, giving Michaelis a chance to pull him in for a hug as well.
"Very well done, Tavat," his stepfather murmured. "See, you got them all home safely."
"It was mostly Mr. Balushev and Mr. McAllister," Noah replied, waving at Mr. Balushev as he left the Dychev and was embraced by his own family.
"I suspect I owe Olly more than dinner. Fortunate he was there. Come, the family is waiting at the lodge," Michaelis said, herding Noah towards the palace town car waiting for them. The driver held the door until they were inside; his parents squeezed him between them in the car, even though there were two rows of seats, but he didn't mind. It felt good to know he was at the end of the journey, that he didn't have to worry about anything for a while.
The others tried not to fuss, he could tell, but Eddie and Gerald were bad at not fussing, and Joan was twelve and couldn't be expected to be as self-contained as the adults. Alanna and Gregory, both looking tired but composed, were the calmest. Gregory passed along love and congratulations from Monday, who was pregnant enough to feel exhausted just thinking about going to the lodge, but was glad Noah was safe. Lachlan shrieked over him, which felt weirdly normal, then stepped back so his mother-in-law, great aunt Carla, could swoop in. As soon as all that had settled down, Noah had to take a call from his grandparents, Jes's parents, to assure them he was fine.
Serafina was fussy, so Gerald and Alanna couldn't stay long, and Eddie said he'd take Joan back to the palace so she could have a little quiet before trying to sleep. Noah waved goodbye to both them and Lachlan, who was taking Carla home. Gregory stayed a little longer, but eventually said he should get back too. Noah walked him out to the footpath leading back to the palace, giving his parents a moment alone.
"You did very well today," Gregory said. "Every inch a prince. We're all proud."
"Thanks," Noah said, then inhaled and plunged ahead with the question he'd had since they got back. "Is that what it's like being king?"
Gregory smiled. "How was it like, for you?" he asked.
"Terrifying," Noah said. "So much depended on not making a bad decision. But there also kind of wasn't time to be afraid? I just...started yelling stuff on instinct. Hoped it was right," he said haplessly. Gregory studied him.
"Yes," he said. "Sometimes it's like that. Most of the time, nobody's going to die if I make a bad call, or wait to decide something. But sometimes it is frightening and sometimes you only have time to follow your instincts. Still, that's why we train for this -- to lead, to understand how to take care of our people. And we aren't alone, anyway. I have advisors, MPs, staff. You had your whole crew. A hard lesson I'm still learning is to know when to make use of that help."
"Yeah," Noah agreed. "You couldn't pay me a million dollars to do your job, I think."
"Well, it's a pretty specialized career," Gregory said, laughing. "But whatever you do, now you know you have good instincts and you've survived worse. Next time you have to take a really stressful exam or do something unpleasant, remember, it's not ever going to be as dangerous or important as what you did today." He patted Noah's shoulder. "Go get some rest."
Noah nodded and watched him go until a turn in the footpath hid him from view. When he turned back to the lodge, he could see Jes waiting for him on the porch.
"Going to be hard to let you out of my sight for a bit," they said, as he sat next to them. "Only you would end up in the custody of the French coast guard on a school field trip."
"It's your fault I'm weird," he said, leaning into them.
"Thank goodness. I'd never forgive myself if you weren't," they replied. "Listen, today was a lot of stress and feelings. You're going to crash a little, probably. If you can't shake it or you feel like stuff is too much, let one of us know, okay? You get a pass on being a little nuts for the next few days."
"Thanks. I think I'll be okay. I just keep thinking about the crew."
"Oh?" Jes tilted their head. "What about them?"
"If they're doing okay too. If they've got people looking after them."
"Well, we can't look after the world, but if anyone comes to you and needs some downtime, we have guestrooms."
"Thanks. I might send the group chat a text, let them know. Then I'm gonna go to bed, I think."
"Yeah, I'm coming in too," they agreed, letting him go. Inside, Michaelis was tidying the kitchen, putting cups in the sink, clearing away food. He leaned out of the kitchen to give a last hug, saying, "Goodnight, Tavat," but didn't make a production of it.
Noah brushed his teeth, washed his face and neck to get the worst of the sweat off, and practically passed out as soon as he lay down.
He woke the next morning to a phone bristling with messages. Texts, calls, emails, Photograms; people wanting gossip, journalists (and 'journalists') wanting a sound bite. Having dealt with this kind of public response before, he ignored it all and staggered through a shower before presenting himself for breakfast. Eddie was in the kitchen, Jes and Michaelis at the kitchen bar.
"Stressful day yesterday," Eddie said, by way of explanation. "Thought I'd come down and take care of breakfast. You want fried bread, french toast, oatmeal, sausage....?"
"Yes," Noah said, and Eddie grinned and took a plate from the oven, covered in food.
"Home cooked fried breakfast," he said, as Noah sat down and tucked in.
"S'great," Noah said, mouth full of fried bread.
"You'll need it once you see the internet," Jes warned him.
Noah waggled his phone knowingly. "I ignored all of it until after food."
"Atta boy," Eddie said. "Greg already did a press conference. Boilerplate stuff -- very proud of the students, working with the French authorities to make sure the investigation into the wreck goes smoothly, grateful to the people of Bastia, all that. Didn't mention you by name."
"Tell him thanks?"
"Will do."
"What's the story on the ferry, anyway?" Noah asked. "I didn't know modern craft could wreck in the middle of the sea like that."
"They think it struck some kind of large floating debris," Michaelis said, over his crossword. "Possibly a small craft. Although some rumors are saying it might have been an old mine from World War II. I doubt that, but they won't know for a while. Not your concern, anyway."
"You also have Monday off school, by the way," Jes said. "Email came through this morning. But Mr. Balushev still wants the crew to come in for lunch and a talk. I'll come with, if you like."
Noah did turn to his phone then, skimming his email; he had one from Mr. Balushev about the Monday meeting. "Looks like it's just to make sure nobody's freaking out. I don't think we need parents."
"Olly's been in touch too," Michaelis said. "He'd like to meet up for a meal today or tomorrow, but I told him I'd check with you first."
"I don't mind. Maybe tomorrow if we're going out, I think if I go into town today it'll get messy," Noah said.
"We could, but Olly's the outdoorsy type -- it's why we were friends at school. We could have him up to dinner, grill some fish," Michaelis said. "He's put up in Menton right now but he could be here fast enough by car -- even by boat, if he can get a slip. Your call."
"Sounds good. I was gonna stay here today anyway," Noah said. "Can I ask some of the crew up?"
Michaelis looked thoughtful, unlike him; usually the automatic answer was yes. Noah tilted his head, curious.
"Not that you lack privilege now," Michaelis said at last, "involved as you are with the royal family. But I suspect Oliver is going to make you some form of offer -- he's very keen to mentor young talent and he's impressed with you and the crew. On the one hand, he may want to speak only to you. On the other, I think perhaps it would be advantageous to your classmates for him to meet them in less stressful circumstances."
"Huh. So -- maybe a swimming party and the grill?" Noah said.
"Better buy some extra steaks," Eddie added with a grin. "I've seen your friends eat."
"I'll let Olly know. How many students?" Michaelis asked.
"I dunno, not everyone. Amani and Jamie, maybe five or six others. There were a couple of kids who looked rough going home," Noah said.
Jes leaned over and planted a kiss on his temple. "Give us a headcount, we'll make it work."
Oliver McAllister arrived at the fishing lodge that evening with a bakery box and a bottle of wine.
"I remember visiting here with you, when the world was young," he said to Michaelis, as he climbed the front steps up to the porch. He offered the bakery box to Noah, who'd just come up from swimming with his classmates when he saw him arriving. "Open that now," he added, indicating the box. It was full of cookies -- the rich buttery kind from the Greek bakery in Menton, smelling of sugar and chocolate. "Go, spoil everyone's appetite."
"Then gut the fish, or convince Amani to do it," Michaelis added, and Noah wrinkled his nose, laughing. "He's picky about fish," he added to Oliver, as Noah took off for the edge of the lake, and teenagers began emerging to settle on the bank and pass around the box of cookies. "Welcome back, by the way. Have a seat, we'll open the wine."
"Don't mind if I do," Oliver said as he sat. Jes ducked inside to fetch glasses, while Michaelis used a corkscrew on his pocket-knife to pull the cork. "You're living out here now, yes? Nice work if you can get it."
"Well, it's no pleasure yacht jetting about the Ligurian Sea," Michaelis replied, grinning, as Jes returned. "Olly, my partner Jes -- Jes, Oliver McAllister."
"Ser Deimos," Oliver said, startling them both with the honorific Jes preferred. Most people didn't know, and of those who did, not everyone remembered or paid attention. "I'm a listener of the podcast, especially since you moved to Europe, though admittedly my attendance is patchy. The pleasure's mine."
"Always nice to meet a listener, and you've got bonus points for rescuing Noah," Jes replied, shaking his hand and seating themself as Michaelis poured the wine. "I understand you're a tall ship enthusiast -- you should really catch Noah's show."
"Being on Boats, yes. I gave him a search this morning," Oliver said. "Dychev's a big beast, but she's a real beauty."
"Have the French given you any grief?" Michaelis asked.
"Not so far. I doubt they'd dare. Rank has its privileges," Oliver said. "What about the kids? Nobody's bothered them, have they?"
"Well, they're all getting a lot of attention online, but Noah's used to it, and the rest of them are handling it well," Jes said. "Working on the crew tends to make the students a little mature for their age."
"I did notice that when I was aboard -- they were very disciplined and organized. I'd heard there was a sail training school out this way, but not the details. Nice to see all the local craft coming out to greet them last night. Was this school one of your projects, Imp?"
"Oh no, the nickname comes out," Jes said, grinning at Michaelis.
"Not at all," he replied, ignoring their gentle tease. "The school's about ten years old, but my only real participation was the standard accreditation process, and even then I was only peripherally involved. I wasn't really paying much attention until Noah decided to attend. Fine tourist attraction, seemed like a good school, so..." he shrugged. "But we're finding that the teaching is reasonably rigorous and it does imbue the children with admirable independence," he added. "I've discussed with my nephew Gerald the idea of sending his daughter there, when she's old enough."
"Not little Gerald the polo player?" Oliver asked. "Lord, he's old enough to have children now?"
"Do you remember Alanna, Miranda's niece? She and Gerald just had their first child."
"And you really think it's superior to Institut Alpin? I haven't been back to the old school in an age, but it can't have gone downhill that precipitously."
"No, but..." Michaelis shook his head. "We're a little on the outs with them just now over some educational policies. Without getting into detail, they have not been the most responsive to concerns from alumni about unique needs of the students."
Oliver blinked. "Like what?"
"There's very little testing for learning disabilities, and even less support," Michaelis said. "When the family reached out to ask about that, the administration assured us their curriculum was flexible enough to integrate neurodiverse students with no special attention, but it felt like a brush-off. I'm skeptical they'd even admit a student with known disabilities if they could get away with it."
"I suppose it's rude to ask, but was that a concern for Noah?" Oliver asked, looking from him to Jes and back.
"No -- he just wouldn't have been a good fit, and didn't want to board," Michaelis replied. "As for Gerald and Alanna, the dialogue is ongoing, but Sera's ten years from them having to decide in any case, and meanwhile Maritime will do quite nicely for her. Yes?" he added, looking past Oliver at Noah, now leaning on the railing.
"Fish're gutted and I started the fire," he said. "Want me to get the steaks and kebabs?"
"If you would," Michaelis said. "I'll handle the cooking. Bring your wine," he added to Oliver, as they rose to head down to the little clearing by the water, where the grill and an elderly picnic table waited.
He scrubbed off the grill with a wire brush while Jes and Oliver settled nearby; by the time Noah arrived with the rest of the food, they were deep in conversation about something, and he listened with half an ear as he cooked the steaks, then shifted them aside to keep warm while he grilled the fish and kebabs. The smell began to drift down towards the water, and Noah's friends and crewmates started to draw closer, wrapped in towels and beach coveralls. Noah had been right that a few of them seemed a little unsettled by what had happened when they arrived, but now they were all cheerful -- and hungry. He doled out food onto paper plates as they approached, sending them off to sit on the ground or in beach chairs near the picnic table.
"I have to say," Oliver said to the assembly, as Michaelis joined them, "I was highly impressed by you all yesterday. The rescue, of course, but I'd expect any decent crew to be capable of that; it takes organization and focus to sail a ship like her, but those aren't all that uncommon. To do all that and then tolerate the delay and uncertainty, not to mention the police on your ship, that's a different matter."
Most of the students looked to Noah, who swallowed and nodded. "Thank you, sir. We're all very proud of having managed it."
"And mostly happy to be home," Amani added.
"I can imagine. I work with a number of tall ship programs -- well, I say work with, they put up with me a few times a year in return for financial support," Oliver added with a grin. "The Woods Hole Tall Ship Organization, the Semester At Sea program out of Southend-on-Sea -- "
"Heard about that one," Jamie said. "They have a sail culture program, you learn the music and do scrimshaw and such."
"That's the one. And the Tamaki Makaurau Waka Ama Sail School in Aotearoa," he added. The students looked at each other. "Tamaki Makaurau Waka Ama teaches both European tall ship sailing and traditional Maori ship construction and sail. I'm on the advisory board and, happily, they recently asked if I'd do a little recruiting."
Noah glanced briefly at Michaelis; there was the offer he'd predicted.
"I spoke to them very early this morning and they're interested in what you're all doing here with Maritime. They're looking for exchange students in their last few years of school who have some experience, or sail training graduates who might take a gap year teaching European sail and learning Maori sail," he said. "If the Dychev's crew were interested they'd be willing to set up interviews, and if Maritime students do well there, it could be an ongoing relationship."
"Any Maritime student could apply?" Jamie asked.
"Presumably, why?"
"Just -- it's not only us, here right now, that you're offering it to?" Jamie clarified. "Because -- I mean, Noah's my friend as well as my CO, but it wouldn't be fair if only his friends got the offer. There's fifty on the crew and only ten of us here."
"Because we'd say no, if that's the case," Noah added, and the students nodded to one another.
Oliver smiled. "Ah, you think this is maybe because I'm friends with His Grace, I see. No, this is an offer for all of the students who want to apply. It isn't a secret. I have actually very little pull with them. The school is run by the Iwi, the tribe -- they make the final call as to what students are accepted."
"It sounds like you'll have to earn your berth," Jes added. "It's an offer to interview, not a promise of admission?"
"Indeed," Oliver said. "But I wonder if that interests any of you? Aotearoa's a long way to go, and the program can be challenging."
"Me," Noah and Amani said in unison, then grinned at each other.
"Me too, but maybe next year," Jamie added, and the others murmured agreement, or looked thoughtful.
"That's good, then. I'll pass this back to them, and tell them to reach out to your headmaster. Be sure when you apply that you casually mention the Dychev's rescue mission," Oliver added with a grin. "Now that the business is done, don't think I didn't hear you talking about the music," he said to Jamie. "Could I beg a few chanties or ballads from you all? You must know some."
Noah's friend Lyssa, who had a passion for sea songs and a nice contralto, didn't hesitate; she burst into song before anyone else could.
Our boots and clothes is all in pawn!
The rest of the students joined in, some of them clearly without even thinking about it, with the response: Go down, you blood red roses, go down!
Lyssa's voice cut through the end of the line, It's flamin' drafty round Cape Horn!
Go down, you blood red roses, go down!
Then Lyssa joined in with the refrain --
Oh, you pinks and posies
Go down, you blood red roses, go down!
She pointed to Jamie, who sang out the next line -- well, perhaps he was skipping a few verses, but he'd chosen a good one, and the order didn't matter in any case. Our captain he has set us down!
Go down, you blood red roses, go down!
We take the tide for Auckland town!
Oliver roared a laugh over the response, then joined in on the refrain again, although they all dissolved into laughter at the end of it.
One of the other students piped up with Farewell to Tarwathie, and then someone suggested Mingulay Boat Song, which was a particular favorite of Michaelis's. By the time they were done eating and singing dark had fallen, and there was a spring chill creeping into the air.
"This was delightful," Oliver said to Michaelis, as the students began calling their parents for rides and slowly moving towards the road that led up to the lodge, Noah in amongst them making sure everyone had a way to get home. "I hate to be thankful for a ship going down, but I do feel like it was serendipity."
"That's the thing about Noah," Michaelis replied. "He doesn't make mischief very often, and he certainly doesn't cause disasters, but this is the third time a major structural failure has brought him good fortune. I'd say the boy's got the attention of something supernatural, but I can't say if it's a blessing or a curse."
"Well, as long as he doesn't sink any of his own ships, he'll do fine," Oliver said. "I'll be in town a few days, coordinating between the school administration and Maritime, so if he has questions, or if you do -- "
"I'll be in touch anyway. I still owe you for getting him home from Corsica. Thank you, Olly, truly," Michaelis said.
"Retirement looks good on you, Imp," Oliver replied, taking the offered hand. "And you, lad, fair winds and following seas until we meet again," he said to Noah as he joined them.
"Yes sir," Noah replied with a grin. "Maybe I'll see you on the Tasman Sea."
AP PHOTO - Prince Noah Benyamin Ben Deimos e Michaelis, stepbrother of King Gregory III of Askazer-Shivadlakia, arrives at Auckland International Airport. Along with several classmates, His Highness will spend the year teaching and studying at Tamaki Makaurau Waka Ama Sail School as the first international Shivadh youth delegation to Aotearoa. Left, Tamaki Makaurau Waka Ama board member Oliver McAllister waits to greet the arriving students.