Captain Grimm
A Journey to the Far Shore
“Life’s all about keepin’ yer expectations in line,” Captain Grimm said, stumbling towards the bow of the ferry. “It’s yer expectations as shapes the narrative, see.” He paused, fumbling in the pocket of his dark, woolen greatcoat. “Oho! What’d I tell ye?”
He chuckled as he pulled out a pitted silver flask. With trembling fingers, he twisted off its skull-shaped topper and raised it to his lips. About half made it into his mouth, while the rest dribbled into his thick, tangled beard.
He cursed, wiping his whiskers with the back of his hand.
“Aye. Tastes like piss.”
Placing his foot on the prow, he tilted his head towards the dark, starless sky. He took a deep breath, swinging his flask from side to side as he swayed to the rhythm of the river’s current:
“Raise yer sails too high, me lads, and storm’ll cut ’em down,
But cast ’em down too far, me boys, and run yer keel aground.
Trim her fair and mind the line, ’twixt hunger, hope, and dread,
Fer high’ll leave you torn to rags, and low’ll leave ye—”
“—eh? What’re ye lookin’ at?” he asked, squinting blearily at a crow perched on the tip of the prow.
“Dead?” it squawked, cocking its head at Captain Grimm.
“Aye, dead, ye filthy carrion eater.” He leaned in close until his nose was inches from the crow’s beak. “’Suppose yer something o’ an expert on the matter. Still gives ye no right to steal me button.”
He returned the flask to his lips and drained the rest of its contents. He took a few steps back, shooting a withering look at the crow. Then, spreading his arms wide, flask loose in his grip, he threw his head back and roared.
“Dead!”
“Dead!” the crow echoed.
“Patience, ducky. Plenty o’ time fer that when we make the far shore.” He held the flask upside down over his head, shaking it for every last drop. Satisfied it was empty, he tossed it over the railing and into the river. It landed without a sound or ripple, sinking slowly beneath the black depths.
“What d’ye say, lad—fancy joinin’ in on the next verse?”
“Dead?”
“Not ye, lass. Him.” He spun around, the tails of his greatcoat whipping behind him. At the stern, a man sat slumped over a bench, face shrouded in shadow. If he heard Captain Grimm, he made no sign of it. He remained quiet, swaying gently in his seat as the river current shook the ferry.
“Fair enough, lad, fair enough,” Captain Grimm muttered, turning back towards the prow. He clasped his hands behind his back, eyes narrowed slightly as he stared pensively over the dark horizon. He hoped it was a satisfactorily impressive and dignified pose. His passengers cared about such things, see—even the ones who didn’t pay much heed to the pageantry. This was a big trip, no matter how you spun it, and nobody wanted a captain lacking in Dignitas when it was their turn at the stern.
He snorted loudly, clearing his throat and spitting over the rail.
“And life’s all about keepin’ yer expectations in line.”
“Dead!” the crow called back.
It had sat patiently through the exchange, watching Captain Grimm with beady black eyes. With a soft rustle of black feathers, it spread its wings, fluttering them a few times before launching itself into the air and landing on the captain’s shoulder.
“Take ye, fer instance,” Captain Grimm said, cocking an eyebrow as the crow leaned down to peck at his greatcoat. “Don’t think I ain’t noticed ye eyein’ that poor bloke’s baubles.”
“Dead!”
“Aye, I heard ye the first time.” He unclasped his hands and leaned down to grab a long wooden pole resting on the deck. He picked it up, sliding it into the water until it struck bottom. With a grunt, he shoved off the riverbed, driving the ferry forward. The current would carry them regardless of anything he did. But Captain Grimm knew his role well—folks expected a pole, dammit, and so a pole there would be.
“See, ye expected to nick a pair o’ shiny Drachmas, mayhap haul ’em off to yer pretty little nest. ‘What harm?’ ye asked yerself. ‘It ain’t like they’re servin’ no one no good just sittin’ there, gatherin’ seaweed.’” He jerked his head towards the stern. “Well, those coins be that lad’s fare fer this voyage. His kin sent him on his way with a purse and a prayer—ye’d have left him stranded on the opposite shore, had ye gotten to him first.”
“Here, hold this,” he said, offering the pole to the crow. It bobbed its head as Captain Grimm released his grip on the wood, leaving it to clatter to the deck.
“Dead!” the crow squawked indignantly.
The captain reached into his greatcoat, humming under his breath as he groped about in his other pocket. After a few heartbeats, he fished out a second flask, his fingers tightening around the neck. He opened it and held it upside down over his mouth, shaking it eagerly.
Empty.
Cursing, he tossed the flask over the railing. It hit the water without a sound, sinking silently into the inky depths to join its twin at the bottom of the river.
He dug back into his pocket, this time retrieving a fistful of silver coins stamped with wide-eyed owls. He held them under the crow’s beak, shaking his open palm back and forth, filling the air with the soft tinkle of silver.
“Now, supposin’ I were a greedy man,” he said, closing his fist just as the crow made to jab its beak into the center of his palm. “Supposin’ I were, I’d say ye be two times a thief—once fer robbin’ this sorry sod of his trip across me river, and twice fer plunderin’ me of me hard-earned wages.”
He shook his head, sighing deeply. “Lucky fer ye, I’m not a greedy man. Consider yerself forgiven fer any moral transgressions and the like.” He raised his hand over his shoulder. “Not so lucky fer ye, passage across me river is free—and I’ve no use fer these pretty trinkets.”
The crow bristled, eyes gleaming with self-righteous anger as Captain Grimm drew back his arm and tossed his fistful of silver coins into the river.
“Shame that lad’s kin gave so freely o’ their coin and breath,” he said, stumbling back towards the stern. “That silver ain’t worth a rusty nail—and last I checked with the admiral, those prayers ain’t worth a tack more. But whate’er gives ’em comfort, I suppose.”
Breathing out slowly, he lowered himself to the bench, groaning as his joints creaked beneath his weight. The crow hopped off the captain’s shoulder, landing with a light flutter atop the quiet passenger’s head. With a hopeful squawk, it peeked over the man’s forehead, leaning in close to get a better look at his eyes.
“Everyone expects a grand reveal,” Captain Grimm said, putting an arm around the man’s shoulders. “They want all that time to count fer somethin’, see. Ain’t got the heart to tell ’em nothin’ gets much clearer on the other side o’ the river. Just a rocky shoreline and a heap o’ seagull droppings.”
He braced himself as the ferry slid onto the far bank, holding the passenger steady with his arm. “Welp, we’ve reached the shore, m’boy. I’ll be takin’ me rusty nails now—if ye run into any o’ yer kin in the comin’ years, let ’em know I played me part.”
The man raised his head, startling the crow back onto the captain’s shoulder. His face was pale and cold, and in place of his eyes lay a pair of gleaming silver coins. Without a word, he reached towards his face, plucking the coins from his eye sockets and placing them in the captain’s outstretched palm. Then, head bowed low once more, he stumbled off the ferry—climbing slowly up the rocky shoreline, face shrouded in shadow.
Captain Grimm watched the man’s ascent, long after the ferry had pulled away from the shore. He reached into his greatcoat, sighing as he recalled the pair of flasks he’d already tossed overboard.
“Life’s all about keepin’ yer expectations in line,” he muttered, shaking his head as the far shore finally faded into the horizon. “Yer ship’s sure to run aground one day, no matter how high yer sails, or how low yer keel.”
He belched and smacked his belly. “Alas—I hope he likes bird shit.”
“Speaking of.” He glanced at the crow perched on his shoulder. It cocked its head at the captain’s words before leaning in and nipping him on the ear.
“Gah! Cursed wee...”
Grumbling under his breath, the captain returned to the prow of the ferry. He peered once more at the crow before bending down to reclaim the wooden pole. He slid it into the water and—with a weary grunt—pushed off the riverbed. An audience of one was still an audience, after all—best to keep up appearances.
“What d’ye say, lass—fancy joinin’ in on the next verse?”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, stomping his foot in time with the river’s current:
Mind yer course while heart yet beats
And choose which paths ye tend,
For none get clearer on me fleet,
Ye only reach the end.
I’ll set me pole and count ye fare
And waft ye off to bed.
So bow ye head and say ye prayers
Ere Charon claims the—”
“—dead!”
“Dead!”