Amanderella Gottsnobbler and the Bangolin Tree Chapter 13

Chapter 13.

 

Harbour Hopping Part 2

 

Amanderella spent the rest of the day watching the gulls circling over the ship’s mast and wondering how they managed to be so accurate with their droppings, which peppered the deck with unerring precision.

Brimblewick took each splatter personally. “They do it on purpose,” he muttered, wiping the rail for the third time. “Target practice. Malicious creatures.”

The cat, perched on a coil of rope, watched the gulls with professional interest, as though considering a counter‑offensive.

Amanderella made a note:

Gulls: accurate. Captain: aggrieved. Cat: strategic.

Once again Amanderella was awakened by the breakfast bell. She made her way to the dining room, the single chair and small table in the corridor outside the galley.

Duff was waiting, ladle in hand. “Pancakes today,” he announced, as though unveiling a masterpiece. “Flat, warm, and mostly obedient.”

Amanderella accepted her plate. The pancakes were slightly uneven in shape, but they smelled reassuringly edible.

She made a note:

Breakfast: pancakes. Behaviour: compliant.

The cat appeared, inspected the plate, and decided pancakes were beneath its dignity.

By late morning the coastline had changed again. The air was warmer, the light softer, and the sea had begun to behave in a way

Amanderella could only describe as thoughtful.

Boats drifted in and out of the small harbour ahead of them with no wind, no tide, and no apparent intention. They simply arrived, paused, and wandered off again.

“Currents choose their favourites here,” a fisherman called as the Good Intentions eased alongside the quay. “Some boats get carried straight in. Others get sent packing.”

Brimblewick nodded as though this were entirely ordinary. “Happens everywhere if you know where to look.”

Amanderella felt a warm breeze brush her cheek, far too warm for this latitude. She made a note:

Temperature rising. Currents selective. Captain unfazed.

The cat trotted ashore, tail high, and was immediately offered a small dried fish by a child who seemed delighted to meet it. The cat accepted the tribute with regal restraint.

Brimblewick handed over a parcel to a waiting clerk and received a sealed envelope in return. “Delivery done, collection complete,” he said briskly.

Amanderella followed him back aboard as the Good Intentions drifted, quite without help, away from the harbour.

Days passed in a steady rhythm of breakfasts, small harbours, and increasingly peculiar sea behaviour. The air grew warmer, the gulls changed their accents twice, and

Amanderella’s notebook filled with observations that would have alarmed anyone less methodical.

Despite the Good Intentions’ best efforts to wander off course, they continued south. Brimblewick insisted this was intentional. The cat took credit.

Duff Haddersack remained unmoved, declaring that as long as the stew behaved, the voyage was proceeding acceptably.

By the end of the second week the coastline had thinned, the harbours grown stranger, and the sea had begun to glow at night with a faint, thoughtful shimmer. Amanderella estimated they were finally approaching the latitude sailors referred to, usually in lowered voices, as the South Seas.

She made a note:

Progress steady. Latitude increasing. Oddness escalating.

By the time the Good Intentions reached the first true harbour of the South Seas, the world had changed around them. The air was warm enough to feel like a hand on the shoulder, the light had taken on a deeper gold, and the sea moved with a slow, deliberate confidence that suggested it knew exactly where it was going.

Amanderella leaned on the rail as the harbour came into view, a cluster of bright roofs, tall palms, and boats painted in colours the northern coast would never have dared.

Brimblewick adjusted his hat with the air of a man determined to look competent in unfamiliar climates. “First proper South Seas stop,” he said. “Friendly place. Mostly. Don’t let the birds get the better of you.”

Amanderella noticed at once that the birds were larger, louder, and far more opinionated than gulls. She made a note:

Latitude: significant. Wildlife: assertive.

The Good Intentions slid neatly into the harbour, helped, or possibly pushed, by a current that seemed to have made up its mind for them.

“We’re delivering a parcel and collecting a barrel. Quick stop,” said Brimblewick.

A dockhand waved. “Maloa veni, traveller!” he shouted.

Brimblewick nodded. “Means ‘welcome’. Coast Trade Tongue. Everyone uses it down here.”

Amanderella made a note:

Local greeting: Maloa veni.

The cat trotted ashore, tail high, and was immediately admired by three children and a parrot that appeared to be considering a formal greeting.

The next harbour was little more than a wooden jetty, a few bright huts, and a cluster of boats that bobbed as though listening to distant music. The air was warmer still, carrying the scent of fruit Amanderella could not name.

Brimblewick handed over a large chest and received a sealed tin in return.

“For upriver,” the clerk said, tapping it once. “Don’t open it.”

Brimblewick nodded far too quickly.

Amanderella made a note:

Delivery complete. Tin acquired. Instructions: ominous.

The only oddity, apart from the tin, was a tall bird standing on the jetty, staring at the Good Intentions with one unblinking eye. When the cat hissed at it, the bird hissed back in perfect imitation.

“That’s enough sightseeing,” Brimblewick said, ushering everyone aboard.

The Good Intentions pushed off at once, as though eager to leave.

By afternoon the coastline had folded away behind them, replaced by the wide mouth of the River Burko. The water darkened to a deep green, smooth as polished stone, and the air grew still in a way that suggested the river preferred to do the thinking itself.

Brimblewick adjusted his glove. “Up we go. Burko country. Keep your wits about you. The river has its own way of doing things.”

Amanderella leaned forward, notebook ready.

The cat sat at the bow, tail flicking, as though it had been waiting for this moment.