‘I didn’t know that,’ Isagani snaps, crossing their arms. They pull their wide-brimmed hat down to cover their reddening face. I whip it off and scruff their hair. They’re no longer playing at merchant’s daughter and have taken to loose, comfortable garb and tying their hair back from their face. ‘I was trying to catch some fish, to make a nice breakfast for everyone.’
I hide my heart-melted smile.
‘I’ll help you after breakfast and maybe we can have a nice fish lunch or supper – how about that?’
When we go down to the galley, I’m alarmed to see one of the undead cooking. They are clattering about the cramped counters, pots of upended herbs and discarded half-chopped ingredients littering the surfaces. They bounce their head off the pots and pans, which hang from the ceiling rack. They’ve a fire going on the stovetop, with the flames alarmingly close to their rags. A pot bubbles over with what looks like rice porridge, the undead stirring haphazardly.
‘I suppose breakfast is served?’ Isagani says, an amused grin on their face. ‘I’ll wake the others.’
We all sit in bemused silence, bowls of slop in front of us, as the undead chef goes off to find other duties.
‘A corpse made this?’ Ris says, failing to hide her disgust.
Everyone plays with their food, and I realise we’re each waiting for the other to take a spoonful first. I taste the porridge and let it sit on my tongue. It’s plenty hot, which is the only thing I feel for a while, until eventually the flavour begins to burn through. It’s creamy, a bit gritty, and then there’s something sour. At first it’s almost pleasant and my mind recognises it as calamansi. I can see the yellow fruit rinds on the counter next to the empty pot. Then an earthy taste, almost damp dirt. I look at the calamansi again and notice dark brown spots on the undersides.
My throat can’t bear to swallow. I dribble the foul mess back into the bowl.
‘Fin, that’s bad manners,’ Biba says.
‘Rotten,’ I try to say.
‘What?’ Ris asks, sniffing the porridge. She takes a tentative bite, flicking her tongue against the spoon like a lizard. She instantly recoils and pushes the bowl away. ‘That’s awful! How did it take you that long to notice?’
I shrug, trying to contain my nausea.
‘What happened?’ Isagani asks.
I suspect I know what happened, but I have to see it with my own eyes. I indicate for everyone to follow and we make our way over to the storeroom. I unlock it and am hit with a musty, foul aroma. My heart sinks. This confirms it.
Everything was stored properly, or so I thought. I had done a cursory check but excuse me for trusting the Seaguardians actually know the first thing about sailing. The queen’s finest indeed.
‘What are we going to do? Is everything ruined?’ Isagani says, voice beginning to take on panic.
‘We’ll have to ration,’ Ris has already begun to strategise.
‘I say we mutiny,’ Sinigang chimes in.
‘Look, can we all just take a breath? Let’s take stock of everything first before we start catastrophising, yes?’
They reluctantly agree, and we begin to rootle around in the cupboard, assessing every item for ruin. It is not as bad as I had imagined, but the calamansi has begun to rot, a green fur forming on the underside of some of them and an unpleasant squishiness when I inspect them. My hands feel around the walls. By Paranish, there’s damp in here. This wouldn’t have happened under my command. Must have been those damned Seaguardians. Don’t they know a storeroom’s supposed to stay dry? Idiots to the crown. For fuck’s sake, there’s barely room for one person in here. We bump in the half-light, all elbows and knees.
‘I need some fresh air,’ Ris says, backing out of the cupboard. She stands on the deck, backlit by sunlight, a proud silhouette, arms akimbo. What she doesn’t know is that the sun is also lighting up the shape of her body beneath her linen garments. I avert my eyes. She can probably sense my thoughts and by Paranish this is not the time for it.
‘Not everything is lost,’ I say, matter-of-factly. ‘The water is fine. We should dry everything out here. It’s a pleasant day for it.’
I look up and Sinigang is staring sourly at me. ‘So, we’re all agreed the undead should stay out of the kitchen.’
‘You may as well help me fix my net now,’ Isagani sighs, watching the scattered food items drying in the sun on the deck. ‘So we can at least have something for breakfast.’
I retrieve stone net sinkers from the now-empty store cupboard and attach them to the net one by one.
‘You need to spread them out properly to ensure the weight is evenly distributed.’
‘And how often do I need to check the nets?’
I stand straight and look at Isagani. Their eagerness would be endearing to anyone with a kind heart. But I can also hear something underneath it. Not just eagerness, but eagerness to please.
‘Where did you learn the Lassairian hitch, Isagani?’
