Chapter 411: Lukas Had Entered Himself as a Figurehead

Lukas had signed himself into a harbor competition because an older woman complimented his shoulders, which suggested every major port could improve recruitment by employing one confident mother with a clipboard.

He explained this over breakfast the next morning while I read the race rules. It was a short course inside the protected harbor, with a prize for speed and another for presentation, and the living figurehead division required a proper harness and a sober participant.

"You were drinking when you entered, so before we do anything stupid, tell me you still want this now that your blood has stopped being a cocktail."

"I want it more now," he said. "I had time to think about the pose."

I pushed the rules back at him and asked him to sign where it said this was his idea. He signed so quickly that I considered adding a second copy for the girls.

[System: Let him have it, mate. Bloke’s finally found a job where standing there looking available is the entire description.]

I support his ambition, especially when it wins money and somebody else wears the ridiculous sash in public.

At the registration dock, a broad-hipped woman in her forties inspected Lukas’s harness with the brisk care of someone who had seen men injure themselves while trying to seem interesting. She wore a white judging coat over red swimwear and carried a pencil behind one ear.

"If your friend makes a sharp turn before you’re clipped in, I disqualify both of you," she said.

Lukas assured her I was extremely responsible. I stared at him until he added that I had recently paid to replace a table, which made the woman ask exactly what had happened to the first one.

Instead, I signed the rules and asked the course marshal to demonstrate the controls from my position. Wet Regret’s tiller and throttle were reachable with my tendrils, and I practiced moving between them while we remained tied up.

I asked Lukas whether his chosen pose allowed him to see a buoy or only admire himself.

Our new reinforcement plates held his rated harness mount without strain. He tested it, checked the release, and clipped the secondary safety line before climbing into position.

He chose a pose with his chest lifted and his arms spread, presenting himself to the harbor like an unusually enthusiastic religious misunderstanding.

The judge wrote something on her clipboard, and Lukas immediately improved the pose. I was beginning to think he could have entered without a boat.

"If she awards points for looking desperate, we’re buying a yacht," I told him, and he asked me to stop interrupting his art.

[System: A yacht? That woman’s looked at him twice and he’s ready to volunteer as her garden ornament. Turn the engine on before he offers to collect the kids.]

Let the man have goals. I just want our prize money before he proposes to the clipboard.

We lined up beside three other boats, all carrying adult volunteers with varying ideas about what made a good figurehead. One man wore a crown made from teaspoons, while another had attached fake wings that kept hitting his own ears.

I told Lukas he looked excellent beside the teaspoon king. He asked why I couldn’t simply say he looked excellent, and I reminded him friendship needed honesty.

The signal sounded. I eased the throttle forward while Lukas called the first mark, holding his pose with such dedication that I briefly wanted to announce him to the harbor as a newly discovered species.

We took the bend cleanly, and I grinned at the boats behind us. Paying for repairs suddenly felt much better when I could use them to annoy strangers.

The teaspoon king tried to overtake too tightly and had to slow down before crossing his lane boundary. We passed without touching him, and Lukas delivered a solemn salute that made the watching crowd laugh.

At the second mark, a wind gust caught the fake wings on the boat beside us. Its figurehead folded awkwardly but stayed secured, and the marshal waved them toward the recovery dock.

[System: Get a look at those nipples, mate. Reckon we can steer by them if the buoys disappear.] I nearly lost the line laughing, then corrected before Lukas could ask what was wrong with me.

[System: Eyes forward, you bent extension lead. You’ve got a genuine chance of winning something without a body count, so try not to make it weird.]

I held us straight and let the engine pull. Lukas extended one arm toward the judging platform, granting his favorite woman a blessing nobody had asked him to provide.

The older judge laughed openly, which seemed to make the entire competition worth it to him.

We crossed first. I slowed in the marked zone while Lukas remained clipped in, waving at the judge with enough enthusiasm to power the boat home.

The prize was two thousand credits and a large towel printed with the harbor’s crest. He accepted the money with dignity, then ruined the effect by asking the judge whether she would sign the towel.

She did, adding a reminder to stretch before his next performance.

I was considering whether to frame that instruction when a heavy launch bumped against the far side of the prize dock. Its passengers wore the same ugly crest we had found on the treasure cylinder.

The man at the front stared at our restricted-marina token, still attached beside the helm because we needed it for our rented berth.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked from the token to my red body.

"That belongs to Captain Gullet," he said, loud enough for the nearest spectators to hear. "You stole his access seal, his supply boat, and apparently his sense of humor."

"The last one wasn’t aboard when we arrived, but you’re welcome to check the lost-property desk."

The man’s coat opened as he stepped onto the dock, revealing a metal treatment frame around his shoulder. Something thick moved beneath the skin beside it, and a second joint pushed outward with a wet, deliberate flex.

Behind him, two restrained deckhands sat in the launch while the crowd began moving away from the prize table.