Dreamers Of The Sea Preview Chapter

DREAMERS OF THE SEA

By

Louis Williams

(available on Amazon: https://a.co/d/cGQTJT9)

2024 Louis Williams

CHAPTER ONE

The sun had barely kissed the waters on the horizon, pulling Jack's shadow into thin, long traced dark lines across the beach sand. The rabbit man's single ear stood tall in pride, in victory. His blue velvet coat was no longer clean. It was scratched, muddy. There was a bullet hole through the side where his opponent, captain Lejion's pistol narrowly missed. The scratch on his side had finally stopped bleeding. "I really should charge you for this coat, captain," One Ear'd Jack said, his good ear folding into a grimace. "Do you know how difficult it is to get blood out of white fur?"
The beach sand matched the captured captain's fur. The lion's blue uniform was tattered, dirty, and stained with mud and blood. He looked nothing of his regal, stoic feral counterpart. Lejion's mane was streaked with sweat, with blood, with mud and dirt. Tawny fur was matted and ruffled. How did it come to this? How did everything go so wrong? Thick ropes secured him to the base of a large coconut tree. He glared down at the ground. Lejion's rounded ears folded back into his mane with his lip on his muzzle curled into a snarl.
"You'll pay for this One Ear'd Jack," Captain Lejion growled.
The rabbit arched an eyebrow over his good eye, his long ear standing tall and proud. The pirate's white fur almost glowed in the dying light. A black eye patch hid the burned scar that marked his other. The scar ran a jagged line up his head to the stump that remained of his other ear. "You of all people should know Captain Lejion, it is not good to take what is not yours. It's even worse to hurt innocent women and children." He patted the map in his pocket as he spoke. A map with such promise, that had led to so much trouble.
"It would be worth it," the captain growled, a snarl on his muzzle. "It would be worth all the trouble in the world to have the mask, so I can finally have my vengeance over you!"
Jack turned away, his good ear twisting in distress. Jack stared into the distant sunset, the light setting his brilliant white fur ablaze. "The Mask of Makchia would suit you ill. It would only ensure your eternal knowledge that no matter what you did or where you turned, I have always beaten you. It's better this way. At least now you have comfort in death to erase that memory."
The captain flinched at the word death. Would Jack do it? Would he finally kill him? The thought tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe. His blood turned to ice water. He continued to glare at the ground, taking breath in shallow gulps.
"Now dear Captain Lejion," Jack replied without turning around. "I will not kill you. In fact, I have just saved your life. If those guards had found you back there in that village instead of me, why you'd be swinging by now." Jack paused, his lip curled upward on his short muzzle in that roguish and dashing manner of his, "don't worry captain. Your sailors will be by to collect you. Eventually. I don't fore see it taking them more than a day or so to find you."

***

The young fox continued reading the novel as he laid on the bed, a dreamy smile on his muzzle. His legs kicked down on the mattress one at a time slowly as he spoke each word out loud. "One Ear'd Jack left him there on that island, his promise ringing through the captain's ears. 'I will find Makchia. I will find the mask. I will get my love back.'" Cloyd's white tail tip flicked back and forth in a lazy motion as he read the final words of the book. His lip curled upward in pleasure as he finished the tale. "Oh, that's my favorite one," Cloyd yawned. He stretched, his black paws reaching towards the ceiling. He scratched his head for a moment, and sighed "well, I guess I better get going. I don't want to be," the silence of the room cut through him. It was empty. No one was there. "Late," he shouted. They left him again! His eyes went wide and his black ears folded down back against his skull.
He leaped down from his bunk, "Oh blazes," he cursed, racing over to his footlocker, "I'm not even brushed!" He tossed the thin pulp novel inside. One Ear'd Jack and the Island Thief stared up at him as he searched around in the footlocker.
Cloyd's footlocker wasn't the perfect, neat and tidy box the other students in St. Oliver's seemed to love so much. They took great pride and even joy when the school master would walk around, sticking his nose into every foot locker, staring at the contents of each one with his tail twitching and his ears folded like a drill sergeant. Cloyd's foot locker looked like it has been shaken, swirled around with an orange and black fur covered stick, and locked tight. Nothing was where it should be.
"Oh, drat and blazes," he cursed as he began tossing items out of the locker onto the floor behind him. Loose red fur began to sprinkle out behind him, falling onto the floor and onto his roommate's bunk.
"Late, I'm late, I'm late," he muttered, diving headfirst into the footlocker as he threw more items out. His tail flicked and lashed in annoyance as he searched, throwing items left and right. Finally, his paw finally brushed against a familiar worn wooden handle.
"Ah-ha," Cloyd stood tall, holding the brush above his head in victory.
"Mister Smith, the rest of the student body are already in class and have been there for half an hour."
The annoyed familiar voice with its old gravely rumble sent shivers down Cloyd's spine. Cloyd turned slowly, his own black triangular ears folding down into his red fur and his thick tail began to tuck firmly between his legs. There Mr. Cainbridge stood in black robes; arms crossed. His drooped wrinkled chocolate brown furred face furrowed forward in displeasure.
"Sorry Mr. Cainbridge, I lost track of time," Cloyd muttered, casting his eyes downward as he spoke, ears folded in shame.
"If I had a hay penny for every time you lost track of time, I could have retired long ago on my own private island," Mr. Cainbridge growled. His face was sterner than it had ever been before. Even more than that time Cloyd tried to sneak into the school's kitchen at midnight to make a snack and accidentally dumped that bag of cocoa powder on him.
Mr. Cainbridge's stern glower followed him through his morning routine. Cloyd brushed hyper fast, leaving his skin underneath feeling raw. Cloyd threw on his uniform jacket and trousers, hopping a bit to get his thick plume of a tail through the hole.
When Cloyd was as dressed and presentable as one could be in a rush, the old canine grabbed Cloyd's ear and twisted it, until a soft whine built up in his throat. "We'll discuss this transgression more thoroughly after supper tonight."
Mr. Cainbridge dragged Cloyd with ear in paw out the door of the room and through the hallways towards his classroom. A tear had formed in Cloyd's eye from the pain, but he bit the whine back in his throat. They won't make me cry. They can't make me cry. He promised himself when he first stepped onto the school grounds a few months ago that he would not be broken. So far, that was a promise he had kept.
The trip took them through the student hall, down the steps to the front building, across the quad, which held a statue of the founder, and over a building on the other side. The school was named for a dog of some kind who had died fifty years or so after it's founding. Yet, the founder was a horse, constantly lost in perpetual thought as he held court of his shrubs and gothic buildings. Yet, Cloyd, was lost in perpetual thought too. No one will build me a statue for it.
The large stone archways held doors that looked to Cloyd as if they belonged on an ancient castle guarding a dragon and its treasure and not on some dull boarding school for rich parents to get rid of their kids for eleven months out of the year. Only the treasure was gone and he was just left with the dragon. Oak walls reached upward to a stone ceiling that towered over marble floors that the students scrubbed and polished every night. Those walls may as well have been bars on a prison sentenced to a lifetime of engineering nonsense for the crime of being born into an important and rich family.
They twisted and turned through a familiar path in the school. Down a hallway they went and up a set of stairs. Finally, they arrived at the door of Mr. Faradaye. Cloyd could hear his dreary tone as he talked about calculating stress points or, well something. It was all gibberish to him. The door flew open under Mr. Cainbridge's handpaw, then Cloyd was thrust forward, into the room.
The room fell silent as he tumbled inside. Rows and rows of pups and kits, as well as the occasional colt all sat in desks, watching him with cruel humor in their eyes. He could feel the questions upon him: Has he done it again? What will be his excuse this time? What will the school master do to him?
"Only forty-five minutes late today, Mr. Smith," Mr. Faradaye pronounced as he turned. His thin tail twitched slowly behind him in that confusing manner, this way and that. Somehow wagging in anger instead of in joy the way that cats do. Twin triangular ears were folded flat against his head, his whiskers back in a snarl. "Take your seat. I shall deal with you later."
Eyes and ears bared down upon Cloyd as he slowly made his way through the isle to the last seat in the row. He felt like a lamb alone amid a hungry wolf pack. His thick tail dragged a bit as he walked, hanging his head downward. Subconsciously, he looked down, and pulled a bit at his ruffled shirt, trying to smooth it out. He was still working this stubborn shirt when the boot stuck out and caught him.
His tail whipped wildly as he stumbled forward and finally crashed to the floor. The entire room erupted. Laughter rang in his ears; fingers and snarls were pointed at him. Mr. Faradaye hissed as he stomped down the aisle and grabbed Cloyd by the collar. "For that disruption Mr. Smith, go the front of the class and grab my desk."
"But I was tripped," Cloyd stammered.
"Are you arguing with me?" The teacher's lip raised in a snarl as his tail whipped back and forth, almost striking a young colt in the desk behind him.
"N-no sir," Cloyd said as he stood. He was half walked half dragged to the front by his scruff. The eyes and ears that bared down upon him felt like a thousand needles stabbing into his skin. His neck ruff raised a bit in embarrassment and anger as he walked to the front and grabbed the teacher's desk with both hand paws.
It's not like Cloyd had never been caned before. In fact, most of the time he felt deserved it. Late to class, failing to do his work, and failing to understand his work were but a few of the crimes he had committed. However, on this occasion, the fact that he was completely innocent of this crime made his punishment worse.
He raised his tail as instructed and braced himself, waiting for the stinging whack of the cane. When each blow came, he gritted his teeth, grimacing a bit, not at the pain from the blows, but at the snickers he heard behind him. When it was over, there was no smile on any muzzle. However, each and every ear he saw in the room all said the same thing to him: 'ha-ha'.
He shuffled to his seat; his head hung even lower. It was not the start of a good day. His lessons all seemed to be in gibberish. When math was ended, English began. English was a subject that Cloyd knew well. However, it seemed to fly by, and history was introduced.
When lunch had finally arrived, Cloyd filed in the back with the others hanging his head lower than ever. Mr. Faradaye only gave him a disapproving sneer as he exited the classroom at the back of the line in a quiet shuffle. Classroom after classroom on his floor filtered students out, down the hallway and out the front door. Frad, the class leader, a tall proud colt, led the students out of the building towards the dining hall with his ears upright and nose held high as he marched like a general on parade.
It would have not been surprising to Cloyd or anyone else there if Frad had attempted to call cadence like an actual general out on some military parade for a holiday. He is the son of some rich admiral Cloyd thought as they walked towards the dining hall. For a moment, his mind replaced the lion, Captain Lejion, in his One Ear'd Jack novel with Frad tied up to the coconut tree instead. Cloyd grinned at the thought as they lined up outside of the facility.
Frad took his place at the entrance like the other class leaders at the other doors, scowling at the other students. They watched and pointed as at each line as a new student arrived in an order that still made no sense to Cloyd. He simply did what he always did at lunch time: he followed the ears and tail of the guy in front of him, and kept his head down as the class leaders took up their positions, either at the door or policing the line, ensuring each student kept their lips shut, eyes and ears forward, and moving.
"You destroyed our room again," A voice growled in his ear.
"I....I didn't mean to. I'll clean it up," Cloyd pleaded quietly in earnest. He turned his head to look at the muzzle and horns of his roommate, but instead met the small face of a rabbit kid, his triangular nose and muzzle wrinkled up in disgust. "No talking in line," he sneered, his tall ears folded back.
Cloyd glared down at him, pointed with his ear to the bull behind him. "Tell that to him."
The rabbit looked over at the bull and glared at him. "You too," he frowned. "You'll both be on kitchen duty tonight if you say another word."
Kitchen duty was about the worst of all the duties. It was impossible to get out of there without smelling like bleach and ammonia and the other chemicals they used to clean the floors and polish the seats of the building. His fur would reek of stale grease, salt and cleaners for weeks.
The rabbit rotated looked up at both of them, and gave his best imitation of a growl, "I'm keeping an ear on both of you," he rotated an ear in their direction as he walked away, weaving deftly through the thick mass of bodies.
"Living with you is like living with a hurricane. You destroy everything in your path," he heard behind him.
Cloyd clenched his jaw shut. His ears folded back, burning in embarrassment, eyes glaring at the back of the student in front of him. Cloyd clenched his paws in anger, a snarl forming on his muzzle. He tried hard to not look. To just be good, like his father had asked him to before he left. When the paw landed on his shoulder and spun him around, Cloyd just saw the large head of his roommate smash down upon his head, right between the eyes. The world became colors and stars for a moment as the young fox fell to the ground.
"You lazy slob, you're lucky I don't gore ya," the bovid snarled as he raised his foot to stomp on him.
Each blow felt like a hammer fall. Cloyd curled up, anger simmering inside him, but knowing there was nothing he could do. He laid on the ground taking it: taking the abuse, the snarls. The insults. Anger simmered within. As the leg crashed down again, something within Cloyd snapped.
His paw grabbed the hoof of his horned roommate. Standing he lifted it up as high as he could, a deep guttural growl rising in his throat that began to rise in volume and pitch, becoming a high warble. The bull tumbled backwards, knocking down two hapless students who happened to be unlucky enough to be behind him.
He leaped. At first with fists, raining down blow after blow. Then with blunted claws, raking at his face. The bull had his hands covering his eyes, shaking his horns around, trying his best to get lucky and catch Cloyd in his wild movements.
Cloyd never saw the ears or muzzles of the ones who grabbed him and hauled him up. He began kicking and snapping, and only stopped struggling after he looked upwards, and saw the familiar face of the old canine, glowering down at him. Two familiar figures sat at his right and left, holding his arms. One was his class leader. The other was the colt from earlier, the one who had tripped him.
"Please, sirs, escort Mr. Smith to my office," Mr. Cainbridge said, then turned and walked away without another word.
The line closed back up after he was dragged away. Efficient. Clean. The other students never even turned their heads. Their ears tracked his movements as he was dragged away, but no one dared to look otherwise. Each quietly moving in line waiting their turn cold. Efficient. Just like the rest of the school. As he passed the founder's statue, he looked up one final time. Still lost in that thought, head still held high, and finger still up. Now though, it seemed that for some reason he cast his eyes downward, in scorn and disapproval of Cloyd and the chaos he seemed to stand for.
The ground beneath Cloyd's feet changed from grass to stone walk ways, then to stairs and finally marbled floors. He stared down at it all as he walked, half dragged through the school's grounds. Twin cold fox eyes stared down, his ears folded in pure misery, his tail tucked firmly in shame. Finally, after the longest walk of Cloyd's life, he was stood in front of two very large dark oak doors. They were doors he was well acquainted with. It was an office he had seen quite a lot of in his short time there.
The horse reached forward, and pulled the door open and stood by while the rabbit and horse students shoved him inside. In a tumble of limbs, ears and tail, Cloyd landed at the foot of the headmaster's desk. "Mister Smith," the old canine said in a disapproving tone, "Why, you made it almost three days before ending up here. That's quite the record for you."
Cloyd stood, slowly, brushing off his shirt and jacket as best as he could. His tail was tucked so far between his legs, it looked as if he grew a third. His ears were plastered to his low hung head. "It's not my fault, Mr. Cainbridge, honest," Cloyd began.
His statement was cut off with a cold look from the headmaster. Cloyd looked down at the dark marble floor that had been polished to a mirror shine. "Please, look at me, Mr. Smith," the headmaster said. When Cloyd looked up, he had walked out from around his desk, and began to walk over towards the wall. "Do you know what this is," the headmaster asked, as he walked over to a framed formula.
Cloyd had a suspicion, but kept his mouth shut. "This," the old canine continued, "is the formula and schematics your father himself had begun in my class. I worked on it with him as he grew through the years. This is the start of his steam engine. The one that powers all of our big and small ships, our factories, and in fact has built the very fortune that's allowed you to attend our fine school. It's this formula and schematics that has built most of our modern society.
"Your father was much like you. Lost in his own thoughts most of the day. However, unlike you he made friends. Asked for their help in his designs and even was able to start the founding of his early business in these hallways." As Mr. Cainbridge carried on with his speech, Cloyd almost rolled his eyes. That story he'd heard many times, usually from his father when he was sent back home from each school he was kicked out of.
"You seem to prefer however, chaos to harmony. Disruption to interaction, and violence to conversation. I do not fault your father," Mr. Cainbridge began.
"Oh no," Cloyd remarked with bitter sarcasm as he rolled his eyes, "cause he's an absolute saint!"
He threw his hand paws to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Silently, he prayed to anyone listening for Mr. Cainbridge to have gone deaf temporarily. For the last five seconds to be rewound so he could have his words back. For lightening to strike him then or a fire to break out or something to happen, anything that would save him.
He heard nothing. Maybe the headmaster didn't hear him? Cloyd opened his eyes one at a time, slowly, and looked up directly into the large scowling muzzle of Mr. Cainbridge. His wrinkled cheeks and nose glared down at him scornfully. His ears twisted forward in that hound dog expression he was so good at: judgmental and caring all at the same time. The perfect professor glare. He didn't say anything for a moment. For several moments. Then, he walked back behind his desk, his tail brushing the small globe, causing it to spin.
It rotated slowly, landing on the Cherikos islands, where most of the legends of One Ear'd Jack were supposed to have taken place. Cloyd could almost see that rabbit pirate now, standing aboard his steamer, Mary Jane, named after his lost love. On the deck, he'd be looking sternly out towards the ocean, still searching for the mask that would save her.
"Are you even listening," Mr. Cainbridge growled.
"Huh," Cloyd asked, looking up at the scowling muzzle of the headmaster again.
His beady eyes grew even smaller as he glowered at the young fox. "Mr. Smith. I think we've reached a point where this school can no longer assist you."
He sat down and opened a file and began writing in it. Cloyd felt the Earth drop beneath his feet again. This was his last chance. Dad had told him it was his last chance! "Come on! Please," Cloyd begged, looking up at Mr. Cainbridge, "I can change! I....I can...."
The headmaster ignored his pleas and continued writing. The fox devolved into a soft whimper as his world continued to spin around him. Finally, the headmaster looked down at him. It was a different look. This time one of pity. "Follow me," he said, his eyes growing softer behind the many folds of skin on his muzzle.
They both walked towards the massive window that sat on the far wall overlooking the square. Mr. Cainbridge pointed downward towards the statue, his paw fur grown thin and grey with age. "You know who that is?"
"The school founder," Cloyd mumbled, looking down at the horse.
"Yes. Henry Equiis. He founded this school many years ago on a single principle. Different pups have different needs when it comes to education. This one is for those types of minds who love rigidity and structure. Who find a sort of freedom within the numbers, the formulas, the equations. Who can finally feel at peace as they conduct experiments and work on problems, not to prove old solutions, but to come up with their own solutions. For some types, this school sets them free." A heavy paw laid on his shoulder. "You're not that type, Cloyd. That doesn't mean you're worse than any of the students here. It just means your different. You don't have to tell me, that this school for you has become a prison."
The fox nodded vigorously. "I...still can't get my head around half my classes."
"You haven't even been to the labs in weeks to work on any experiments," Mr. Cainbridge replied.
Cloyd nodded again. "I'm sorry, I just get lost. I'm given a problem and then I try and figure out how the problem happened, because I can't see a solution and then, well, I get lost again."
"I'll write a letter to your father. Your mission at this school is over, Mr. Smith. But you have a new mission now. To find out what it is that you were meant to do." The headmaster didn't ask him if he understood. He simply turned around and walked back to his desk.
"Pack your things. We'll have you out on a steamer in the morning." Mr. Cainbridge replied.
There was a moment there that was almost helpful. Almost emotional and heartwarming. But the moment was gone. It summed up a lot about the school for Cloyd. Almost helpful. Almost a place he could call home. But in the end, it's just another place I don't belong, he thought.
Cloyd turned to leave, giving Mr. Cainbridge one last look before he left. He could see his father, sitting there on the other side of the desk, working diligently as Mr. Cainbridge looked over him with care and comfort, gently hugging the proud kit like the father that his dad never had. In that moment, Cloyd realized that he was not his father. Not anything like his father, and never would be.
"Mr. Cainbridge, sir," Cloyd mumbled, as he stood in the doorway. "I just want you to know, that I'm not my dad. I'm not Woodrow Smith."
The soft scratching of pencil on paper filled the room. The old canine stopped, tilting his head in confusion for a second, then looked back down and began to write. "My dear kit, I never said you were. I made no comparison between you and your father. I only want you to be Cloyd Smith. Not another Woodrow Smith."
There it was again. Another moment where that was almost emotional, almost touching. He almost had a father figure who could help him and reach him and teach him. Almost, but not enough. It was almost like home. Cloyd nodded solemnly, then left to return to his room and pack. He could have gone back to the Dining Hall to eat, but somehow, he didn't feel very hungry now.

##

Dear reader:
Thank you for reading this preview chapter. I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter of my novel. If you'd like to see how everything turns out with Cloyd and see the grand adventure he embarks upon, you can do so on Amazon: https://a.co/d/cGQTJT9
It is filled with danger, adventure, pirates, corrupt naval captains, and treasure. Though I must warn you this adventure that Cloyd finds himself in is also fraught with danger and with danger there's always some violence.
I hope you'll give the novel a try, but if not, I do thank you for adventuring this far into the tale and perhaps will see you on the high seas sometime in the future. One Ear'd Jack did invite you, and it is best to not keep him waiting....


Louis