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Haiku Day

A daily haiku, built in rounds.

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Haiku Day — A daily haiku, built in rounds.

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Everyone gets the same hand of words each day. Arrange them into a 5-7-5 haiku on one theme, then end the round to take its temperature. Too hot, and you're dealt more words, fewer each round, until your poem goes solid or freezes.

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    Daily scoresOne signed score per day (rkey haiku-day:<date>), used for streaks.How to get this
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    rpg.actor sheetDays played, and days won in a row, on your rpg.actor sheet.How to get this
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Chapter 11 — The Kelpwood CompassChapter 11 My lungs are burning. I want to open my mouth and gasp for air, but the surface of the water is above me. I’m kicking and thrashing my arms. Then I feel a hand on my waist and I’m moving, up, up, and my head is above the water and I open my mouth and take a deep breath. “Come on up, little one,” Patience says from the rowboat, offering me a hand. I’m pulled in and slump down next to Gull. He’s still wearing the life vest but seems to be stirring, although his eyes are still closed. I look around. Corvino isn’t there. Then I see Patience lean over the side and pull the Captain up out of the water. “I thought you’d gone to Davy Jones for a moment,” Corvino tells me, slapping me on the shoulder. “You’ll be learning to swim properly if you’re to join my crew.” As Corvino sits, Patience is quick to the oars and we’re moving. Looking ahead, I see The Prodigal anchored nearby. I can just make out the movement on the deck as people seem to be getting ready to sail. Join the crew. Corvino’s words sit with me. Only a few minutes ago I’d given up on him coming back and been ready to spend the rest of my life kept by Thale. But now, maybe he wasn’t lying about his pirates’ code? When he’d swum out of the cave, I’d thought I’d lost the compass. Now, as we row towards The Prodigal, I know there’s still a chance to find my dad and get back home. Back on board The Prodigal, Patience is barking orders: bring up the boat, raise the anchor, open the sails. Corvino pulls me aside. “You’ve had a long night, Mateo,” he says softly. “Best to get some rest below decks.” “Thank you,” I say, grateful for the chance and not wanting to press the question of the compass right away. I’m heading for a hatch just as I hear the shouting. “STORM WINGS!” It’s Anvil’s voice, and the rest of the crew picks it up. “Barnacles!” Corvino curses, running to the helm. “Full sail! Weapons out!” At the shouts, the demeanour on the deck changes. The sails are opened fast, and I can feel us moving forward. I see the anchor brought on deck and hastily stowed. Mags has emerged from a hatch carrying a chest. It’s heaved onto the deck, and I see a jumbled collection of cutlasses. The crew is grabbing them and taking up positions around the deck. Feeling useless, I run to the chest and grab a sword. It’s heavy and awkward in my hand. “This one!” It’s Anvil. He’s standing beside me and hands me a shorter sword with enough space on the handle for me to get two hands on it. “Thank you,” I say as he limps off with a cutlass in his fist. I scan the horizon, but I don’t see any ships. I glance over at Mags, who is standing beside the weapons chest; she’s staring up at the sky. I follow her gaze and then spot it. High above us is the shape of a bird, circling, but at that distance it seems too big to be any bird I’ve ever seen, and there’s something else, something on its back? As I watch, the bird’s shape changes, its wings folding in, and then it seems to get bigger and bigger. “DIVING!” Mags yells out, steadying herself. I can see it clearly now. A large hooked beak, brown feathers, and wings tucked to the side. The bird itself must be the size of a horse. On its back is a small figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long leather jacket – the boy from Thale’s house. He’s almost on us when the boat swings heavily to port. The bird opens its wings and catches itself, turning and climbing for another dive. “DIVING!” Mags calls out again as the bird tucks its wings in, but this time they anticipate our manoeuvre. The bird and rider swoop across the deck, lifting Old Sums from his post by the rail and throwing him into the sea. The boy jumps from the bird as it passes low over the deck, rolling to a crouch and springing to his feet. Splinters runs at the boy, cutlass drawn, but the boy is faster with his whip and pulls Splinters’ feet out from underneath him. Splinters goes down hard, and before he can get up, the boy kicks him in the face, knocking him out. I see Corvino still at the helm, his eyes on the sky, watching as the giant bird circles again. The boy on the deck has turned and is making a run at Corvino now. Grasping the short sword tightly in my hand, I race after him, determined to stop him. Before I can catch up, Corvino sees the boy coming and manages to get his cutlass drawn. The boy’s whip cracks, but Corvino uses the wheel as cover and then springs at the boy. Close up, the boy’s whip is useless, and Corvino thrusts and slashes, but the boy is quick and reads Corvino’s every move. Then I see it: the giant bird, swooping low to the boat again. “WATCH OUT!” I cry, but it’s too late. The bird snatches up Corvino, who screams out in pain. I watch as the bird starts to climb, but Corvino still has his sword. He slashes wildly at the bird’s legs, and there’s a loud cry as the bird opens its talons and drops Corvino. I see Corvino fall. It feels like forever, and then he hits the deck hard with a thud. I run to him. He’s bleeding from his side, and one of his legs is twisted, probably broken, but it seems like he’s breathing. I look up and the boy is bearing down on me now. I stand defiantly, holding the sword in front of me. Crack – the whip lashes out, stinging my hand, and I drop the sword. I reach to grab it, but – crack – another lash from the whip, this time wrapping itself around my wrist. The boy gives the whip a tug and pulls me to the deck, and then starts to drag me towards him. His eyes are cold and blue, and he stares at me as he pulls me towards him. All of a sudden, something small and brown hits the boy in the head. He turns, loosening his pull on the whip. I’m able to pull it free from my wrist. Across the deck, Weevil is throwing the clay cups from the crew’s meal. The boy swats the next one out of the air easily and then lashes out with the whip. It wraps itself around Weevil’s throat, and the boy pulls it tighter as I see Weevil struggle for air. I lunge forward – this time the boy isn’t ready for me, and I slam into him, knocking him to the deck. It’s a quick scramble, but then I feel both his boots connect with my chest and throw me off him. Scrambling to my feet and facing him, I see he’s dropped his whip. Quickly I glance around and see it just beside me. I dive for it, but he’s clocked it first and beats me to it, grabbing it and getting to his feet. He quickly kicks me once in the side, knocking the wind out of me, and then goes to kick me again when Mags and Patience come running, swords drawn. I get to my feet and watch, but even two on one, the boy seems more than a match for both of them. He easily dodges both thrusts and swings. Mags thrusts, but where the boy was standing only a second before is air. He spins towards her, grabbing the sword from her hand and turning it to parry a blow from Patience. Now armed with a sword, the boy and Patience duel along the deck, trading blows on each other’s swords. At first they seem evenly matched, but then I notice it: the boy is leading, turning Patience. “THE HOLD!” I yell, but Patience has already taken the step, turning to counter the boy’s thrust. His foot finds empty space where the hold was left open, and he tumbles down, slamming into the deck. “BOOM!” I hear Anvil’s voice, and all of a sudden a large wooden beam swings wildly across the deck, trailing the loose line that’s been cut in two. The boy sees it, but it’s huge and wild, and as he dodges, he’s clipped by the beam and thrown over the side. I see Mags run to the side of the boat, but before she can get there, the giant bird swoops up past the side and into the air, the boy on its back. “TAKE THE HELM!” It’s Weevil shouting, and I realize he’s shouting at me. I look around; Corvino is laying on the deck, grasping his injured side but in no condition to stand, and somehow in the chaos I’ve managed to end up closest to the helm. I quickly run there and grab the wheel with both hands. Above us, the bird has climbed and seems to be getting ready for another dive. I take a deep breath and then wait. I see the wings tuck, and then I turn. The wheel in my hand is sluggish, not like Inés’ sailboat. The Prodigal starts to turn, but I can tell we won’t escape this attack. The bird’s wings open, its talons out, and it tears at one of our sails before going up again. He’s going to leave us dead in the water. After that, we’ll be easy pickings. Another dive. This time I anticipate it and turn hard just before. The boat is moving, but it’s still too slow. Before it reaches our sails, though, the bird opens its wings and turns. Then I feel The Prodigal list to port, and from the starboard side what looks like a giant whale launches itself into the air. Its body stays vertical for half a second, and I can see it dwarfs our ship, and then it slams down, throwing a huge wave that crashes over our deck. Off to port, a huge jet of water shoots into the air. “Leviathans!” the crew screams, and they start to gather in the centre of the boat. Another jet of water, this one to our starboard, and then two more off our bow and stern. We’re surrounded. Up in the air, the bird is circling but seems to be keeping its distance. Keeping a hand on the wheel, I look back over the side of the ship. Just below the waterline, I can see the huge grey shape of the Leviathan. It’s nearly twice as long as the ship, with a tail fin the size of a school bus. Its front fins are long and winglike, resembling a humpback whale’s, but its head is blocky, more like a sperm whale’s. “HELP!” I hear the cry before I spot him. There, hanging from a loose boom line and clinging on to the side of the ship, is Old Sums. He seems terrified but okay. “HELP!” he screams out again. “Man overboard!” I shout, turning to face the crew. They’re all huddled in the middle of the deck; none of them move. “Old Sums is off the starboard quarter,” I say, wondering if they didn’t understand. It’s Mags who moves first, making her way to the edge and looking over. “Weevil, Anvil, come help me,” she calls, crouching by the rail. I don’t understand why they’re all acting like this. I look up, and the shape of the bird is still circling but seems to be trailing further behind us now, like it’s giving up. Are they afraid of the Leviathans? Anvil stays frozen, but Weevil finds the courage and goes to the rail to help Mags, and together they manage to get Old Sums on deck. I hold the wheel steady, occasionally feeling a little push as the Leviathans to our port and starboard nudge us onto some new course. I’m not sure where they’re taking us, but as long as they’re with us we seem to be safe from the boy and his bird. It’s nearly nightfall when the Leviathan at our bow tips its huge tail fin into the air, diving down deep and leaving us. The ones to the port, starboard, and stern do the same. I check the sky, but the silhouette of the bird has been absent for many hours. Down on deck, Corvino and the rest of the crew have been patched up. Gull is awake again, and Old Sums sits wrapped in a blanket, but they all still huddle together. Patience is the only one who has joined me up at the helm. After coming to and climbing out of the hold, he’d seen the Leviathans and stared in wonder before joining me. “Do you want to take the helm?” I’d asked him. “I cannot while these creatures guide us,” he’d told me. “Why are they afraid of them?” I’d asked, gesturing at the crew. “Because they don’t know their nature, and people fear what they don’t know,” Patience had said. “You’re not afraid?” I’d posed it as a question, but it was clear. “My mother’s people live their whole lives on boats following these creatures. They protect the creatures and in exchange the creatures show them where the best fish are.” “Splinters told me your father did something…” I let it hang, both unsure of what the words Splinters had used meant and worried I’d overstepped. “My father led Flensers – Leviathan hunters – to our fNov 12, 2026Chapter 10 — The Kelpwood CompassChapter 10 “Leave the talking to me,” Captain Corvino says to me before turning back to the large oak door. Corvino, Gull, and I have made our way out of the multicoloured homes where the safe house is nestled and into the broad tree-lined slopes of the Mansion district. Corvino gives the door a single loud knock with his left hand; his right hangs at his side casually, clutching a small leather satchel that holds the one rubber duck I’d managed to save from the canals. After Corvino’s announcement of a plan at the safe house, he’d pulled Patience off to the side and exchanged hushed words for a moment. Then, returning to the crew, he’d pointed. “Gull, Mateo, you’ll be with me. The rest of you – back to the ship, make her ready. I feel we may be making a hasty exit.” The door opens. A burly man grunts and gestures us in. We’re led through a series of winding hallways. All throughout, the house is lavishly appointed: marble and gold, fine fabrics and paintings. Big men, like the one guiding us, tall and broad-shouldered, stand guard in every room we pass. “Thale’s prized stable,” Gull says to me in a hush. “Stable?” I ask softly. “His fighters,” Gull explains. “Thale runs the city’s underground fights, makes odds, takes the wagers, and some say” – his voice drops lower – “fixes the outcomes.” “What are they doing here?” I ask Gull. “It’s the trade-off. If they fight the way he wants, then they live here; otherwise they live on the wharfs,” Gull tells me. I imagine what it would be like to live in a big house like this, what I would give up to live here. Finally our guide pushes open an ornate set of double doors that leads into a spectacular sitting room with high windows overlooking the sea out beyond Port Aurelia. In the centre of the room, sitting in an oversized armchair, is a small yellow-skinned man with fine thinning hair. Beside him stands someone who looks to be a boy my age. He’s wearing a long leather jacket and a wide-brimmed hat that wouldn’t look out of place in an old cowboy movie. “Your esteemed scholarship, Ambrose Thale,” Corvino says, bowing low and even dipping a knee towards the floor. “I’ve come on the matter of my debt. I have with me here but a small sample of the vast riches that my faithful crew have collected from the Aldobrandi family vault.” The yellow-skinned man in the chair gives a little laugh, then a harsh dry cough, before standing to address us. “Ah, my good friend Captain Corvino, and you brought people.” Thale smiles. He’s missing teeth, and the ones he has are yellowed and stained. “Now show me what it is you’ve brought me,” Thale demands, eyeing the leather satchel in Corvino’s hand. “But one,” Corvino says, placing the satchel on the table. “I propose an exchange. Forgive our debt – in full – and the location of the rest, every last one, is yours.” “Ah… wise man,” Thale tells him, reaching out and grabbing the satchel. He opens it and withdraws the rubber duck, still in its packaging. “Hm,” he says, admiring the duck. “Beautiful. And how many are there?” “Untold numbers,” Corvino says dramatically. “Thousands, I hear,” Thale says, locking his eyes on Corvino. “Enough for every man, woman and child in Port Aurelia to have one.” “Of course, if everyone had one, then no one would pay the sort of premium an item from across the Morrow Line could command. If someone could just fish them out of the canals… well, they wouldn’t be worth anything, would they now?” Thale leaves it as a question, but I can tell that Corvino knows the game is up. “I suppose not,” Corvino says. “But you’d be the only one –“ “ENOUGH!” Thale cuts Corvino off. “ENOUGH of your schemes! I didn’t hire you for how you play at pirate. I hired you for your name, and here even your name has failed. I have word from my people that boxes of these… these… things! are floating all over the city.” “I obviously didn’t motivate you properly last time you failed,” Thale continues, sneering. “Maybe the next captain of The Prodigal will understand what it means to fail me.” “HA HA HA!” Corvino gives out a big laugh. I can tell it’s forced, but just hearing it is jarring. “Did you really believe that I’d come empty-handed?” Corvino says. “Here!” Corvino exclaims, suddenly grabbing my arm and dragging me forward. Thale’s eyes lock onto me, looking me over, trying to see what it is that Corvino has seen. “This boy has crossed the Morrow Line, this boy knows things about the other side, things that only you will be able to learn. Everyone in the city may have one of those trinkets, but only you will know how they work.” I look back at Corvino. He’s locked a toothy smile on his face, and his eyes, staring at Thale, won’t meet my gaze. “Interesting,” Thale says, considering for a moment. “Boy!?” He addresses me directly. “Is this true?” “Yes,” I say nervously. “You know who I am?” he asks. “Thale,” I reply. “Scholar Ambrose Thale,” he says, correcting me. “Do you know what that means, Scholar?” “It means you’ve studied something?” I guess. Thale nods. “I’m a Scholar, third circle, of the Maritime Society. You’ve heard of them, right?” I shake my head no. “Interesting, interesting,” Thale says, rolling the words over in his mouth before holding up the rubber duck. “Do you know what this is?” he asks. “It’s a rubber duck,” I tell him, dreading where the questions are going. “A. Rubber. Duck.” Thale savours every word. “And can you tell me what it’s used for?” he asks. I try to think of something, maybe tell him it’s a weapon that takes years of training, or that it’s our currency system, or anything, but my mind keeps drawing blanks. “Come on, can you tell me or not?” Thale presses. “It’s… it’s not really for anything,” I stammer. Thale eyes me for a minute and then shakes his head. “Corvino, Corvino, Corvino, you almost had me. Thousands of these things and you expect me to believe that they serve no purpose. Well, still, you cost the Aldobrandis dearly, knocked out a competitor of sorts for me, and this Wharf Rat, he’s very convincing. I think I’ll keep him. A soft bed and a full plate in a house like this – he’ll want for nothing. As for you and your man there… well, debts must be paid.” “GUARDS!” Thale calls, and goes to sit back in his chair. In a whirl of his coat, Corvino leaps into the air, drawing a cutlass and landing squarely on the table in front of Thale. Corvino leans in, touching the tip of the sword to Thale’s neck. “You’ll release us from our debts one way or another,” Corvino tells Thale. Thale leans into the sword. I can see a small trickle of blood running down his neck. “You’re a fool, and a dead man,” he says softly to Corvino. A whip crack, and Corvino’s sword flies clear across the room. The boy who’d been quiet the whole time holds a whip in his hand, its long leather length pooled on the floor near his feet. Corvino goes to grab his other sword, but before he can, another crack, and the whip is wrapped around his wrist. He struggles, unable to reach the sword hilt. Seeing a chance, I charge the boy, but he sees me coming, moves only half a step and trips me, sending me sliding across the floor. As I look back, Thale is leaving through a secret door hidden in a marble panel. “Have fun on your way out,” Thale says as he disappears into the passage. The boy with the whip is right behind him in a flash, and the heavy panel shuts. “HELP ME!” Corvino calls as he rushes to the panel and tries to push it. I join him, but it’s no use; the door is jammed shut. “CAPTAIN!” It’s Gull’s voice. He’s holding a bar across the double doors, but with the huge guards on the other side he can’t hold them for long. Corvino surveys the room. The duck is still on the table where Thale left it. Corvino grabs it and calls out, “And now, gentlemen, we take our leave!” Grabbing a small statue, he throws it through the large window, causing the glass to shatter, and then he leaps through and disappears below the window ledge. Gull is still holding the door. “GO!” he says to me. I don’t need a second reminder. I run and jump out the window. It’s a long way down, but I land on soft, sloped ground. I feel a pain shoot up through my legs. It doesn’t feel like anything is broken, but… Gull lands right behind me. He’s bigger and heavier, and he slams straight into me, sending us both down the grassy hill. Over and over I roll until at last, with a painful thud, I stop, the wind knocked out of me. I look around. I’m up against a small white tree, the beginning of what looks like a forest that stretches out beneath me. Gull is off to my side, not moving. “Good, you’re both safe.” It’s Corvino. I look over and see him standing there, out of breath, scraped and bruised, but in one piece. I manage to pull myself up to my feet using the tree. “I’m safe, no thanks to you!” I say, bitterness cutting into my tone. Before I can lay into Corvino further, I notice that Gull still hasn’t moved. I head over. His breath is shallow but regular. I touch his head; there’s no blood or anything. He must just have gotten knocked out by the fall. “Is he hurt?” Corvino asks, coming to my side, a note of real concern in his voice. “I think he’s just unconscious,” I say. Corvino looks around. “We’re not safe here,” he says. “We have to get out of his gardens.” “Help me with him,” I say to Corvino, trying to get my arm under Gull’s body. Corvino comes over, and together we’re able to scoop Gull up and hold him between us. We head down the gentle slope of the forest, Corvino and I with Gull dragging between us. Corvino is directing our path, turning left and then right subtly, like he’s been here before. “Was it a ruse?” I ask as we walk. “Of course,” he says, and then explains, “The pirates’ code says you’re not to leave a man behind. Do they not have the pirates’ code where you’re from?” I think about all the pirate books I’ve read. “We have a saying: no honour among thieves,” I tell him. Corvino thinks about it for a minute. “Aye, I can see why you wouldn’t trust me, then. But I am an honourable pirate, and I keep to my code.” I’m not sure I believe him. “Here,” Corvino says triumphantly as we come to an old broken tree, larger than the others and standing alone. He helps me lower Gull to the ground. I watch as he presses on what looks like a mossy knot in the tree, and a door swings open. “Go ahead,” Corvino offers. “I’ll bring Gull. We won’t fit three abreast.” I walk to the old dead tree. As I get closer, I notice that it’s not a tree at all but a stone structure made to look like a tree. Inside, a stone staircase spirals down into the ground. Nervously I step forward and begin to make my way down. I’m about two-thirds of a turn in when the whole area is plunged into darkness. “Keep your hand to the outside wall and keep going,” Corvino’s voice calls down. I realize that he’s closed the door behind us. I can’t even make out his shape in the darkness, and I wonder if he really brought Gull with him. We descend what seems like forever in the darkness when I see a sliver of light at the bottom. The staircase opens up into a small paved landing built into a grotto. A little sunlight comes in through a small opening, but most of the light is from the blue-green glow of the water. Corvino is right behind me. I turn and see him coming out of the staircase, Gull awkwardly slumped over his shoulder. He puts him down and looks around. “I had hoped we’d all be conscious for this part,” Corvino says, glancing at Gull. “You planned this?” I ask. “The second rule of being a pirate, Master Delmar: never enter a room you cannot leave,” Corvino says. “By now Patience has brought The Prodigal around, and she’s waiting on the other side of those rocks,” Corvino says, gesturing to the stone wall. “We swim out and there’s a rowboat waiting for us.” “I can’t swim,” I tell him. Corvino stares at me and then back to Gull. “You’re not the only one. We needNov 12, 2026Chapter 9 — The Kelpwood CompassChapter 9 The container slams into the canal wall with the crash of metal on stone. From my perch on the side, I’m almost thrown into the water, but I manage to hold on. I can hear shouting – not Splinters or Gull; it must be someone seeing us. The container is floating, the barrels helping to hold its big awkward shape out of the water. I pull myself up, getting my feet perched on a barrel and then climbing the coarse rope to pull myself up the side. I’m almost there when I feel a strong hand grasp my arm and help me the rest of the way. It’s Splinters; he’s already on top of the container. “Did you get all your barrels tied?” he asks me. I shake my head no. “I got seven,” I say. He seems pleased. “Seven should hold us,” he says to me reassuringly. At the back, Gull stands, his tall shape and hooked nose barely visible in the dark. He’s working the long pole he brought, pushing it into the mud and turning the container into the canal. The process feels agonizingly slow, but at last his strong, deliberate pushes have us moving down the canal and out towards the harbour. As we pass between two warehouses, I can see what all the shouting is about. In a neighbouring warehouse, what looks like a small fire is burning, and people are running to put it out. A small thud turns my attention to the back of the container, where a dark shape has just landed from seemingly out of nowhere. As she stands, I make out the shape to be Mags. “You like my distraction?” Mags asks, surveying the three of us arranged on the top of the container. “I’d expected it to be bigger,” Gull says to her. “I expected more warning,” Mags snaps back to him. Gull gives a push, and our view of the fire is blocked by another warehouse. We pass the spot where we parted with Patience and then turn into another canal, heading away from the harbour. The tide is still going out, and I can see Gull pushing against it with all his strength, but we’ve slowed to a crawl. Mags makes her way up to the front of the container, where Splinters and I are sitting, and crouches down with us. Gull has snuffed out the oil lamp, and we all stare ahead into the darkness. “Gull knows these canals like his own family,” Mags says. “He’s run barges up and down these for his whole life.” I take another look back at Gull, planting and twisting the pole for each push, and I wonder – a container lashed to barrels is not a barge. At last we come to an intersection, our little canal joining a much larger one lined with boats. “The Grand Canals,” Splinters tells me. “Legends say that Port Aurelia was founded by three sea captains who dragged islands together to form the lagoon. The Grand Canals are where the islands are divided.” I look around: behind us are squat grey stone buildings like the warehouses. Across the canal I can see the large building with the gold dome rising up, surrounded on all sides by buildings of various shapes, sizes, and colours. Gull pushes us ahead, crossing the canal. I catch sight of the opening of a small canal he seems to be heading for. Then we’re moving sideways, spinning a little; we must have caught a current. I watch as the small canal drifts further out of our path. We’re not going to make it. I look back at Gull. His jaw is clenched and his face set like Inés’s was when we crossed the Morrow Line. He gives one big push, and our sideways drift stops. We’re out of the current and almost across the Grand Canals, but we’ve passed the small canal by a little. The container twists and drifts as Gull tries to line it up, and then – “Hold tight,” Splinters says, grabbing one of the ropes. I see it too and grab on. SLAM – the container bangs into the side of the canal. We’re twisted, and in the narrow canal we won’t fit unless we’re straight on. “Founders’ ashes,” Gull mutters from his post in the back, but I can feel him straightening us out. Then, with a sudden jerk, the container dips to its right corner. Looking over the side, I see it. One of the barrels I’d lashed, the seventh one I’d done in a hurry, has come undone. Without it, the container is listing to the side. “It’s okay,” Splinters says. “As long as we don’t lose another.” Gull is fighting the awkwardly listing container. At least the current is with us now, helping us down the canal. Up ahead the canal seems to be a dead end. I stare at it, looking for how we’re going to get through, and then I see it: a hard left turn. Gull is turning us, getting ready to make the corner, but the container is long, and as we turn, one of the barrels catches on the canal wall, stopping us dead in the water. “We’re caught,” Splinters says. Scrambling to the side, he pulls a small knife from his belt. Clutching it in his teeth, he grabs one of the lines and slides over the edge. With his feet balanced on the barrel that’s caught, he takes the knife and hacks at its line, once, twice, and then there’s a creaking sound and a crunching pop. All of a sudden the whole front of the container dips to the left, lifting the back end up out of the water. Splinters is thrown into the water, but we’re moving again, and as I scramble to the edge I see him thrashing. He grabs on to the wreckage of the barrel he was standing on, crushed between the wall and the container. “Splinters!” I call out, but I don’t get a response. In the back I see Gull crouching and holding a line like his life depends on it. His pole is gone; he must have dropped it. We’re being pushed by the current now with no way to stop ourselves. The front end of the container is digging into the water, waves washing over it, sinking lower and lower every second. “To the back!” I shout to Mags. “Help me!” She doesn’t hesitate and follows me as I climb to the back, undoing the lashings that hold the barrels to the container as we go. Finally, with all the lines free and our combined weight in the back, the container rights itself, drifting lazily down the canal. “It floats!” Gull says, impressed. “The doors are sealed,” I tell him. “As long as no water gets in, it should float on its own for a while.” “You’ve seen these things before?” Mags asks, confused. “I’ve heard about them,” I say, trying my best to sound convincing, then, “What about Splinters?” “He’ll be okay,” Gull says. “The water isn’t deep, and there’s lots of places for him to get out of the canal.” “He knows the way to the safe house,” Mags adds. “How far is the safe house?” I ask. Gull looks at the buildings built up to the sides of the canal as if getting his bearings. “Not far, but that’s not the real problem.” “What’s the problem?” I ask, worried. “The problem,” Gull says deliberately, “is that we have one more turn and I lost my pole.” I think about it. Without the pole we can’t steer. If we miss the turn, we won’t make the safe house. If we don’t make the safe house, we’ll be three pirates floating on a stolen container in the middle of the canal come sunrise. We have to find a way to steer. We all sit quietly, watching the backs of the buildings that abut the canal drift by, thinking about what we’re going to do. “There it is.” Gull points ahead to a wider canal branching left off of this one. The current has slowed, and as I eye the edges of the canal, I see eddies form along the turn. If we can just start down it, we should be able to ride the current around the corner. “Mags, Mateo, hold my waist,” Gull calls out. I look over to see him edging his way to the side of the container, and then I see what he’s eyeing. Just up ahead from the right side of the canal is a large beam. I scramble over and grab on to his waist. Mags does the same, and Gull leans out over the edge and manages to get a hand around the beam as we pass it. The container is heavy, but in the slow current our weight is enough, and the container starts to spin, turning wide into the canal. “Now!” Gull says, pushing off of the beam, and the container drifts across the canal, its front starting to make the turn. I can feel the current picking up and helping us along. We’re almost there. “We’ve done it,” I say out loud, relieved that Gull’s move actually worked. I can feel it before I see the change. The back end of the container, still jutting out into the narrower canal, starts to drift. We keep turning, slipping backwards into the narrow canal, the container turned all the way around. We’ve missed the turn. “Curse it,” Mags mutters as we watch our turn drift away behind us. “Is there another turn?” she asks Gull. “There is, but we won’t make it,” he says, pointing ahead. A short bridge spans the canal up ahead. In a boat we’d have to duck to get under it. In the container there’s no way we’ll make it. “What if we empty the container?” I say. “Empty the container?” Mags asks, the words seemingly foreign to her. “This is a shipping container,” I say, giving up any ruse. “Where I’m from, they use them to move goods on and off boats. Whatever the client – Thale – wants will be inside. We open it up, take what we can and carry it to the safe house.” Gull looks from me to the bridge and nods. It’s the best plan we have now. We may not get everything out before the container sinks, but at least we won’t be caught or left empty-handed. I scurry to the back of the container, where the door is now, and slide down the end, splashing into the water but keeping hold of the metal latch that secures the container. The latch is simple enough; I’ve seen similar ones on trucks that stop by Ashburn. I flip one metal toggle and then another, pivoting the latch. Then the door I’m holding onto swings open, and water starts to fill the container. Waterlogged now, the container tips back towards me and starts to sink. Mags and Gull manage to hold on, but then, with a loud crash, the container rams into the bridge, throwing them into the shallow water. Struggling, they pull themselves over to the container, grabbing hold of the open door. Inside, the contents have been left unsecured, and with the jostling it’s taken on our trip down the canals, once the water floods in, the large brown cardboard boxes start to float out. With my free hand I try to grab at one, but it’s too big. Gull grabs at another. He manages to get a hand on it, but it’s already been opened, and he tips it on its side, the contents spilling out. In the darkness I can’t make out what they are: something small in plastic bags, and they seem to float. I grab one and look at it. It’s a bright yellow rubber duck, individually wrapped and stamped on the bottom with “Made in China.” I’m exhausted, I’m wet, and I’ve been risking my life for rubber ducks. I hold the duck safely to my chest, close my eyes, and start laughing. I can’t stop myself; tears punctuate the laughter. I’m sure Mags and Gull will think I’m insane – maybe I am – maybe this whole journey to a magical sea full of monsters and pirates, and rubber ducks, is just me going insane. Maybe it’s the throes of madness, like my father had before sailing off into a storm. “Mateo.” It’s a calm voice speaking to me. “Mom?” I ask, opening my eyes, but it’s Mags looking at me. “Mateo, we need to get out of the water. The… the thing is sunk.” The container has sunk to the bottom of the canal, a good foot still above the waterline, and brown cardboard boxes float all around us. We take turns pushing off the container to grab an iron ring near the bridge stairs. Once we’re all out of the water, I look at Mags and Gull. “How many did you grab?” I ask them. They both shake their heads; they’re empty-handed. “How about you?” Gull asks. I look down at the one rubber duck I’m clutching to my chest. “I got one,” I say. Gull nods. “Listen!” Mags says, snapping us to attention. “We need to get to the safe house, and soon. We’ve been lucky enough no one was out on this street, but dawn’s coming.” She’s right. High up on the slate roofs of the buildings around us, I can just start to see the brightening of the dawn sun as it rises.Nov 10, 2026

On Bluesky

Chris Pardy
@pardy.at ·

Here's my contribution to the AI games discourse cavu.games/g/vec This game uses freely available art and sound assets from itch.io. The core combat mechanic is Fighting Fantasy an old PnP rules system. It's inspired by JRPGs, Rougelikes, and Mass Effect. All the code is written by AI.

Vector Null · Cavu GamesYou're a lone runner hauling a pirate's cargo across the Reach: twelve hostile star systems, each crossed by scanning its worlds to fix where the jump point will open. Every scan makes you louder, and...cavu.games

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