Seafoam Green Preview

July 27, 1601

Eos walked down the end of a narrow alleyway away from the bustle of merchants, the haze of salt water mist, and the smell of brine which perfumed the air of the old port city. Carefully, she traced her steps down the cobblestone path which was dimly illuminated by a few forgotten street lamps fashioned with dusty stained glass and yellowing lights. Between the kaleidoscope of lights, the cramp space, and the mesh of cobblestone and brick blending in everything around it, Eos swore she missed her turn.

But then – like the faint sound of a marine horn beckoning one’s attention from far, far away – finally, she turned her piercing hazel gaze and just the right moment.

And there it was: the antique shop.

It was a small, quaint looking building from the front, adjoined with neighboring buildings who appeared unoccupied or out-of-business. Its door blended in with the faded brick walls and dark shadows cast by the buildings she spent so long trying to weave through to get here. It was quite the trek, busy with talking to strangers for directions more than Eos would have preferred, but no matter.

What mattered was if she was going to get what she wanted. Eos had been previously told that the owner, Weyln, was the man to go to if you needed any information in Harmstead. Anyone could make that claim in this bustling port city, but this Weyln seemed different.

She pushed the shop door open causing a small golden bell to ring. Immediately, she spied a man’s head bob around one of the many shelves lining the store – a bob at the end of a fishing line. His sharp, brown eyes like driftwood quickly fall in line of sight with hers. Eos walks past the shelves stacked with random assortment of items - various colors and shapes abound - to the counter.

"Aye, a customer. There anything I could help ya with? Lookin’ for something particular?" the man asked, his voice heavy from the smoking pipe in his hand.

“I suppose you could say that. Probably wouldn’t find it on any of these shelves, though,” Eos said, wiping a finger across an old shelf lined with glass vases. Fragile, “I heard that you're the guy to go for information. Weyln, correct?”

“Straight to the point, eh? Interestin’. What yer lookin’ for depends.” The man takes a long inhale from his pipe. He exhales. The smoke making the amber lights above glow hazy, “What do ye want to know?”

“I’m looking for a man who goes by the name of Rowan. Name your price – shouldn’t be a problem for me.”

Weyln freezes at the sound of the name. The sudden silence seemed to send a jolt through the air. Eos leans forward on the counter in anticipation waiting to hear what he’ll say next – finally, some leeway! But then, Weyln simply shrugged.

“That's a name I haven't heard in awhile. And I’m not so keen if it's a name worth hearing again neither after this.”

Eos’ brow furrowed.

“What do you mean? Does he live around here or has he gone somewhere else?” She asked, “Any little bit of lead is a good lead, and I’ll follow.”

“Will you, now…?” Weyln grumbled. It seemed her words gnawed somewhere deep in Weyln’s mind as much as he was beginning to gnaw at the end of his pipe. He was trying to hide it, but Eos could tell he was holding back a sigh, “Again, depends. Who be askin’? Not really somethin’ to get antsy over, I’d say.”

Eos hesitated at the irony. Suffice it to say that she was more than taken aback by Weyln’s agitation.

Who’s the one getting antsy?

But she pressed, “Just an acquaintance who’s curious. Maybe even call them a friend, if you will.”

“Aye, that so? A ‘friend,’ huh?” Weyln mocked a grin, “Cute little word ‘round these parts and this business, ain’t it? Don’t get much use from sayin’ it nowadays.”

Weyln’s eyes drew upward. It was as if he was wordlessly consulting those flickering amber lights now veiled in tobacco smoke. Eos couldn’t help but think she saw a hint of…melancholy? in his rugged expression.

“Guess not,” Eos said, under her breath, “But I’m not interested in getting anything out of it. I just…want to know. As a friend would.”

Finally, after some moments of heavy silence, Weyln spat, “Bah, to hell with it. To answer yer question: No, he’s gone. Long gone.”

Eos tried to hold back the gasp trying to escape her, “Gone? Do you mean…?” Her voice trailed off into the dust of the store.

“I'm afraid so, lassy. I'm afraid so,” Weyln finally sighed. His sigh had weight - a certain weight like an anchor that could pull him right through the floorboards - Eos wasn’t sure what to do with that, "Seafoam. That's what be left of ‘em. Salt and speck. Green and sand. Nothin’ but seafoam. A damn shame. And a damn fool for it."

“Sea…foam?" Eos shook her head. Just what in the world was that supposed to mean? Well, considering all the things that Eos has traversed and seen, it could very well be anything not so innocuous sounding.

Weyln took a long and hearty stretch. The cracks in his joints and his spine were just as loud as his grumbling.

“It be a long story, and it might not be something worth believin’. There be no proof of any of it happenin,’ afterall. You’d have to trust a poor fool’s word,” Weyln barked a laugh, “Sad to hear from a man who’s supposed to be the one with all the ‘information,’ ain’t it?"

Eos chuckled, "I have the time. And I think your shop does too,” her eyes were drawn to look around the antique store before finally resting on an old grandfather clock no longer in use. She couldn’t stop her lips from twisting into a small smirk, “And I’ll be the one to decide whether your info’s good or not. Sound good?"

Weyln likewise glanced around the shop following her gaze – it was a shop collecting silence and dust between forgotten corners and forgotten treasures. Then, Weyln looked back at Eos with a faint glint of amusement in those deep brown eyes.

"Well, it doesn't look like anyone else is comin' round," Weyln says, taking one more puff of his pipe and gives a hearty cough as his hand signals past Eos' shoulder, "Fine, pull up a chair. This tales’ a long one – and don’t you worry about any price."

Eos nods and obliges, pulling a stool up to the counter. She quickly gets comfortable sitting in the old, creaky stool, watching Weyln stuff more tobacco into his pipe. She figured he was buying time trying to find the right words to begin with.

"Guess you could say I knew Rowan personally. Did I know him better than some? I really can’t say,” Weyln lit a match with a flick of his wrist. The comment sounded more like a passing scoff than an ordinary observation. Before Eos could ask any further, however, Welyn continued, “We didn't know each other very long, but we quickly became pals as one would considering the close quarters we worked in. I was only around sixteen or so when we met and I had just been hired to work on the Thisbe. Rowan and I were both crew members on her last voyage-"

"Her last voyage?" Eos interrupts.

The sharp glint in his eyes faded, and the color of his irises seemed to dim into pools of dark, dark water.

"The Thisbe…she went down in 1580 along with half the crew. Rowan, and I were both on board."

Seafoam Green is the newest novel in my Darkcrest series you can now find it on Webnovel!