Book One - Chapter Two: iii

“Whaaat?” cried Toal angrily, half rising from his chair. “I was going to win. I was ahead by two tricks.”

“You say that every time, Toal,” drawled Cillian, his eyes rolling in an exaggerated manner. He withdrew his outstretched hand and proceeded to take a quick swig of the bottle before making it disappear again up his sleeve. The torch happened at that moment to be turned in Cillian’s direction and his eyes flared widely in the light, the bloodshot sclera making him appear like some half crazed beast. His left eye, however, did not flare as widely as the other, puffy as it was and surrounded by a wide irregular patch of purpled skin. “And you always say it right before you are about to lose!”

Toal’s face darkened to a deep shade of red and his braided beard began to quiver, but before he could respond, Eoin and Ádh spoke up simultaneously.

“Another untrue statement,” said Ádh and Eoin in unison.

Eoin felt compelled to elaborate and said, “Actually, Toal was indeed up by two tricks and the probability of him winning the pool was approximately seventy-seven percent based on the cards already played. Cillian’s declaration that it was therefore a draw, despite the game not having come to its full and natural conclusion and despite the fact that in all likelihood Toal would have achieved the victory, is simply not an accurate reflection of the true —”.

“Oh, shut up. That is about enough from you,” Cillian said sharply. “You are worse than an Ustur accountant. Who invited you to play, anyway?”

“You did.”

“Oh, did I? Well, it will be the last time,” said Cillian.

“That is what you said last time.”

“Well, this time it will be the last last time!”

“Technically, I was actually not invited, just like I was never invited the other thirty-four times. You forcefully coerced me into playing. Last time you used emotional blackmail and the threat of physical violence.”

Cillian shook his head at this. “Oh come now, you melodramatic old fool. I did nothing of the sort.”

“Yes, you did. Five days ago, at three forty-six in the morning, you woke me up with urgent demands that I play cards with you. Your exact words were, and I quote: ‘Wake up, you lazy sod. If you do not bloody well come and play with cards with me right now, then you can bloody well get off of my ship. And good luck finding a new job you socially incompetent —”

“Come now, come now,” Cillian said placatingly, but Eoin simply kept speaking.

“— good-for-nothing excuse for a walking human calculator —“

“Ah, well, I can explain that particular statement.”

“— with the fashion sense of a neutered Photoli librarian. You craven minded know-it-all nincompoop. I will end you right now if you do not come. Your captain orders it.’ End of quote.”

An awkward silence dragged out between the occupants of the room.

“Well, I admit I went too far in comparing you to a Photoli librarian. That was indeed cruel. I apologise for that,” said Cillian sincerely as he bowed at the waist towards Eoin.

Eoin nodded his head in acknowledgement of the apology.

“Yes,” continued Cillian. “Sorry about that comment. The rest was all justified, of course. I fear I was rather sloshed that night… or morning. In any case, I vaguely recall we did not end up playing cards.”

“That is correct,” said Eoin. “Soon after initially accosting me, you suddenly rushed off again. You did not even await my response. Quite erratic and manic behaviour, even by your standards. If I had exhibited such behaviour in any other individual besides you, I would have concluded that you may have been suffering from full-blown schizophrenia, not that I am an expert in this field, mind you. But you are a peculiar case. No, I believe you were likely born this way and have lived your whole life in a state of functional insanity. Treading the narrow line between existential dissolution and euphoria.”

Eoin paused for a moment in his monologue. He looked shyly up at Cillian before a small smile creased the edges of his lips up and he said, “maybe we are alike in that way, kindred idiot savants that we are.”

Cillian and Toal both sat down slowly, their eyes pinned to Eoin all the while. Despite their misgivings with some of his peculiarities of speech and social awkwardness, they both had the utmost respect for Eoin’s intellectual genius. But what really stunned them in this moment was not his eloquent monologue, but the shy smile that haunted his lips. They had never before seen Eoin smile. They dared not breathe for fear of blowing the timid smile away. He had a beautiful, albeit melancholic, smile and, for the briefest of moments, they saw a fleeting glimpse into a hidden world of unseen roiling passions and deep vibrant emotions. The moment felt almost sacred.

“Well, folks, it’s been rad rad boring dead times,” said Fiadh loudly as she brought her torch down onto the table with a bang. The unexpected noise startled the others sufficiently enough to make them jump in their seats, their eyes swivelling to stare at the torch. The torch was now balanced on-end upon the table and lit the ceiling. Cillian blinked and then quickly turned back to Eoin, but Eoin’s smile had already gone and had been replaced by a neutral expression devoid of any emotions. This was Eoin’s default expression. Cillian turned and locked eyes with Toal. They shared a moment of mutual sadness at the fact that what they had witnessed had so swiftly disappeared, and may never again be repeated.

Fiadh untangled herself from the pretzel position she had been sitting in on her chair. She stood up and said, “Okay fellas, I am going to go to the workshop. A client has contacted me about getting a custom art piece on her Lowbie. Woop woop. She said she will be dropping it off this morning, so catch you later gater whip whip potater.”

Fiadh then beamed a huge grin at them all and swept out of the room. During their Down-Time, the three-month period when military personnel were not on active duty, Fiadh was often busy working on custom paint jobs for the ships of paying clients. She was an incredibly talented spray painter and had developed a significant local reputation for her unique art style that was characterised by bright colours, sharp bold lines and fantastical scenes.

Toal released his pent up breath loudly and then nodded slowly. “I think I might accompany Fiadh,” he said. “I have some work I also need to attend to.” Similar to Fiadh, Toal did custom work as a side gig in his Down-Time to make some extra money. He worked as a mechanic and panel beater who specialised in customising the engines and bodywork of XX-Small, X-Small and Small ships. Sometimes he was commissioned to work on larger ships, but in such cases he would typically be working with another crew of mechanics, which he did not enjoy overly, so he tended to focus on the smaller ships. Yet, it was the high quality customised engines and custom bodywork on Fimbul Lowbies that he was most renowned for.

“Wait, wait Toal, first you must join me for some tea,” said Cillian.

“You mean a hot toddy,” said Toal with a laugh. A hot toddy referred to an alcoholic beverage once popular in Ireland. The preferred version on Bohemia typically included a combination of whiskey, tea, hot water, honey, lemon, cinnamon, ginger, star anise and vanilla.

“Yes, well, it has been a very long six months of active duty. Six long months of abstinence, so I figure I need to make up for all those sober hours. Six months of sobriety in exchange for six days of intoxication.”

“Oh? Six days only? Well, today would be the fifth day since our return, by my reckoning. So only one day to go then, not counting today.”

Cillian’s face paled, and a look of panic swept across his face. “What? So soon? Day five already?”

Toal laughed, clapped Cillian on his back good-naturedly and soon they were both laughing.