1.5

The equilibrium between water and air had been accomplished, I was afloat.

The cabins along the starboard side stretched until they got lost in the sun. One of them had voices inside and a poster on the door. It was announcing the performance of a lifetime.

‘Where legends come to life!’ It said.

And ‘The Amazing Adventures of James Navis.’

'Audition within’. It said underneath.

The room froze to a standstill when the sea sky behind me cut across the gloom. There were six people, one man was in a seahorse outfit smoking an extra-long cigarette. There was a woman dressed as a mermaid and her scales sparkled. She frowned heavily. They’d made a small stage out of palates and cloth was draped about the walls, in colours of the sea.

‘I’ve come to audition for a part in the play.’ I said.

She turned to the seahorse man. He shrugged his shoulders.

‘For James Navis?’

‘Yes’ I said.

‘I’m terribly sorry, the part’s been taken already.’

She gestured to an old man slumped in a high-backed chair. The old man smiled.

‘And besides - you’re not old enough.’ Said the woman.

I didn’t mind too much, there were plenty more decks to explore. The boat had only been afloat for a handful of years.

I had ages.

Sometimes I could go for days without seeing anyone at all.

I would just walk and walk along the upper deck and look out to sea.

Occasionally I’d bump into someone, often another boy, with a mop and bucket.

We’d talk about how there wasn’t much to do until we ran out of conversation. Then I’d go exploring again and he’d continue mopping.

As the weeks passed the seas changed from blue to turquoise, the air warmed and the moon tilted onto its side. Then one day, I looked across the glittering waves and I saw a splash.

It must have been a creature, a monster maybe, or some wonderful being never witnessed before. I was excited. I kept looking, hoping to catch another glimpse.

I watched for hours, I watched for days and nights but I never saw it.

In my dreams the creature took on a shape with features and even a name.

It was called the Ispus.

The Ispus was a mythical being.

One day while I was walking along the deck looking for the Ispus, I bumped into a middle-aged man, he was wearing a pair of binoculars.

I hadn’t seen an adult for a very long time and I felt I had to explain myself. The first thing that came to mind was the Ispus.

‘I saw it leaping.’ I said and pointed to some waves over my shoulder.

The man was amazed.

He shook me by the hand. ‘Carter.’

‘James Navis.’

'Really, you’ve seen the Ispus? What did it look like, young man?’ And he scanned the waves with his binoculars.

After a short time he bundled me along the deck and into one of the cabins that have a veranda, where the more well-to-do passengers reside.

He was wringing his hands and fidgeting his feet as he introduced me.

‘Dr Glass, Mr Monteray, this young man is James Navis.’

He paused to compose himself.

‘He’s seen the Ispus.’

The glee in his eyes was met with a startled look from Dr Glass and a raised eyebrow from Mr Monteray.

The three of them looked at me silently waiting for me to speak. Carter was urging me on with his eyes. Trying to wheedle out a trick to impress his friends.

I couldn’t disappoint him so I just decided to make it up.

‘I’ve seen the Ispus many times.’

The men slowly sat down. I began to talk and their eyes widened and their mouths weighed open in awe.

I described the appearance of the Ispus in sparkling detail, the unusual shape of its tail, how it was crossed unlike any other fin that exists. I described the iridescent sheen of its scales, the crescent of its dorsal fin and how it catches the air as it leaps and resounds with a high note.

‘It’s a G sharp, I think.’

Carter, Dr Glass and Mr Monteray were all utterly absorbed.

I went on to tell of the Ispus’s mesmerising eyes and the song it sings when courting the stars and how it can still the waves around it to reflect the constellations of Orion and Cassiopeia in perfect clarity.

‘Its ancestors actually came from a distant world.’ I added.

They hung on my every word.

I noticed another man had appeared in the cabin, sitting in a chair.

‘You must have been searching for years.’ He said, with incredulous undertones.

‘The majority of my youth.’ I answered.

  

‘Did you take notes, make sketches?’

There was a woman from a group of three sitting in a row behind Dr Glass.

‘I’d love to see them.’

‘Me too’. Said a woman and her husband who perched on the edge of the sofa.

After an hour around thirty people had materialised in the small cabin. Mr Monteray and Dr Glass decided I ought to take my talk to a larger room.

‘The Restaurant I think.’ Said Monteray putting on his hat.

Mr Monteray ordered the diners to finish their meals and the tables were arranged into a makeshift stage, with steps made out of crates of dried meat and figs.

I continued to describe the Ispus and how I soon discovered it to be highly intelligent, capable of empathy and curiosity.

‘We even developed a common language.’ I told the hundred or so awestruck faces before me.

By evening the restaurant was stuffed so full, people were pushing and shoving each other to get in.

‘My name’s Porteous, manager of the Rouge Theatre.’ Said a man standing at the side of the stage.

Mr Porteous cleared a path through the crowd and led me through the lower decks into the Rouge Theatre

‘This evening’s performance is cancelled!’ He shouted up to the actors on the stage.’

I stood in the limelight as the seats filled.

I began to chirp and whistle, demonstrating the language that the Ispus and I used to communicate.

‘It has a most wonderful voice.’

Soon all the seats were taken, the aisles were full, people began to sit on each other’s laps.

‘Excuse me! I can’t see a thing with you there like that!’ Said a woman to someone in front sitting on her husband’s knee.

A man approached me from the wings.

‘Edward Pecunia.’ He offered his hand. He told me he was my new manager and that everyone had the right to see my show and that a new, more magnificent theatre had been especially built on a larger deck.

Edward Pecunia took me off the stage and handed me over to a group of gentlemen in black suits who escorted me out through the crowds.

There were posters along the corridors.

‘Tales of the Ispus with James Navis - be astounded!’ 

And there was a picture of me in the middle looking tired and middle-aged like the years had somehow drained away.

The next theatre was bigger and better, the lights could shine different special effects onto the stage and there were two tiers of seats. 

The audience bustled in with many of the ships’ crew; the kitchen staff, cabin cleaners, porters and bar staff, even some of the men from the engine room.

I described the beautiful way the Ispus would leap out of the water, scattering the moonlight into rainbows.

‘It can attract comets with is shimmering scales.’

‘It can conduct the oceans like a symphony, making the waves sing music that makes the sky weep, makes the moon shed a tear.

When the winds are right and the skies are clear it can leap from the sea to the stars. 

It can swim faster than photons, to worlds never dreamed of.

It can rescue a sinking ship with a flick of its tail.

It can turn back the clocks and re-weave the tendrils of time into new configurations. 

It can predict the future.

It can turn sea water into diamonds, sand into sapphires…’

I was on a roll.

Some actors appeared next to me. They were fully costumed, dressed as the Ispus, whirling and frolicking across the stage.

The production values were very high indeed.

The captain of the ship shuffled into some seats at the front along with all his crew.

'I’m sure the ship can steer itself.' He joked.

But the amusement was short-lived as he refused to take off his captain's hat to allow the woman behind a clear view of the stage. 

An argument ensued followed by a mild fracas.

‘If you’ll follow me please’. A man took me by the elbow and gestured towards the exit.

‘Charles Strides, I’m the executive producer for the Laude Amphitheatre. This way – please.’

The posters that lined the walls of the galleries and stairwells showed pictures of the actors that had just joined me on stage, my small portrait, that of a very old man was in the corner, under the words ‘based on the tales of James Navis’.

The walk was long and the stairs were steep, my legs were old and weak.

Ahead of me Charles Strides was joined by a woman who introduced herself. ‘Elspeth Brink. Celeste Productions.’

They walked and talked and gesticulated with excitement as they shared dreams of spin-off plays and character arcs and musical adaptations.

‘I really think we could develop the plot - introduce a love story!’ Enthused Elspeth.

I lost them in the crowd.

After a while the people passing began to thin and eventually the corridors were empty. Except for the posters.

They didn’t even contain the word Ispus any more. 

And I was nowhere to be seen.

But I didn’t mind, it had been fun.

I walked the decks, looking for places I’d never been.

One day, when the seas were beginning to cool and turn from turquoise to blue, I came across a deck I’d never walked before. 

There was a cabin rumbling with laughter and voices. On the door was a poster.

‘Where legends come to life!’ It said.

And ‘The Amazing Adventures of James Navis.’

‘Auditions today’ was scrawled across the bottom.

When I entered the laughter fell silent. There were five or six people who stopped and stared. There was a woman dressed as a mermaid. Her scales sparkled.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes I’d like to audition for the play.’ I said.

She glanced up to a man dressed as a seahorse. He shrugged his shoulders.

‘James Navis?’ She asked.

‘Yes.’ I said.

‘I’m terribly sorry the part’s been taken already.’

She gestured to a boy, probably about eleven years old, he sat swinging his legs, smiling.

‘And besides - you’re too old.’ Said the woman.

I walked along the deck until the cabins got lost in the sun. The sea glimmered like a galaxy. I watched and wondered what creatures might be beneath the waves.