Chapter 34

“How do you know Dewan?”

No help for it, “Ask Jimbo.” I chuckled. Take that! Jimikins.

Didn’t work.

Jim said, “Ask Albert.”

Drat.

Albert confessed to getting lost and stumbling on the house when it was an illegal restaurant.

“As to the rest ... ask Surprise.”

I explained the sinking, finding the land, phone call amiss, leased the land, this boat ... and like that.

“Daddy says you are loose with your favors,” one said.

“That would be Cyn, my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“And a brother.”

“Older? Younger.”

“Triplets ... but,”

“Triplets? Who was born first?”

“Cynthia-mae, JW, and me.” I figured that should do it. But, no. They wanted the gore.

“Cyn ... Cynthia ... was born 11:45pm March 31, 1977...”

“You’re fifteen?”

“Yes,” I said. “JW was born at the stroke of midnight March 31/April 1st, I was born April 1st at 12:45am.”

“How did you get the name Surprise?”

“I was supposed to be the afterbirth. Mom said, “Surprise Me.” and the nurse wrote it on my birth certificate.”

“Fifteen?”

“Yup.”

“How come you’re Captain?”

“Four circumnavigations...” That should do it, I thought.

“Four? and you’re 15?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“You own this boat?”

“Flintkote Sea owns her. My siblings and I own Flintkote Sea through Flintkote Enterprises, a branch of Flintkote Industrial. There’s more but it gets pretty repetitive. Flintkote this, Flintkote that and Flintkote the other.”

“Jimbo said you wanted something warmer,” one of the girls said.

“Wait...” a bright looking college girl said, “How long have you been at sea?”

“Since we were 10,” I confessed. “This stay in New Zealand is the longest I’ve been on land since we were 10.”

That seemed to do it. As far as ancestry and qualifications went. Everybody stopped looking for a professional captain, anyway.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Ask the trio ... this is their idea.” Ha! Jim ... your turn in the barrel.

As one, they turned and confronted him. “What’s the plan?”

“Sail to Christchurch, have a day ashore, Wellington next, shore day. Through the Cook and straight on to Sydney.”

And that’s what we did.

But not exactly. Plans never survive first intentions.

Murphy must have his due.

It seemed to me that 225 miles was too many for a first sail by a recently recovered wreck. Hey ... it was underwater ... admittedly not a whole lot of water ... and it WAS vandalism ... sunk is sunk. Sunken ... lying on the bottom of a body of water. Yeah... Basilisk qualified. Basilisk? CAT for short ... and convenience.

Timaru was far enough.

Timaru is at the southern end of the Canterbury Bight. Although ... not really ... Timaru is about half way. The Waitaki River is the actual south end but Timaru is the first decent sized town. Still ... one hundred twenty miles is a good days sail.

We radioed the Port Authority and were assigned a slip close to Port Loop Road ... thirty-five dollars a day. We’re in country but it’s only polite to check in ... in person.

“10 of you?” Port Captain said, over the radio. “Up from Dunedin?”

“Yes, sir,” I radioed back.

“Have your captain stop in with his paperwork.”

“Her paperwork,” I said.

“No matter ... have her stop in.”

“I will.” This is going to be interesting.

We docked. Odd isn’t ... can’t wait to get to sea ... and can’t wait for dry land. Everybody piled off and secured the vessel. Assholes and elbows for thirty seconds. New Zealand is a nation of sailors ... competent, salty and professional. The girls had years of experience ... and it showed.