Opportunity

Two weeks of apprenticeship had transformed Aria's hands. Calluses now marked her palms where previously smooth skin had blistered and torn from daily work with tools and timber.

The front door bell jingled. Three fishermen entered, their clothes still damp from the morning's work.

"Morning, Briggs," the oldest called. "Need those oarlocks fixed before the festival."

Aria looked up from the grinding stone. "Festival?"

"Founders Day," Briggs replied without pausing his work. "Village celebration. Happens every year."

The youngest fisherman spotted Aria. "Your apprentice still hanging in there? Most don't last a week with your standards."

"She's adequate," Briggs said.

Aria hid a smile. In Briggs' language, "adequate" was high praise. She'd learned that when the previous apprentice quit after just four days, calling the old shipwright impossible.

The door opened again. Gale stood in the doorway, his familiar scowl firmly in place. Aria stiffened but kept steady pressure on the sanding block. The old navigator had avoided her since their conversation during the storm.

"Briggs," he called, ignoring everyone else. "Got those brass fittings?"

Briggs nodded toward a shelf behind the counter. "Arrived yesterday. Special order wasn't cheap."

Gale limped to the counter, his right leg dragging slightly. He pulled out a small pouch and counted coins onto the wooden surface.

Aria watched from the corner of her eye while maintaining her rhythm on the wood. Since their rainy night conversation, she'd only seen Gale from a distance. His navigation book remained hidden beneath her mattress, its pages studied each night by lamplight. The margins filled with Rowan's notes had become familiar to her.

"Weather holding?" one of the fishermen asked.

"Clear through tomorrow," Gale replied without looking at him. "Pressure drops after that. Storm by evening."

The fishermen exchanged glances. "The festival's scheduled for tomorrow evening."

"Then they'd better wrap it up early," Gale said. "Or they'll be fishing decorations out of the harbor for a week."

The oldest fisherman frowned. "Mayor won't like hearing that."

"Weather doesn't care what the mayor likes." Gale examined the brass fittings, turning them over in his hands.

Satisfied with his purchase, Gale wrapped the fittings in cloth and tucked them inside his jacket. He turned to leave, his gaze sweeping the workshop.

His eyes paused briefly on Aria. She met his gaze, unflinching. A moment of silent acknowledgment passed between them before he looked away.

Then he was gone, the door closing with a click.

"Always brings sunshine wherever he goes," the youngest fisherman muttered.

After the fishermen left, Briggs handed Aria a small package wrapped in oilcloth.

"Need this delivered to the lighthouse keeper," he said. "Replacement parts for the beacon. While you're out, stop by the supply shed and pick up more spare timber."

"What about the shop?" Aria asked.

"I can manage. And don't forget the festival tomorrow. Shop closes early."

"You're giving me time off?" She looked up, surprised. Briggs had barely allowed her a full meal break since she started, much less time away from work.

"Can't work through your first Founders Day," Briggs said. "Bad luck."

Aria tucked the package into her vest pocket and stepped out.

The path to the lighthouse wound along the cliff edge. The lighthouse door creaked as she pushed it open. The keeper sat at a desk near the window, pen moving steadily across a page.

"Delivery from Briggs," Aria announced.

The lighthouse keeper accepted the package with a nod of thanks, barely glancing up from his logbook as Aria placed it on his desk.

Her delivery complete, Aria descended the lighthouse steps and paused at the fork in the path. Left would take her directly back to the workshop—the quicker route. Right followed the coastal trail, with a clear view of the harbor. It would also pass by Gale's weather station.

She turned right without hesitation. The shop wouldn't be busy yet, and she'd been meaning to get a closer look at the navigator's equipment.

The path wound along the cliff edge, offering glimpses of fishing boats below. Aria studied their movements, noting how they tacked against the wind. She'd absorbed more from Rowan's book than she realized, automatically assessing wind patterns from the sails.

After ten minutes of walking, she spotted the small wooden platform jutting out from a rocky outcropping. The location was perfect—unobstructed by buildings or trees, with clear views of approaching weather from all directions.

Gale stood before a collection of instruments mounted on a post, recording measurements in his notebook.

Aria's eyes went immediately to the structure itself. The wooden platform beneath the instruments was cracked in several places. Support beams showed strain, and mountings had loosened over time.

Gale glanced up from his notebook. "Need something?"

"Just heading back to the workshop," Aria replied, stopping several feet away.

His eyes narrowed. "Then move along. These readings require concentration."

Instead of backing down, Aria stepped closer to examine the anemometer. The device spun in the breeze, its cups catching the wind. She'd seen diagrams in Rowan's book but never the actual instrument.

"Is that custom-made?" she asked, pointing to the device. 

Gale's scowl deepened. "What does it matter to you?"

"That design looks different from the ones I've seen in books."

Gale paused, his pencil hovering over the notebook. For a moment, it seemed he would simply ignore her. Then he spoke, his voice less harsh.

"It's calibrated for coastal variations. Standard models don't account for the cliff interference patterns."

He indicated the nearby cliffs with a nod. "Wind rebounds off those faces, creates false readings with normal equipment."

Aria studied the platform structure again. "The platform needs repair. Those support beams won't last another winter."

Gale stopped writing. "Did Briggs send you to drum up business?"

"No. Just something I noticed."

"I'm well aware of its condition," Gale snapped.

Aria shrugged. "Suit yourself. But Briggs taught me that even the best instruments are only as good as what holds them up."

Gale looked at her directly, his gaze assessing. "You've been with Briggs how long? Two weeks?"

"Almost three."

"And already an expert."

"Not claiming to be an expert," Aria replied. "Just sharing an observation."

A seagull landed on the platform railing, causing the structure to shift slightly. The movement dislodged one of the smaller instruments, nearly sending it over the edge. Gale lunged forward, catching it before it could fall.

"See what I mean?" Aria said.

Gale carefully repositioned the instrument, checking its alignment.

"I could fix it," she offered. "Wouldn't take more than a day's work."

"And what would you want in return?" Gale's voice carried suspicion.

"Nothing," Aria said. Then reconsidered. "Well, maybe answers to a few navigation questions. Fair trade."

Gale focused again on his instruments without responding. Aria continued back to the workshop, but felt his eyes on her as she walked away.

Back at the workshop, Aria found Briggs measuring a piece of wood for a new project. She picked up her abandoned sanding block and resumed her task, her mind still on Gale's weather station.

"The platform's rotting in places," Aria told Briggs as she worked.

Briggs looked up briefly. "He knows."

"Has he asked for repairs?"

"Gale doesn't ask for help," Briggs said flatly. "Not anymore."

The door chimed as Kaya entered, carrying a small basket covered with a cloth. The scent of fresh bread wafted through the room.

"Briggs! Is this a bad time?" she called.

"Never a bad time for my best customer."

Aria smiled at Kaya, who had become a regular visitor. Over the past weeks, Kaya often stopped by with books on local history, small treats, or just news from the village. Her friendship had made Aria's transition to Syrup Village easier.

"I brought some fresh bread and honey," Kaya said, setting the basket on a clear corner of the workbench. "My cook made too much again."

She pulled back the cloth, revealing bread with cracking crust.

"Your cook always makes too much when you mention you're visiting here," Briggs said, his voice tinged with amusement. He wiped his hands on a rag before accepting a slice of bread.

Kaya turned to Aria. "Have you been working straight through lunch again?"

"Is it that time already?" Aria set down her tools, suddenly aware of her empty stomach.

Briggs snorted. "Both of you would forget to eat if no one reminded you. At least the doctor's apprentice should know better."

He tapped his forehead twice.

"I'll be in the back room. Got those schematics to finish," Briggs said, taking another piece of bread and disappearing through the workshop door.

Kaya sat on a stool beside Aria's workstation. "I saw Gale earlier. He actually nodded to me instead of pretending I don't exist."

"Progress," Aria said, taking a slice of bread. The warm honey sweetness filled her mouth.

"He asked about you after you left. Wanted to know how long you'd been working with Briggs."

"He did?"

Kaya nodded. "That's significant. Gale hasn't shown interest in anyone new to the village in years."

"He probably just wanted to confirm I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Perhaps." Kaya smoothed her skirt. "Or perhaps he recognized something in you. Gale doesn't waste words on people he finds truly insignificant."

Aria considered this as she ate. Maybe her plan to get closer to the navigator wasn't as hopeless as she'd thought. "How well did you know his son?"

"Rowan used to visit our house. He'd bring maps and tell stories about distant islands while I was bedridden. After he disappeared, Gale stopped visiting anywhere."

Kaya's eyes took on a distant look. "Rowan had a way of making faraway places feel real. He'd describe the smells of spice markets and the sounds of exotic birds. For someone confined to bed, those stories were freedom."

"Will I see you at the festival tomorrow?" Kaya asked, changing the subject.

"Briggs insists I go," Aria replied. "Says it's bad luck to miss your first Founders Day."

"He's right. And I'm glad you'll be there. I've been looking forward to showing you a proper village celebration." Kaya gathered her basket and stood. "I should get back. Dr. Henson is expecting me for the afternoon patients."

After Kaya left, Aria continued her work, turning over the morning's events in her mind. A plan began forming in her thoughts. If Gale wouldn't ask for help, perhaps she could offer it in a way he couldn't refuse.

The afternoon passed quickly. Aria completed her regular tasks, her mind preoccupied with her developing plan. Several customers came and went, but the usual afternoon rush never materialized as most villagers were busy with festival preparations.

When Briggs returned from the back room, Aria looked up from her task. "Do we have extra timber in the scrap pile? The smaller pieces?"

"Southwest corner. Planning something?" Briggs raised an eyebrow.

"Just an idea," Aria replied, already mentally cataloging what she would need.

She spent the next hour selecting pieces from the scrap pile—oak for structural support, cedar for weather resistance. Briggs watched without comment, though his expression showed curiosity.

Alone in her room above the workshop, Aria sat at her desk, pulling out those initial drawings. 

Getting closer to Gale wouldn't be easy. But proving herself useful might open a door that conversation couldn't.