"The Something's Rotten in Block Island Affair"~ for PicFic Tuesday 2/9/16

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Armed with a supply of ginger ale and a bottle of non-drowsy motion sickness pills, Illya Kuryakin stepped onto the deck of Solo’s yacht, the Pursang. He prepared himself mentally for the upcoming trip, though he’d be taking it against his will.

It wasn’t for anything as light hearted as a day out on the water, no...it was Napoleon’s plan to compete in a regatta of all things.

Illya reluctantly signed on to be part of his partner’s crew, otherwise Solo threatened to blackmail him….something to do with a little faux pas the Russian had made on his last assignment.

Illya conveniently left it out of his report but he made the mistake of telling telling Napoleon as he felt a bit guilty about not including it. It was nothing of great importance, though Mr. Waverly would not be pleased that it had been deliberately left it out of the mission report. Then again Illya could have filed an addendum, but Napoleon told him not to do so...now he knew why.

This would be the last time Illya would give his partner fodder for extortion.

Mark Slate and Kitt Kittridge were the additional crewmembers and the Russian wondered what Solo had done to convince them to join him.

He decided it was best not to bring it up as they might ask why he was there. Illya didn’t feel like coming up with a cover story as he was simply not in the mood; his stomach was feeling just a bit queasy as the dramamine hadn’t kicked in yet.

Once the boat was fully stocked, Solo hauled out the jib bag, ran the sheets, while they removed the cover from the sail. He instructed them to how uncleat the sheet to eventually pull the sail up, after which they’d tightened the ropes.

He checked the wind direction again before the mooring lines were cast off. Glancing at the compass; Napoleon hit the throttle and the boat was off.

“You know for someone who dislikes the water, you sailing seems quite absurd,” Illya mumbled as he stood behind Solo.

Napoleon was ignoring him for the moment as he was maneuvering the yacht, motoring out of the harbor under power.

“Get ready to unfurl the sails as soon as I cut the engine,” he called out.

The others stood ready and as soon as Napoleon gave the command, they dropped the sheets, unfurling the white sails that instantly caught the wind.

It was a strong tailwind and would help the Pursang travel northwards as they hugged the coastline, hopefully allowing them to make good time. She moved effortlessly, gliding across the waves.

“I don’t dislike the water Illya,”Napoleon finally responded.” I dislike being in it, that’s all. “He paused for a moment for reciting a dramatic quote.

“My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea,and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.”

Illya nodded. “Spouting Longfellow my friend? ‘We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep.’ Please make sure that is not where we end up going?”

“Quoting James, very nice Illya. I promise we’re not going to sink. The Pursang is a sound little lady.”

“Napoleon, did you not once tell me you were afraid of the water because you almost drowned as a child?”

“Yes, I am afraid of it, I won’t deny it, but everytime I take this boat out I’m confronting my fears. Just like you need to confront your fear of dogs. You really should just try to get along with Wollman.* He really is a great little dog.”

“My friend, you handle your fears your way and I will take care of mine my way,” Kuryakin sipped some ginger ale just in case. “Is it not enough that I agreed to do this with you, knowing I do get seasick.”

“And you’re to be commended for it tovarisch, so in a way you’re confronting one of your fears by doing so.”

“I am not afraid of being seasick: I just do not like it. If you have ever been seasick Napoleon then you would understand how an unpleasant a feeling it can be.”

“I’ve been on the water enough to have experienced it, but not as badly as you do. I swear I’ve seen you turn green at times.”

“I do not turn green. The skin does not actually change pigment. The face is highly vascularized which gives Caucasians a nice, healthy, pink tint.

When one gets sick, the blood rushes out of the face to the stomach where the body needs it most at the moment. Without the red tint of blood, one is left with a yellowish skin mixed with bluish-looking vessels. If you recall the color pallet, yellow mixed with blue creates green, or in this case the illusion of green.”

Mark Slate took a turn manning the help while Napoleon went below, preparing their lunch, Illya on the other hand had fallen asleep on the cushioned bench in the stern; in spite of the pills he took for seasickness being non-drowsy, they still knocked him out at least at that’s what the others presumed.  Or maybe Illya forced himself to go sleep as he was feeling a little nauseous.

Mark made sure there was a bucket left beside the sleeping Russian just in case. Kitt was sitting up by the bow, keeping watch with a pair of binoculars, apparently a few dolphins were playfully swimming alongside the boat.

“Lunch is on!” Napoleon called as he carried up a tray of sandwiches and bowls of coleslaw, macaroni salad and coleslaw.”I’ve got ham and cheese, roast beef and turkey so take your pick.”

“Great mate, I’m starved. Nothing like the salt air to give you an appetite. Hey Kittridge come on,” Mark called out.”What about Illya?”

“What about Illya?” Kuryakin said, right from behind the Brit.”

“Jes-us! You nearly made me jump out of my skin! I thought you were asleep.”

“Leave it to a Kuryakin to magically appear at the mention of food,” Napoleon winked.

The anchor was lowered just off shore, wherever that was, allowing them all to sit and eat. There was plenty of time to reach their destination. as the regatta wasn’t for another two days. Napoleon’s plan was to arrive early and see the sights which to him meant the bikini clad tourists who’d be enjoying the beaches of Block Island.

Located in the Atlantic Ocean about 13 miles south of the coast of Rhode Island, 14 miles east of Montauk Point, Long Island, New York, and was separated from the Rhode Island mainland by Block Island Sound. The island was a popular summer tourist destination, known for its bicycling, hiking, sailing, fishing, and beaches. It boasted two historic lighthouses, Block Island North Light, on the northern tip of the island, and Block Island Southeast Light, on the southeastern side. Most of the northwestern tip of the island remained an undeveloped natural area. Every summer the island hosted Block Island Race Week, a competitive, week-long sailboat race. Yachts would compete in various classes, sailing courses in Block Island Sound and circumnavigating the island.

After lunch Illya took his turn at manning the helm, though Slate taking it with a grain of salt the Russian had extensive experience on the water as well as beneath it, since Illya had been stationed aboard a Soviet Submarine while in the Russian navy; though that little tidbit was classified, and he couldn’t tell Mark.

It wasn’t long before they reached their destination. The sails were lowered and Napoleon took over, guiding the Pursang to the harbor under power.

“Crikey, what’s that awful stench?” Kitt moaned.

“Fish, dead fish I would venture a guess. Look!” Illya called out.

The waters around them were filled with thousands of dead fish bobbing up and down, and being pulled along in the current.

Mark lifted the binoculars.”Good Lord, the beaches are covered with them!”

They continued to the harbor and moored along the main dock, keeping the Pursang there until the dockmaster was found and they’d be assigned a temporary slip.

Napoleon and the others walked along the dock, heading to the only visible office. When they arrived, the sign above the door indicated dockmaster, bait and fishing tackle.

A brass bell on the door rang as they entered, and a white haired man behind a counter greeted them. He was wearing what looked like a surgical mask.

“Hello there, what can I do you you fellows?”

“We’re here for the regatta and need a slip for my yacht, she’s 30ft,” Napoleon said.

“Sure, we’ve got plenty of those, but we may not have the regatta, shame too.”

“Why’s that?”

“Can’t you smell it Mister? We’ve had fishkills for weeks now, fouling up the water and our beaches. All but ruined the tourist trade this year. Everybody’s gone home. Who’d want to go to the beach with nothing but rotting fish to look at and smell. No matter how often we’ve cleaned ‘em up, they just keep washing up again and again. Now we’ve started having some sharks wash up, and there was even a whale beached itself on the the Northwest shore. Never seen anything like it in all my years.”

“Has it affected the shore on the mainland?” Illya asked.

“That’s the strangest thing, the fish are only washing up here. Nope, never seen anything like it and I was born and raised on the island, be here seventy years next month. No siree.”

The hairs on the back of Solo’s neck went up, and he felt a chill, making him shiver. His instincts were shouting at the top of their lungs to him.

“You boys thinking what I’m thinking,” he whispered to the others.

Illya, Mark and Kitt nodded their agreement. Something was rotten in Block Island and they suspected it wasn’t just the fish.

Chapter 2