The Regina

Today's voyage was with the old but trusty sister of the Aura. Even if the Boatswain claims they are both the same ships - their souls may be connected, he insists - the Captain does not believe every story of the Boatswain. The Regina is the real queen of water and wind.

The Elder Sister

She was built 23 years before the Aura and, seamen rumors say so, has retained even more soul and heat in comparison to her younger sister. The former captain was always eager telling stories about the many sea monsters the Regina survived - tales that grew wilder with each retelling, yet held that grain of truth that all good sea stories carry.

Twenty-three years is a long time for a ship to gather memories. The Regina's timbers have absorbed more storms, more calm seas, more whispered conversations on night watches than the Captain could count. If the Aura had magic, the Regina had something deeper still - the kind of presence that comes only with age and survival.

A Day of Moderate Winds

The Captain's travel was somewhat uneventful. The wind blew with just 7 Beaufort - a near gale, strong enough to make the rigging sing but not strong enough for what the Captain had in mind. On days with proper storms, the Captain practiced his special and secret flying skills on deck - a technique involving balance, timing, and a willingness to let the wind carry you that few sailors ever mastered. But today the wind fell short of what those maneuvers required.

Seven Beaufort. The wind had its own language, its own names in different parts of the world. The Buran that screamed across the Russian steppes. The Passat that merchants had relied on for centuries. Each wind with its own character, its own story.

But today's wind was simply wind - steady, strong, unremarkable.

The Night Watch

Nothing particularly interesting happened before midnight. The Captain fell asleep very fast, trusting his crew. This was the ultimate compliment a captain could give - to close his eyes without worry, knowing capable hands held the ship steady.

But deep in the night, the Captain was off duty and the Chief Mate was in command.

She may look like a delicate and for some fragile woman from the dry lands of the eastern Baltic coast, but the Captain chose her for a reason - and not just for her extensive experience. She had proven herself a hundred times over, in calm seas and storms alike.

Her path to this position had been unusual. Before marrying the sea, she had been an assistant to a well-known Baltic doctor. She made him food in the morning and evening and was especially talented in peeling potatoes like a tornado with the precision of a surgeon - a skill that seemed trivial until you understood that precision under pressure translates across all tasks.

But after just three years she decided to change her life and went on the Captain's ship. From assistant in the kitchen to chef, she worked her way up through sheer competence and an unshakeable steadiness that storms couldn't disturb. Now she stood as Chief Mate, commanding the night watch with the same precision she had once brought to a doctor's kitchen.

The Disturbance

At roughly 4 o'clock the Captain's sleep was disturbed. The sea was somewhat rough and he clothed himself to check the deck.

Everything on the ship was quiet. Not even a soul in sight. But the ship was sailing steady through the winds, her course true, her movement confident.

Is there something better than a competent crew doing its job? the Captain thought.

The deck was empty because it needed to be empty. The crew were at their posts, doing what needed doing, requiring no supervision and making no unnecessary noise. This was the sign of a well-run ship - invisible competence, silent mastery.

No further sleep in sight, the Captain said his prayers and went to bed again. Sometimes trust means returning to your bunk and letting others do their work.

Morning and Mysteries

At 7 o'clock the Captain finally woke up. He went to the combi for some bread and his favorite sausage with some pickles he got from his grandmother - the kind of simple breakfast that tastes better at sea than the finest restaurant meal on land.

But it was closed for cleaning.

The Chief Mate saw the hungry Captain and offered him a light beer with some dried flounder. He drank and ate. The beer was crisp, the flounder salty and perfect - the breakfast of sailors who knew what actually mattered.

In addition, the Chief Mate had a special collection of sweets from far away lands she kept for special events. Little treasures gathered from ports around the world, each one a memory of a place visited, a voyage completed.

The Captain asked about the last night - what had disturbed his sleep, what had moved across the deck or shifted in the rigging to wake him at 4 a.m.

The Chief Mate's answer was just a black sweet candy from South America.

She placed it in his hand without a word, her expression unreadable - not quite a smile, not quite mysterious, just the look of someone who knew more than she was saying and saw no reason to explain.

The Captain accepted the sweet. Some questions don't need answers. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

He bit into the candy - dark, bitter, complex. The taste of secrets kept and competence rewarded.

The Queen Sails On

The Regina continued her voyage, steady as always, carrying her crew and her mysteries with equal grace. Twenty-three years older than the Aura, with more soul and heat in her timbers, she remained the real queen of water and wind.

And on her deck stood a Chief Mate who peeled potatoes like a surgeon, commanded night watches in perfect silence, and answered questions with South American sweets.

Some ships are lucky in their crews. Some crews are lucky in their ships.

The Regina and her people were lucky in each other.

Written while tasting mysteries and trusting the competent