Investigation VIII: Maritime Memories

They slowly walked back towards the entrance, navigating through the mess in the living room, and ascended the creaking stairs. Each step echoed through the dimly lit corridor, as if the walls themselves were whispering long-forgotten secrets. Only two doors remained, like silent sentinels guarding the mysteries within.   Choosing to explore Edmund's bedroom first, they hesitantly opened the door, revealing a space frozen in time. The bed, small and unassuming, was tucked away in the far corner beneath two weathered windows. Faded beige curtains, heavy and textured, allowed dappled sunlight to filter into the room, casting a warm glow.   The bed, adorned with a worn beige wool blanket and a matching pillow, sat against the whitewashed walls. A small nightstand stood beside it, bearing an Arkadillian-style oil lamp with intricate patterns hinting at tales of distant lands. A metal cup, half-filled with water, caught the light, casting reflections that danced across the room.   Against the wall opposite the bed, a bedroom dresser stood, its wooden frame sturdy but well-aged. A mirror, slightly tarnished with time, hung above it, capturing fleeting glimpses of the room's occupants. The dresser bore the weight of memories, with small trinkets and personal belongings placed with care.   Amelia ran her fingers over the coarse texture of the wool blanket, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips. "It's like stepping into the past," she remarked, her eyes wandering over the room. "Simple, yet full of stories."   Samuel opened a drawer of the nightstand and chuckled. "Reminds me of our quarters back on the ship, doesn't it? Though I must admit, our bed has seen better days."   Amelia grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Ah, but that bed of ours has weathered storms and sailed through uncharted waters. It has its own little charm."   Samuel's grin widened as he recalled a recent event. "Remember that one night?" he began, his eyes sparkling with the intensity of the memory. "The sea roared like an angry beast, waves crashing against the sides of the ship, the whole vessel groaned as if it were a living thing caught in a fierce battle with the elements."   Amelia's eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and nostalgia. "You held onto me like a lifeline, Sam." She chuckled softly, her mind drifting to another detail. "Oh, we forgot to fasten that crate..." she continued, her voice tinged with laughter. "I remember watching it change position with every flicker of thunder as if it was joining us in that dance of ours."   Chuckling, he closed the drawer. "Those were the moments that made our journey memorable. Our own little adventures within the larger one."   As Samuel continued to sift through the nightstand, Amelia's gaze caught a faded drawing peeking out from a corner of the mirror. The drawing depicted a group of sailors, their faces weathered by the sea's harsh embrace. Curiosity piqued, Amelia pulled it closer, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the faded parchment.   The atmosphere in the drawing felt warm and familial, as if they were more than just a crew—a tight-knit family bound by the trials and triumphs of life at sea. The captain stood at the forefront, his arm draped casually around the shoulders of two crew members, a broad grin spreading across his weathered face. The rest of the crew gathered in a semi-circle, their faces alight with laughter and animated conversation. Some leaned against the ship's railings, while others sat cross-legged on the deck, engaged in friendly games of dice or cards, their boisterous laughter seemingly mingling with the salty sea breeze.   "It's like looking at a big family," Amelia remarked, her voice filled with awe. She focused on each individual, speculating about their roles based on their clothing and the items they carried.   "The captain, I suppose," she began, eyes drawn to the figure with the most striking beard and hair. "He definitely stands out with his impressive beard and long, flowing hair. There's a sense of authority and strength about him that's hard to miss. Yet the way he's depicted here, playfully," she paused, her gaze lingering on a particular detail, "seems to be ruffling the hair of a young crewmate with a broad grin on his face."   She turned her attention to another person. "And look at this one," she said, pointing to a man with glasses and a focused expression. "He has a sharp look about him, doesn't he? I bet he was the one who kept everything in order. Maybe the quartermaster?"   Amelia's gaze shifted to again. "The cook," she remarked, "has a rugged appearance, with thick eyebrows and a charming smile. There's certainly a warmth about him that draws you in. I can almost imagine the aroma of his hearty meals wafting through the air."   Her eyes widened in recognition as she pointed out a figure to Samuel. "This has to be Edmund! Look at him. He must have been in his early twenties."   Samuel leaned in, studying the drawing intently, taking in the sight of a young man with piercing blue eyes and a lean, wiry build, holding a bottle of rum and smiling alongside the captain. "Well, I'll be. He looks quite different from the composed man we know. Young and full of the vigor."   Curiosity sparked in Samuel's eyes. "Do you know anything more about his life before he took on his role here?"   Amelia's face furrowed in concentration as she tried to recall snippets of Edmund's past, her thoughts drifting back to cozy afternoons spent nestled in her grandmother's embrace, surrounded by books of letters and sketches from distant lands. "Oh, I remember Grandma telling me about him once," she began, her voice carrying the warmth of nostalgia. "It was during one of our visits to Grandmama's old study. She'd bring out those dusty old books, and we'd sit for hours, poring over the tales of our familie."   "I remember pointing at him in one of the drawings she had," Amelia continued, her eyes glimmering with the vividness of the memory. "I told her, 'That man looks sad and lonely,' and she nodded, her eyes clouded with sadness. That's when she told me stories of his childhood, of days spent playing pirates in the garden, wielding wooden swords and brandishing makeshift pistols," Amelia recounted.   "Grandmama said he was just like me back then, full of mischief and laughter, causing a ruckus during family gatherings," Amelia added, a fond smile playing at the corners of her lips. "She told me about the time he convinced his younger cousins to join him on a daring treasure hunt, leading them on an expedition through the estate grounds, their laughter echoing through the air as they searched for hidden riches."   "They dug holes everywhere in the garden," Amelia continued, her laughter bubbling up at the memory. "I can imagine Grandmama's horror when she discovered the mess they'd made!"   "But then," Amelia's voice softened, tinged with a sense of melancholy, "after he joined the navy and came back, he was different. Grandmama said he became much quieter, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was as if he had seen things..."   "But she never delved into the details," Amelia continued, her tone reflective. "I'm not even sure if he ever shared what happened with anyone. I suppose some stories are meant to remain hidden until the right moment," she mused aloud, her fingers tracing the edges of the faded drawing once more. As she turned the sketch over, her curiosity was piqued by the sight of writing on the back. With a smile, she read aloud the message:   "'Edmund, always the typical calm and silent self in the heat of battle, but I could see it in your eyes—the fierceness and determination of a true sailor. Take your shore leave, you've earned it! Just remember, lad, it's not the size of the ship, but the skill of the navigator that determines the course, and you, my boy, have spades of it! While you're ashore, let loose a bit, but not too much! We need you back here to keep us sailing straight!' - Marshal"