It’s Blackjack, there’s our boy!” The fishermen called to Cecil as he made his way along the docks to his favorite sunning spot, though the sun had only just risen over the horizon. Cecil settled himself next to a pier post to block the wind off the harbor and looked around at the scene. The three-masted schooners rode high in the water while the men wound up the nets and ropes and prepared to set the sails. Cecil had seen many of the sailors before and knew them by their clothes and the sounds of their gruff voices. The short one with wide shoulders always wore a headscarf the color of the sky on a clear day, while another was tall with a threadbare red wool cap that had seen many voyages. The headscarf man called out instructions to the hustling deckhands, and from time to time he glanced over at Cecil. “Our Blackjack there, he seems a lazy one, don’t he?” he said to his companion, who grunted. “A nice life, looks like to me,”
