The Unmapped Sea by Maryrose Wood

might have lurked among the rocks. Soon the children forgot their caution. They stood with mittened hands on their hips, gulping in the salt air. They ran in circles, making boot prints in the sand and boasting about how healthy they felt. Cassiopeia insisted she was growing taller with each breath, and her brothers indulged her by lifting her up onto Alexander’s shoulders.
    â€œLook,” she said, pointing out to sea. “Someone is swimming.”
    Penelope shivered at the mere thought of it. “It must be a trick of the light. It is much too cold for swimming.”
    â€œNot for the fish.” Beowulf lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun across the water. “But Cassawoof is right. That is no fish.”
    Penelope squinted toward the horizon. For a moment she thought she glimpsed a massive whiskered head breaching the surface. “It may be a walrusafter all,” she exclaimed. “How remarkable to spot one so far south!”
    By now Alexander had his spyglass up. “Man overboard! All hands on deck!” He threw down the spyglass, crouched low to let his sister slip to the ground, and ran headlong toward the water.
    Beowulf and Cassiopeia raced after him. “Wait!” Penelope yelled. She retrieved the spyglass from the sand and scanned the waves until she could see the swimmer, too. He was far out, well past the breaking surf, but he swam with strong, rhythmic strokes and seemed in no distress.
    The children were at the water’s edge. As far as Penelope knew the Incorrigibles had never once been swimming in their lives. Now all three looked ready to plunge into the icy sea to rescue this strange man. “Children, stop! He is not drowning,” she called as she ran to them. “It appears he is swimming back to the beach.” Fascinated, they stood and watched as the mysterious swimmer churned his way through the water. When the waves rose up, they lost sight of him, but each time he reappeared, lifted by the crest of a swell, he was that much closer to the shore.
    Before long, it was apparent that he wore no bathing costume whatsoever.
    â€œMy goodness! Let us avert our gazes,” Penelope instructed, for now it was too late to leave, and the man might yet need help, or a hot cup of tea at the very least. “I expect our swimming friend will be just as surprised to see us as we are to see him.” The four of them turned their backs to the sea and covered their eyes. Soon there was a splashing sound, and a series of low-pitched grunts.
    Penelope called over her shoulder. “Good afternoon! Please forgive our intrusion. We did not expect to encounter any swimmers here today. Do you require assistance?”
    â€œAh. Ha. Hah.” His slow, deep laugh was like three strikes on a bass drum. “Wait. My clothes are by rocks. Don’t peek.”
    His footsteps were silent on the sand, but in a voice low as thunder he narrated his progress. “First, pants. Then, boots. Then, shirt. Last, cape. Now you look.”
    Peeping shyly above their hands, Penelope and the children turned around. The man was tall, with thick black hair that ran rivers of seawater down his broad face. His shoulders were wide enough to have sat two Incorrigibles on each side. His mustache and sideburns bristled like the body brush Old Timothy used to groom the horses. His long bearskin cape hungto the top of his boots, which had a military look to them, with the trousers tucked neatly inside.

    His shoulders were wide enough to have sat two Incorrigibles on each side.
    Beowulf sniffed and pointed at the cape. “ That is the bear I smelled.”
    â€œSmart boy. Russian bear very strong. Fur, very soft.” The man shook his head like a great dog to get the water out of his hair, and spat seawater from his mouth. Then he bowed. “Captain Ivan Victorovich Babushkinov. At your service!” He straightened and clicked his boots together sharply