After waving goodbye to Angus Junior, Elias shuffled off down the waterfront. Even on a momentous day like the Bluenose’s homecoming, there were too many fish in the ocean for Lunenburg’s comfort. In five minutes, The Theresa E Creamer was casting off to kill a few thousand more, and Elias had no choice but to go with them.

   As the last of the supplies were loaded on board, The Creamer’s first mate hummed a tune and supervised. Elias grimaced. People at sea only hummed and sang the most clichéd shanties. From a musical standpoint, this voyage would totally lack the kind of experimentation and risk-taking that defined Jigtallica.

   “What are you sayin’, sea guy?” he said as he approached. “My dad’s dead, so my mom told me I’m supposed to come down here and beg for a job on your boat.”

   “Jiminy’s boy, eh? You’re not gonna jump overboard on us like he did, are you?”

   “And deprive the world of my band? As if!” Elias scoffed.

   “Hmm… Alright, get on board,” the first mate said. “We need a throater.”

   Elias walked onto the ship, “Now, was I supposed to bring any clean clothes or soap or anything, or is that stuff provided?” 

   Moments later, the Theresa E Creamer cast off and Elias’ first voyage began. On the wharf, women waved goodbye to their husbands, sons and side pieces. Elias didn’t look back.

   The first mate showed him the ropes. “These ones are for tying knots with, and these ones are just for pulling on,” he said. “But as a throater, you won’t really need to worry about that. You just focus on slitting fish throats.”

   “Slitting what?” Elias mumbled. “Sorry, I kind of spaced out for a second there.”

   Elias was fixated on everyone’s hands. Everywhere he looked, someone was getting fish hooks jabbed through their knuckles, their palms burned by rope, or their fingertips pinched by crabs. He could count the people onboard who still had all their fingers on one hand, and he was one of a very select few who could.

   “Honestly, I was hoping for a position a little more geared toward the arts, if that’s available,” he said. “I really need to keep my fingers in fiddling shape. I make my living playing a very technical, speedy kind of music, you see.”

   “You make your living slitting fish throats. But with a little hard work, in a few years you can move up to chopping their heads off,” the first mate said, then looked up at the sun. “I’m late for a meeting below deck. Polluto here will take care of you.”

   Elias gulped as he turned and saw Polluto, the big fisherman who’d slapped his hat off, towering over him.

   “Well, well, well me b’ys. We’ve got ourselves a future ECMA winner on our hands!” Polluto said with a laugh.

   “Yeah boss!” said Petey, his squeaky-voiced little friend. “He’s a regular Rita MacMurphy over here, huh? I seen her in town last night. Pretty neat, huh, boss?”

   “Actually, Rita MacMurphy is a lot more mainstream than the stuff I play,” Elias said. “My sound is less traditional…Wait a minute, you saw her in town?”

   “Yeah! She was playing crib all night with some buddies down at the Knot Pub. I heard tell she threw up all over the drapes at the Boscawen,” Petey said. “Pretty cool story, huh, boss? We should hang out on land too, not just out here!”

   “Shut up the both of ye!” boomed Polluto, grabbing Elias once again. He noticed as Elias instinctively clutched the bottle of Jigtallica lyrics around his neck. “Don’t like traditional stuff eh? Well, we got a tradition around here for ye! Keep away!”

   Elias struggled as Polluto yanked the bottle off of his neck and threw it to Petey. “Guys, please! My lyrics are in there!” pleaded Elias.

   His words fell on deaf ears.

   “And my tabs!”

   “Thanks for including me in your game, boss!” Petey, said, tossing it back to Polluto. “Keep away!”

   “Stop!” Elias shouted. “Or I’ll report you to HR!”

   “Report us to Haddock Randy? Go right ahead!” Polluto said. “Hey, Ran, we’re playin’ keep away!”

   A burly man named Haddock Randy grabbed the bottle and gave a hearty laugh, then threw it to Cod Randy, who threw it to Haddock Dave, who threw it back to Polluto.

   “What’s this say?” Polluto asked Petey, pointing to a lyric in the bottle.

   “I can teach you how to read if you want, boss. It’ll give us something to do together back on land!” offered Petey. “This says, Cod Hates Us All.”

   “Well, I hates us all standing around doing nothing,” Haddock Randy said. “Let’s get our minds on our work!”

   He threw the bottle over Elias’ head, and over the side. The whole crew laughed, happy to see a young person with dreams get taken down a peg.

   “Sorry lad, that was a bit too far, but ’twas all in good fun. Gotta give up your land life to fit in at sea. Your old man never learned that lesson, and now he’s dead,” Polluto said, “Now, to cut a fish's throat ye just gotta remember me ten step process.”

   Elias nodded and gave a blank stare. All of his available brainpower had been diverted to scheming. The only copy of his life’s work had splashed down into the ocean and he couldn’t just abandon it there.

   Jigtallica had been so close to making it. But now he had no songs, and by the end of this voyage, he’d have fewer fingers. Even if he made it back unscathed, ‘Miss Math’ Gwendolyn Risser would have had months alone with Angus Junior to chip away at him with her pro-school, anti-band propaganda. He’d never be able to rebuild.

   “They used to give gloves to new throaters, but I put a stop to it.” Polluto continued, waving a knife around. “They just slow ye down!”

   Elias looked back at Lunenburg. On the wharf where the Bluenose was docked, he saw a crew taking down a portable radio tower. Had Polluto’s little friend been telling the truth? Was Rita MacMurphy really in town? If he and Angus Junior could find Rita, they could talk her into listening to them play. The second she heard the opening riff of Tide The Lightning, she’d sign Jigtallica to a record deal and put them on the radio.

   “They say the window to a fish’s soul is in the throat,” Polluto mused. “Hey! Are ye paying attention? This here’s insightful stuff!”

   If Rita MacMurphy had actually gotten drunk enough last night to throw up at the Boscawen Inn, she wouldn’t leave without taking advantage of the hotel’s continental breakfast. The Wentzell sisters were on shift today, and they were by far the slowest and least-dedicated employees in Lunenburg County. The Theresa E Creamer wasn’t even out of the harbour. If he really swam for it, Elias could make it to shore, rally Angus Junior, and give Rita MacMurphy the show of her life before the Wentzells even got around to bringing her the bill.

   Every second’s hesitation just gave Elias more distance to swim. He had to decide now. Learn a viable skill and gain job experience, or risk everything to interrupt a hungover woman’s breakfast?

   Elias bolted across the Creamer’s deck.

   “Where ye going, young fella? The throats are right here!” Polluto shouted.

   The Creamer crew watched in shock as Elias dove off the side of the boat into the freezing-cold harbour. He surfaced seconds later, gave them a wave and swam toward his bobbing bottle of lyrics.

   “Man overboard!” yelled Polluto, and made for a lifeboat.

   “Leave him be,” the first mate said. “No room for jumpers in our crew. Sorry, Polluto, but it looks like your promotion to head chopper is on hold for this trip.”

   “Y’arr!” Polluto yelled, which is an empty sailor exclamation nowadays, but it really meant something back then. He felt betrayed as he watched Elias swim back to Lunenburg. To think, he was going to take him under his wing and make him the new Petey. He could’ve been the Lunenburg throat GOAT, but now he was just another loser with a dream, like his old man.

   “I’ll make that boy slit these fish throats if it’s the last thing I do!” he shouted. “You ain’t seen the last of me, young fella!”

   “Me too, boss!” Petey chimed in.