Small dotwork marks on fingers
Dotwork · Hand · Black and grey · Photo
Several small black tattoos sit on the side and top of the fingers, including a dotted arc, a jagged shape resembling a peak, and a small cluster of irregular marks. The linework is built from dots and short strokes in solid black ink, with no shading or colour. The hand is photographed against a plain white background, with the nails painted in pale grey and blue-grey matte blocks.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The chart on the saloon table was damp at one corner, and Captain Ottoline Pyke had her thumb on my pencil dots before I could stop her. Eleven days out of Falmouth and we had not seen a gull since the Azores. "Plot it again," she said. "Every noon, one dot. If the dots run in a line, we are where we say we are."
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The fog came on the fourteenth day, thick as wet wool, and its grey bands lay across the sea in long slabs so the bow seemed to push through slate. The sounding lead brought up nothing but mud and dead weed. I pricked my dots with the needle, one after another, while the cook banged pans below and the boy counted strokes on the bell. Each dot was a promise that the water under us was where the book said it would be.
On the fifteenth morning the fog tore open and a jagged line of rock stood up off the port bow, a black peak with a crown of spray. Pyke did not cheer. She looked at my chart, then at the peak, and tapped the dot I had made the night before. "Two cables off," she said. "Your arithmetic is better than the Admiralty's."
We tacked clear. I still keep that chart folded in my breast pocket, the dotted arc of our course running off its edge, and when I rub a thumb over the ink I can feel every noon we nearly lost.
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