unseemly to discern a hardy man flounder. “Throw that lad in the brig!” My eyes go wide in panic as Mouse swings around to face Captain Stokes, who is on his perch above the main deck.
“ Captain?!” Mouse questions in disbelief.
With an obscene gesture the captain probably wouldn ’t have done had he known I am a woman, he threatens, “I would watch your tongue, Mouse, or you’ll find yourself beside the lad!” He is an icy shield with no remorse.
Mouse ’s mouth opens and closes as he thinks better of challenging the captain. He beholds me with sorry eyes. I am stunned by the captain’s declaration and wonder what I could have done to warrant arrest aboard the ship. Rufus approaches me slowly and sadly, pained by his duty.
“ Might I know the charges set against me for punishment?” My question instigates a vicious cough that I cannot suppress. My whole body jolts violently with each bout. Mouse steadies me and finds his voice
“ Captain, he is unwell. I was just escorting him below.” Mouse attempts to soften the cold man.
A scowl coats his face as he spits out, “Ye might have thought of that before you and the crew allowed the lad to break my rules. The passengers stay below.”
I don ’t believe the reason for the captain’s vehemence. He has witnessed me on the deck before and has not shown this kind of discord.
A hand slips under my arm, and I am led to a trap door in the floor that I have never seen. The lid swings back and a putrid smell bursts out into the sea air. I cover my nose with my free hand and wince.
The stench thickens and is horrifically more powerful as I descend the ladder to the depths below. Lanterns line the walls and the glass encasings are crusted with dirt and grime making the light dim. I walk forward with my hand covering my mouth and nose. I turn my head when I hear a boot scrape the floor. A man is sitting on the ground behind iron bars. Long gray hair and a beard cover his head. His clothes are tattered and worn in a way that is more of rot than overuse.
Rufus stops us at a cell at the far end, away from the prisoner. He turns me toward him and places his hand upon my arm in a soothing gesture.
“Sorry. I will inform Mr. Tinker immediately of what has happened.” His attempt to comfort me with a smile is lost in the worry he cannot hide.
I nod and step in the iron cage. The clang of the metal door when it shuts makes me think of an aboveground tomb like I have seen in England; only I ’m not dead—yet.
I rest my head against the iron cage that makes up my new accommodations. I don’t even try to fight back the tears as they come. The bucket in the corner with decomposing feces is what sets off my despair. There is no blanket to use to keep warm or to cover myself at the loo. I glance over at the man, jailed like me, and he is staring off into nothingness. From this distance, he could pass for a mummified corpse—protruding skeletal features and leathered skin.
My ailment rears its ugly head again now that my brain has caught up with the sharp reality that has befallen me. Pain behind my eyes, raw throat, and aches travel up and down my bones. I curl in on myself in an attempt to keep away the damp cold . I recollect on how I ended up here and it sends me into exhaustion. Instead, I try to focus my mind to a happier time.
Behind my house was a swing Father made for Paul and me. We would push each other as high as possible, taking turns. The older we became the more daring our feats. Paul would stand atop the swing seat, and I would push him with all my might. He would swing up into the small branches of the maple tree and try to grasp their leaves. “Higher, Sybrina!” he would yell, until mother came to scold him. I remember the happiness and it makes the loss all the more greater...
“ Sybrina, trade me your aggie,” Paul says.
I childish ly scoff at his request, “No...unless you
“ Captain?!” Mouse questions in disbelief.
With an obscene gesture the captain probably wouldn ’t have done had he known I am a woman, he threatens, “I would watch your tongue, Mouse, or you’ll find yourself beside the lad!” He is an icy shield with no remorse.
Mouse ’s mouth opens and closes as he thinks better of challenging the captain. He beholds me with sorry eyes. I am stunned by the captain’s declaration and wonder what I could have done to warrant arrest aboard the ship. Rufus approaches me slowly and sadly, pained by his duty.
“ Might I know the charges set against me for punishment?” My question instigates a vicious cough that I cannot suppress. My whole body jolts violently with each bout. Mouse steadies me and finds his voice
“ Captain, he is unwell. I was just escorting him below.” Mouse attempts to soften the cold man.
A scowl coats his face as he spits out, “Ye might have thought of that before you and the crew allowed the lad to break my rules. The passengers stay below.”
I don ’t believe the reason for the captain’s vehemence. He has witnessed me on the deck before and has not shown this kind of discord.
A hand slips under my arm, and I am led to a trap door in the floor that I have never seen. The lid swings back and a putrid smell bursts out into the sea air. I cover my nose with my free hand and wince.
The stench thickens and is horrifically more powerful as I descend the ladder to the depths below. Lanterns line the walls and the glass encasings are crusted with dirt and grime making the light dim. I walk forward with my hand covering my mouth and nose. I turn my head when I hear a boot scrape the floor. A man is sitting on the ground behind iron bars. Long gray hair and a beard cover his head. His clothes are tattered and worn in a way that is more of rot than overuse.
Rufus stops us at a cell at the far end, away from the prisoner. He turns me toward him and places his hand upon my arm in a soothing gesture.
“Sorry. I will inform Mr. Tinker immediately of what has happened.” His attempt to comfort me with a smile is lost in the worry he cannot hide.
I nod and step in the iron cage. The clang of the metal door when it shuts makes me think of an aboveground tomb like I have seen in England; only I ’m not dead—yet.
I rest my head against the iron cage that makes up my new accommodations. I don’t even try to fight back the tears as they come. The bucket in the corner with decomposing feces is what sets off my despair. There is no blanket to use to keep warm or to cover myself at the loo. I glance over at the man, jailed like me, and he is staring off into nothingness. From this distance, he could pass for a mummified corpse—protruding skeletal features and leathered skin.
My ailment rears its ugly head again now that my brain has caught up with the sharp reality that has befallen me. Pain behind my eyes, raw throat, and aches travel up and down my bones. I curl in on myself in an attempt to keep away the damp cold . I recollect on how I ended up here and it sends me into exhaustion. Instead, I try to focus my mind to a happier time.
Behind my house was a swing Father made for Paul and me. We would push each other as high as possible, taking turns. The older we became the more daring our feats. Paul would stand atop the swing seat, and I would push him with all my might. He would swing up into the small branches of the maple tree and try to grasp their leaves. “Higher, Sybrina!” he would yell, until mother came to scold him. I remember the happiness and it makes the loss all the more greater...
“ Sybrina, trade me your aggie,” Paul says.
I childish ly scoff at his request, “No...unless you
Similar Books
