captain told Marco. “We’ll take care of him first, then you can bring the rest of the things in off the dock, and I’ll figure out the rest of the cabins, which will be a thankless job, believe me,” he spoke to himself though he was addressing Marco.
Marco gave a grunt, and started emptying out the cabin, which could only be described as big in relation to the size of the other tiny spaces. Once empty, he found that the captain had added enough packages to the hallway to fill the prince’s cabin so full that there was room for one person to edge in sideways and fall into the bunk, and not much else.
Marco started making the trips back and forth to retrieve the rest of the packages as the sun began to set in the west. Other paroled prisoners of war began to troop onto the ship, but none were required to carry any of the packages.
The captain showed Marco the colored marks that identified the owners of the materiel, and had placed a few of the pieces of freight in every room to identify which pieces would be stored in each cabin. He helped Marco make a few arrangements, then departed.
“I’ll go tell everyone they’ve got a cabin assigned. I’d finish up in a hurry if I were you and get away from here before they all come down here and find a need to take their outrage out on you,” he warned Marco, then started on his way down the passage.
The man had been fair, Marco thought, as he tried to hasten. He forced his tired legs and aching back to cooperate in moving the last pieces into place. The sound of steps on the stairs reached his ears, a sign that he had only the thinnest of margins as he thrust the final crate atop a pile of others, then retrieved his own belongings, the sword and the battered leather pack.
The ship gave a gentle lurch, as it began its departure from the city’s harbor. Marco backed out of the room, and flung the door shut, then started walking rapidly towards his left, away from the stairs and the arriving party. He was dripping with sweat and his muscles ached from the hours of effort that he had exerted.
“This isn’t right!” he heard Count Argen speak loudly.
“You, boy, get back here you incompetent bumbler! You’ve done it all wrong again,” Argen’s raised voice followed Marco down the hall.
Marco stopped, and let his head roll back on his shoulders in an acknowledgement of defeat. He turned and walked back, to where the Docleatean leaders stood in a line along the wall of the hallway.
“You’ll have to fix this immediately. I cannot be expected to be restricted to a cabin this small. This is all wrong; put things in the right place,” Argen blustered at Marco.
“Which cabin is the right one for you?” Marco asked quietly.
“I don’t care; you find a place and put my things there,” Argen screeched.
Marco gave a half smile, as he thought of the places he’d like to put the bullying nobleman’s belongings – over the side of the ship, or up among the sails that hung from the top masts. He quickly wiped the smile away.
“Shall I move the prince out of his cabin for you sir?” Marco asked as he heard the footsteps of someone approaching from behind him.
And with that Argen swung his fist angrily, catching Marco unprepared as he received the nobleman’s hard punch in the stomach.
Marco fell against the wall as he doubled over in pain.
“What is going on here?” Marco faintly heard the voice of the captain who had directed him to place the crates in the cabins.
“This cretin is being insolent towards his betters, and he received a small reminder about the need for good manners,” Argen said pompously.
“So what’s the problem?” the captain repeated.
“Captain,” Colonel Varsen stepped into the fray. “The count merely expressed his disappointment in the smallness of his cabin, and the boy was surly.”
“The count has the third largest cabin, sir,” the captain quickly said. “Only the prince and you
Marco gave a grunt, and started emptying out the cabin, which could only be described as big in relation to the size of the other tiny spaces. Once empty, he found that the captain had added enough packages to the hallway to fill the prince’s cabin so full that there was room for one person to edge in sideways and fall into the bunk, and not much else.
Marco started making the trips back and forth to retrieve the rest of the packages as the sun began to set in the west. Other paroled prisoners of war began to troop onto the ship, but none were required to carry any of the packages.
The captain showed Marco the colored marks that identified the owners of the materiel, and had placed a few of the pieces of freight in every room to identify which pieces would be stored in each cabin. He helped Marco make a few arrangements, then departed.
“I’ll go tell everyone they’ve got a cabin assigned. I’d finish up in a hurry if I were you and get away from here before they all come down here and find a need to take their outrage out on you,” he warned Marco, then started on his way down the passage.
The man had been fair, Marco thought, as he tried to hasten. He forced his tired legs and aching back to cooperate in moving the last pieces into place. The sound of steps on the stairs reached his ears, a sign that he had only the thinnest of margins as he thrust the final crate atop a pile of others, then retrieved his own belongings, the sword and the battered leather pack.
The ship gave a gentle lurch, as it began its departure from the city’s harbor. Marco backed out of the room, and flung the door shut, then started walking rapidly towards his left, away from the stairs and the arriving party. He was dripping with sweat and his muscles ached from the hours of effort that he had exerted.
“This isn’t right!” he heard Count Argen speak loudly.
“You, boy, get back here you incompetent bumbler! You’ve done it all wrong again,” Argen’s raised voice followed Marco down the hall.
Marco stopped, and let his head roll back on his shoulders in an acknowledgement of defeat. He turned and walked back, to where the Docleatean leaders stood in a line along the wall of the hallway.
“You’ll have to fix this immediately. I cannot be expected to be restricted to a cabin this small. This is all wrong; put things in the right place,” Argen blustered at Marco.
“Which cabin is the right one for you?” Marco asked quietly.
“I don’t care; you find a place and put my things there,” Argen screeched.
Marco gave a half smile, as he thought of the places he’d like to put the bullying nobleman’s belongings – over the side of the ship, or up among the sails that hung from the top masts. He quickly wiped the smile away.
“Shall I move the prince out of his cabin for you sir?” Marco asked as he heard the footsteps of someone approaching from behind him.
And with that Argen swung his fist angrily, catching Marco unprepared as he received the nobleman’s hard punch in the stomach.
Marco fell against the wall as he doubled over in pain.
“What is going on here?” Marco faintly heard the voice of the captain who had directed him to place the crates in the cabins.
“This cretin is being insolent towards his betters, and he received a small reminder about the need for good manners,” Argen said pompously.
“So what’s the problem?” the captain repeated.
“Captain,” Colonel Varsen stepped into the fray. “The count merely expressed his disappointment in the smallness of his cabin, and the boy was surly.”
“The count has the third largest cabin, sir,” the captain quickly said. “Only the prince and you
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