by J. P. Sheen
When it was his watch’s turn for supper that evening, Eselder stumbled toward the galley. He was ready to collapse into his hammock, but he still had the strength of mind to note the spotless deck.
It’s so clean. The King would love it.
Eselder felt a sharp pang. He was a wretch, thinking that, when he hadn’t the foggiest idea whether his father was alive or dead. And if his parents were dead…or if Eselder never made it back to Kingston…he’d have to live with the knowledge that his last words to them had been a spoiled, spiteful complaint. At the thought, Eselder wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his arms and sob. But he couldn’t. It was his turn to carry the rations to his mess, and the other cabin boys were waiting for him impatiently, banging their fists on the tabletop and chanting a vulgar shanty.
Blinking back tears, Eselder delivered a bowl of salt pork and peas to his mess. He was about to sit beside a snub-nosed boy named Archie when the powder monkey slammed his palm against the bench and looked at Cheddar, who nodded and told Eselder, “We don’t want you sittin’ with us no more!”
Any more, Eselder shot back as his nerve took flight through the nearest porthole. Stand up for yourself! You’re going to be their King someday!
It was no use. Besides, his future reign was looking more and more improbable. Eselder silently ladled his rations into a bowl and trudged down the deck, trying to ignore the guffaws that followed him. Where would he sit? None of the men would welcome his dour company.
Eselder searched around, hoping to spot an unoccupied table. To his relief, there was one: the table specially reserved for Mr. Evil Brigand. Eselder glanced furtively around, but Mr. Evil Brigand was nowhere in sight.
Eselder swallowed. Well, he had no other choice, had he? He walked over, slammed his bowl down, and dumped himself onto the bench. Luck had favored him tonight. But what about tomorrow and the weeks after that?
“Stupid ship,” he muttered, his head plunging into his arms. After moping awhile, he sighed loudly and blindly dragged his bowl forward.
“That’s mine.”
Eselder hollered and flung the bowl away. Then he sat paralyzed, staring with unconcealed horror at Mr. Evil Brigand and the fatty lump clinging to his shirtfront. Eselder briefly considered begging for mercy, but one look into those hooded eyes convinced him that it was useless. He would never again have a moment’s peace aboard this floating nightmare again.
“I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to do, it was an accident, I beg your pardon!”
Cold silence answered his wild apology. When Eselder dared look up, he found Mr. Evil Brigand staring at him like he’d just picked his nose and licked the contaminated finger. For a split second, the man looked almost comical. Then his face darkened into a roiling thundercloud, and he spat, “Get away, boy!”
Offering Eselder a well-practiced scowl, he turned to glare through the open porthole. For his part, Eselder sat rigidly on the bench. Certainly, he’d gladly “get away”! To another table, another ship, Kingston Court…but unfortunately, he couldn’t do any of those things.
Mr. Evil Brigand furtively glanced his way.
“Well, damnit, don’t start crying!” he jeered.
Eselder turned red. A snickering Mr. Evil Brigand went back to stargazing through the porthole. All around them, two hundred men roared, cursed, and banged on tables. Why then did it sound so horribly quiet?
“I mean it, boy! Get lost!”
Eselder jumped. When his only reply was a pleading stare, the seaman grunted and resumed glaring through the porthole.
“Those boys don’t care much for your company, do they?”
Without waiting for Eselder’s reply, he crowed, “I don’t blame them! No one needs an overfed stuffed shirt around acting all high and mighty!”
Eselder’s expression betrayed his indignation. It was unspeakably cruel, bringing up his weight…which, for the record, had dropped considerably since his pressganging. His breeches weren’t nearly so tight.
“I am n-not trying to act h-high and m-mighty,” he replied, struggling to control his temper and his tongue. What exactly was Mr. Evil Brigand suggesting? That Eselder was assuming aristocratic airs, that he was some sort of peasant brat putting on a show? What was it? His accent? His manners? The fact he found picking his nose in public vile? He saw Cheddar doing that earlier. What? What was it precisely?
Mr. Evil Brigand snatched his bowl. The sudden movement made Eselder flinch. His nerves were getting weaker and weaker these days. Mr. Evil Brigand noticed and raised a scornful eyebrow. Scooping up a titanic green glob, he crammed it down his gullet.
“’Ow’d ah Silk ‘Ocking like ‘oo en’ up slaving i’ ou’ in ‘ah Navy, any’ay?” he demanded.
It took Eselder awhile to translate that into comprehensible speech. His throat tightened.
“I was pressganged at Kingston,” he answered tautly.
Mr. Evil Brigand visibly stiffened, another mountain of burgoo halfway to his mouth. Then he said callously, “That’s too bad.”
Eselder snapped.
“Yes, it is too bad!” he hissed, leaning forward with an aggressiveness that clearly shocked his messmate, “I’ve lost everything! My home, my family! And for what? I hate this ship, this crew, and everything about the sea! Everything!”
Leaping up, Eselder stumbled over his bench and stormed for the hatchway. He didn’t know whether someone would stop him, but he couldn’t bear another second in Mr. Evil Brigand’s company. He had to get away.
Climbing the ladder to the quarterdeck, Eselder crossed over to the ship’s port side. The full moon was aloft, rising high into the sky. Eselder calmed down a little, watching it glow soft and white in a starry, sapphire twilight. It really was breathtaking.
Eselder sighed. Adventure on the high seas had been his dream for so long. What a shame it had turned out to be a rotten one. If only he had informed the King of the Liberteers’ plot that evening! Instead, he had behaved like a spoiled child through and through, and now he was paying for it. When he compared his last meal at Kingston to the muck he had gagged down tonight, or his spacious quarters to the six square feet allotted him and his creaky hammock…
He scowled as the ship’s bell clanged, informing him that he could do what he liked for a blissful quarter-hour.
How he used to moan about the lengthy chapters his history tutor assigned him to read! If he had used that time profitably instead of sulking, he could have finished those chapters in a quarter-hour! Well, that was probably an exaggeration…unlike the probability that his back would be permanently crippled from swabbing the deck!
Nothing, Eselder swore to himself, was more intolerable than a just punishment!
He banged his fist against the bulwarks, preferring to gripe about his situation rather than contemplate other things…like whether he had actually left his parents behind in Kingston at all. He had once fantasized about living a daring life as an orphan, on the streets and on his own. What if he got his wish? Eselder’s eyes brimmed with hot tears. He’d never forgive himself, that’s what. Because things needn’t have turned out this way.
If his parents were dead, it was Eselder’s fault. How appropriate that his clothes had come from Lady Birkenbee’s Benefit to Clothe the Poor Orphans.
“An’ ‘oo gave you permission to come on deck, Tub?”
Eselder spun around. Cheddar and his gang approached and closed in around him. Surely they wouldn’t dare do anything to him in plain sight of the other crewmen, would they?
A vicious sock to the gut answered his question.
“That’s fer disobeyin’ ship’s rules!”
Eselder doubled over, clutching his stomach and gasping.
“Mutiny, that’s what it is!” crowed Cheddar, “Mr. Kurzon’d want us to teach this swabbie a lesson. What’d you say, boys?”
The other cabin boys crowed their assent. Harsh arms seized his, and Eselder gave himself up for dead. It was five against one, but to his surprise,
Cheddar didn’t follow up with another gut-busting punch. In fact, everyone seemed to have frozen.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” Cheddar spat. The answer was the blurry deck, but Eselder suspected the cabin boy wasn’t talking to him at all.
“You lads,” came Mr. Evil Brigand’s flippant tone, “And that pathetic lump you’re holding.”
Eselder looked up with a rush of loathing. Mr. Evil Brigand was leaning carelessly against the bulwarks, his pale forearms crossed, his face inscrutable.
“What’s it to you?” retorted Cheddar. Mr. Evil Brigand shrugged. As he kept staring, the cabin boys looked uneasily at one another and then at Cheddar. The head cabin boy shot Mr. Evil Brigand a defiant glare, squared his shoulders, and turned toward Eselder with his fist upraised. Then he paused. His squinty eyes flicked sideways to the motionless seadog, and Eselder detected his uncertainty. His freckled fist flexed several times, then lowered. Brashly, Cheddar declared, “Flout ship’s rules again, Tub, an’ I’ll thrash you ‘till you cry like a baby! Come on, lads. ‘Ee’s been warned!”
The cabin boys backed off and disappeared into the lower deck. Meanwhile, Eselder looked up fiercely, expecting to glare into a jeering face. To his astonishment, though the seaman wore a flippant mask, there was deep misery in his eyes. Taken aback, Eselder dropped his gaze, muttered a low “Thank you,” and turned to follow his tormentors below deck. Mr. Evil Brigand cleared his throat and hesitantly said, “Look boy…”
Surprised and hopeful, Eselder turned around. Mr. Evil Brigand faced the ocean and stiffly said, “It’s true you’ve had a shitload of rotten luck…these blue villains think nothing of tearing a lad from all he’s ever known. Fact is, though, you’re on your own now. No one’s gonna look after you or give a dem about you. I helped you out once, but I won’t be making a habit of it. I don’t know where you come from, and I don’t care. But you’ve got to get a backbone, boy, or you’re a goner!”
Grief gripped Eselder’s windpipe so tightly that he could hardly breathe.
“I’ll never get home or s-see my family again!” he choked out, “What does it matter if I live aboard this ship for years to come or die tomorrow? I’ve lost everything!”
“Damnit, don’t give up yet, boy!” Mr. Evil Brigand growled, grabbing Eselder’s shoulder and giving it a fierce shake. The gesture was so shocking that Eselder’s throat unclamped. When was the last time his father had so much as touched him? As if he’d read Eselder’s thoughts, Mr. Evil Brigand hastily released him and wiped his palm on his dirty pants.
That was it. A few words of encouragement from a ruffian, and Eselder became a blubbering wreck. He fought back a sniffle, but his confounded nose decided to run. He sucked in through his nostrils and only succeeded in producing a truly revolting, slurping sound. Finally, having no other recourse, he wiped the river of snot on his sleeve.
After he got control of his streaming nose, Eselder felt he ought to return Mr. Evil Brigand’s kind gesture. Timidly, he asked, “D-Did…did you leave family behind in Brackenpool?”
The silence that followed dragged on like a wave that would never reach shore. Eselder glanced nervously sideways and discovered Mr. Evil Brigand staring out at the black water with a brittle expression. He wished he hadn’t said anything.
“No,” the seaman finally said, and Eselder winced at his harsh tone. Another painful silence ensued, during which Eselder felt sweat trickle down his arms. Then Mr. Evil Brigand pushed himself off the bulwarks so suddenly that Eselder jumped. The seaman noticed, and his eyes narrowed with annoyance.
“Aye, well, glad to see you didn’t throw yourself overboard…the Navy sure don’t give a shit ‘bout their boys, and even if I was so inclined, I’d have a hard time dragging you out of the water!”
The pale seaman turned on his heels and left, as if Eselder’s cowardice was an infectious disease. After he was gone, Eselder slumped forward, hurt beyond words and utterly defeated. For a second, he had thought…
He shook his head, feeling ridiculous, and pressed a hand to his sweaty forehead. Perhaps the mental stress of being brutally torn away from one’s world and sold into nautical slavery was too much for him. Perhaps his mind was caving to the strain, imagining that Mr. Evil Brigand was extending an invitation of friendship when, in reality, the hateful man just wanted to be left alone.
Eselder looked down at the black water. Its ripples flashed with gold in the lantern light, and he could hear it softly splashing against the ship’s hull. The HMS Swift was voyaging steadily southward. Even at nighttime now, Eselder was uncomfortably hot with his jacket on. He closed his eyes, trying to escape at least mentally from the HMS Swift. It was clear that presenting his case to Captain Thornhill was his only hope of setting things right. He had to find a way to speak privately to Thornhill, and quickly. Because with every day that passed, Eselder was sailing farther away from the only life he had ever known.
Eselder shook himself and warily glanced down the bulwarks. To his great dismay, one of Kurzon’s spies caught his eye. Raising a knife to his mouth, the sailor grinned at him and continued to pick pork out from between his teeth.
The day dawned after a miserable night’s sleep.
Eselder hung up his hammock and assisted the galley cook in preparing the morning slop. At breakfast, Cheddar refused to take his turn fetching their rations, ordering Eselder to do it instead. Eselder knew he wouldn’t be allowed to sit at their mess, especially after last night, so when he set their food down, he began ladling burgoo into his bowl.
“And just what d’you think yer doin’, swabbie?”
The ladle froze midway to Eselder’s bowl.
“This is our breakfast,” Cheddar said smugly, “Go find yours somewhere else!”
Eselder was speechless. Mr. Evil Brigand was right. No matter how much he conceded to Cheddar’s demands, he couldn’t satisfy the boy’s appetite for cruelty. He’d either have to stick up for himself or embrace his permanent, humiliating role as Cheddar’s dupe.
“’Ello?” demanded Cheddar. The other boys snickered. “What’re you still doin’ ‘ere? We don’t need you ‘til next time! Run along, Tub! We don’t want you near us!”
Eselder walked away, leaving his bowl behind. He felt like weeping, or perhaps cussing. Forgoing a meal aboard the HMS Swift was not the same as skipping his toast and tea at Kingston. Yes, he needed to stick up for himself…but that wasn’t going to happen today. In fact, if he was honest, Eselder doubted it was going to happen any other day.
He looked miserably around the deck…as if he didn’t already know where he would have to seek refuge. He cautiously approached Mr. Evil Brigand’s mess, and his heart sank when he spotted the seaman. He didn’t dare sit down without an invitation, but Mr. Evil Brigand was staring with glazed eyes through the porthole and didn’t seem to notice him. Eselder bit his lip.
He’s ignoring you. Just because he said a few kind words last night doesn’t mean he wants you around either!
“I beg your pardon? Mr. Evil…”
That was close.
“Excuse me?” Eselder tried again, adding, “Sir?”
Mr. Evil Brigand turned slowly, still lost in his thoughts. When he finally noticed Eselder, he jerked back so hard that his head slammed against the bulkhead. Grabbing the table for support, he pierced his palm with a fork. Eselder winced, and Mr. Evil Brigand viciously snarled, “Bloody mother of Neptune, boy, what do you want?”
“I have nowhere else to go,” whispered Eselder.
“Nowhere else, eh?” Mr. Evil Brigand stood, peering down the gun deck and then at Eselder, who couldn’t look him in the eye. There was plenty of space available, beginning with the empty seat at the cabin boys’ mess.
“Sit down then, if you have to so badly.”
His sneer sent Eselder scrambling for the bench. It was insufferable, relying on this unfriendly man’s charity! Wasn’t he the bloody prince? Then why in heaven’s name couldn’t he act more like it?
; Eselder’s internal monologue shriveled as he watched Mr. Evil Brigand dig into his burgoo. The seadog shoveled an enormous green spoonful into his mouth, and Eselder’s stomach growled. Mr. Evil Brigand glanced up.
“What?” he leered, “Do you expect me to bottle-feed you next? Change your dirty britches? I’m not a nursemaid, boy!”
Eselder’s face pinched with rage. Mr. Evil Brigand grinned and scooped another green glob into his big mouth, smacking his lips with relish. It was astonishing. If only Eselder had known years ago that anger was the key to ridding himself of his cowardice. Adopting his father’s crisp tone, the one he himself loathed with a passion, he remarked, “You’re behaving like a child.”
Mr. Evil Brigand’s bowl would have come crashing down on Eselder’s head had he not dodged. The seaman leapt to his feet with an upraised fist, and Eselder squeaked in fear.
“Get away from me!” Mr. Evil Brigand hissed, his face demonic. Eselder scrambled to comply. He shot for the open hatchway. The man was a villain! A villain! No matter what Cheddar made him do next, Eselder swore furiously to himself, he would never ask for Mr. Evil Brigand’s help again!
“Land, ho!”
The afternoon breeze carried the watchman’s cry from the crow’s nest down to the quarterdeck. Surprised, Eselder looked up from his work. He had not seen land since the HMS Swift had docked at Brackenpool. That must have been over six weeks ago now…
He glanced toward the mizzenmast where Thug Kurzon lounged in the shade, pretending to repair a net. As if he could guess Eselder’s thoughts, the bo’sun shifted and gave him a knowing nod and grin. Eselder looked hastily down at his bruised fingers as the other crewmen went rushing for the port bulwarks. He heard them gawking excitedly, but he stayed put and kept scrubbing back and forth. The extra hour of work was his punishment for evacuating his mess before the ship’s bell rang.
Soon I’ll find a way to speak with Captain Thornhill and then you’ll be sorry!
When his neck screamed for relief, Eselder glanced furtively at Kurzon, sat up, and wiped his hair off his sticky forehead. Men were still gathered about the bulwarks, and Eselder longed to join them. He too wanted to feast his eyes on the Palean Sea’s first island!