The Maiden in the Mirror

by Scott Hamerton

  "I'm the purser, the navigator, and the surgeon, or whatever it tickles the fancy of the captain for me to be."

  Navigator and surgeon were familiar to her, but Minerva questioned his ability to navigate a ship from a windowless room. "What are you reading?" she asked, leaning over for a better look.

  "You can read?" he asked quietly, as he pushed the book slightly out of view.

  Minerva nodded eagerly.

  Lintumen snapped the book shut so fast that it blew several papers off the table. That act, and how he hadn't taken his eyes off her since she asked him his job, made her want to rescind the whole conversation.

  A heavy knock hammered into the door before it swung open, revealing a tall and handsome man, clean cut, but with pocked skin and shoulder length curly black hair. He posed wonderfully in a striking black coat with gleaming white slacks, a white shirt with brass buttons, and polished black boots. An equally gleaming rapier and pistol hung on either of his sides.

  "Minerva, is it?" he asked, in a smooth voice.

  Minerva tried to smile reassuringly.

  "Are you aware that you're on a pirate ship?"

  She nodded.

  "Are you also aware that we are currently retreating and that we cannot take you home?"

  The captain's striking blue eyes locked onto her own as she nodded once more, but he abruptly turned away to look around the room. As he did, a strange sensation of guilt lingered in his expression.

  "Get your things and come with me," he commanded.

  Minerva jumped from the table, grabbed her dress from the hook, and hurried into the hallway. Three doorways occupied the short passage, two at her end, one of which she just exited, and a set of stained glass double doors at the other end, where the captain stopped. Vibrant light shone in through the gorgeous windows.

  "I'm Captain Glass," he said. "You may refer to me simply as captain. Always conclude any discourse between us with aye, sir, or recognition of my rank. Aye, Captain. Yes, Captain. Understood?"

  "Yes, Captain," she squeaked, clutching her dress close to her chest.

  "We are currently on course to arrive in Riggersport in several days, where our ship is to be repaired."

  "Yes, Captain," she added when he paused, questioning if asking about Riggersport would be inappropriate. She had never heard of it.

  Captain Glass smiled and pushed open the doors, blinding Minerva with daylight. As she stumbled outward into a cool wind, an incredible vista formed. Sailors lingered everywhere, some on the deck, others stood on the booms that held the sails, while a few tended to ropes, nets, and chests of tools. A duo near the fore appeared to be hunting birds with small harpoons.

  Minerva wandered to the nearest edge and looked out. A sea of green treetops stretched away in rolling waves from the side of the ship, drifting along beneath them.

  "Welcome aboard the Skyraker," Captain Glass said, as he moved to stand beside her. "We were quite surprised to find you alive in our netting several days ago. Normally we wouldn't allow a woman of any age aboard, but seeing as we are responsible for your injuries, you may stay until we arrange a method for you to return home."

  Minerva really wanted to ask why they didn't allow women on board, but forgot the notion entirely when she turned around. Every single sailor, on the deck and up in the rigging, stared at her in an unfriendly way, imparting upon her the sudden urge to crawl overboard.

  An imposing dark-skinned man approached them at the rail. He was an older man, yet quite muscular, but of a lean build and incredibly tall. He wore exactly what she wore, and just like her, his clothes barely fit. The difference was that his immense frame vastly exceeded the reasonable limitations of his attire. Minerva recognized him immediately as the man that observed her as she left her house, and again when she was pinned to the ship.

  "Minerva, Olbus, Olbus, Minerva," the captain explained, without pausing between words. Waggled pointing ensued. "Olbus is my boatswain and your direct commander in my absence. He will assign you a cabin and a role, which I expect you to perform to the best of your abilities. I also expect you to follow the rules of the ship, which Olbus will happily provide if you ask him. Good luck."

  Olbus led Minerva below deck without a word before he turned, and she chased the shadow of the massive man. They passed through several cramped spaces and poorly lit cabins, many of which barely accommodated Olbus' impressive shape, while the constant sound of creaking wood followed them everywhere.

  Bunks. Galley. Head. You. Me. Head meant lavatory, Minerva deduced, while 'you' and 'me' meant Olbus' room and her own, which directly opposed each other. She didn't realize a person could succinctly describe every space in a ship with one word apiece.

  Olbus opened the door to Minerva's new home, revealing a cramped chamber with four bunks and storage for four people. It proudly boasted a tiny table built into an alcove in the outer hull, with a small bench on each side. She saw no one else, and put her dress in an empty drawer beneath one of the lower bunks.

  "Change of clothes in here. Bedding here. Tidy your bunk every morning. Clean your kit once a week. No alcohol outside the galley."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Bell rings five times solid for meals. Thirty minutes including wash up. No weapons unless we are called to arms. Bell is rung without pause when at arms."

  "Yes, sir," she replied meekly, upon discovering he was done. "Am I to have duties, sir?"

  Olbus turned swiftly when she looked him in the eye, leaving her to follow him down another deck, into a deeper darker part of the ship. Hold. Lockup. Larder. Buckets. They stopped at buckets, an isolated cabin at the end of a tight hallway over the hold. An explosion of footwork erupted from within when Olbus opened the door. A group of four boys, slightly older than Minerva, stood at attention.

  "Swabbies," Olbus kindly pointed out, walking away at the same time. Relaxation immediately ensued.

  Friends, Minerva's inner voice added.

  "Close the door, stupid," said one of her new friends. He was the boy that had come to Lintumen's room with her clothes, but he glared angrily at her once it was just the five of them.

  Minerva stepped inward, closing the door, at which point the swabbies happily began ignoring her in silence. For several awkward minutes, she glanced idly at nothing and held her arms for comfort. The tiny cabin contained two benches, one against the hull, and a perpendicular one that connected with it. A rack of scrub brushes hung over a small porthole, and a mountain of buckets, with all their handles facing the same direction, were stacked tightly against the third wall, adjacent to the hallway. The fourth wall hosted only the spout and handle of a water pump. One of the four boys pinched a bucket between his knees, patching it.

  The memory of William and his love of pirate ships came back to Minerva in that moment. In light of what she currently knew of the trade, she concluded that he either knew nothing about pirates, or he was an idiot.

  Chapter 6

  Swabbie

  "So," Minerva drawled, attempting to initiate a conversation. The swabbies glared at her. "I'm Minerva."

  "That's a stupid name," her nice new friend commented, spitting on the ground and sneering. "I'm going to call you Minnie. There, that's your pirate name. Minnie Minerva." He laughed heartily at his own wit.

  Be their friends. Ask them their names, her thoughts urged.

  "Spit," spat Spit, spitting on the floor. He was the first to call her Minnie.

  "Lockjaw," said Lockjaw, speaking through his teeth without moving his jaw.

  "Patch," growled Patch, continuing to fix his bucket.

  "Grunts," grunted Grunts, not committing to anything, and certainly not looking at her.

  "Oh, you all use nicknames?"

  "Of course we do. We're pirates," croaked Grunts.

  Minerva stood in the corner, wondering exactly how to manufacture an exit from the room full of silent angry people. She wasn't even sure why they were angry. "What do we need to do around here?" she asked.

>   "Whatever we're told to do," Spit explained in a harsh tone. She already hated him, but she didn't want to upset her inner voice.

  "I thought swabbies cleaned things?"

  "We do, but we already did it today. We'll do it again tomorrow, and the day after that, and when we're not doing that, we wait here until we're off duty or told to do something else."

  "What do you use?" she continued, propping up the conversation out of the habit.

  All four of them gawked at her.

  "Water comes from here," Spit said in a patronizing tone, pointing at a rusted pump that jutted out from the wall. "Clean whatever you want."

  Minerva eyed the pump quizzically. "Where does the water come from?" she asked.

  "There's a cistern in the hold," Lockjaw mumbled.

  Although Minerva smiled warmly, and Lockjaw briefly reciprocated, silent admonishment from his fellows quickly stifled his happiness.

  "Thank you," Minerva replied emphatically, and then went for a bucket. "I need new water," she remarked, disturbed by the brown sludge in the nearest receptacle.

  None of them replied, except Spit, who did so by spitting on the floor and pointing at the porthole.

  Minerva emptied the bucket out the tiny window. She stood up on her toes and leaned out, doing her best to avoid splattering someone below. After hanging the bucket from the spout, she reached for the pump and pulled down, but it held fast, unmoving, so she tried again. Still nothing.

  Everyone is watching you.

  In a very real sense, she could feel their eyes locked onto her back, like predators watching their prey. They were waiting for her to fail. Her skin prickled and her stomach felt cold. She tried the handle again, heaving with all her weight as elegantly as possible. Several voices snickered.

  "Please, ship," she whispered quietly. "I could really use your help right now. I don't know where I am or how I'll get home, and I'm really scared, so how about a little cooperation?"

  Dirty cold metal twisted in her grasp when she tried the crank again.

  "What's the matter, Minnie? Need some help?"

  "Don't be like this, please?" she begged, beginning to cry, but the lever remained welded in place.

  "Looks like it's too stiff for a girl!" Spit shouted, howling with laughter.

  "Ships are girls, aren't they?" Minerva tried, hoping for a little diplomacy. "Us girls need to stick together, right?"

  At the brink of despair, Minerva pressed down with all her weight, entirely lifting her feet off the floor by leaning on both hands, and suddenly dove headlong into the wall as the handle fell away beneath her. Flowing water splashed victoriously into her bucket as she massaged her nose and cleared the tears from her eyes.

  When she righted herself and attempted the pump again, fresh, clear water effortlessly flushed out. She spent a moment scrubbing out the bucket and then refilled it while four boys sat dumbfounded around her. Supplies in hand, she opened the door to the cabin and stepped out, hunching her shoulders to keep her shirt from slipping off a shoulder while both of her hands held her bucket.

  "Wait a minute," Spit demanded as she exited the room.

  Minerva kicked the door closed with her foot before he could say anything else.

  "How did she do that?"

  "I don't know! It takes all four of us to crank that thing!"

  Minerva walked away from the door with a broad smile, while the sound of four young boys fighting with a rusty water pump followed her upstairs.

  After liberating herself into the watchful scrutiny of the sailors outside, Minerva began her cleaning project with the railing. It certainly wasn't the filthiest part of the ship, and in fact, the constant friction of a grasping hand kept it quite polished. However, the vantage it granted allowed her to gaze out over the edge whenever she wanted. From up here she could see far into the distance, and the air felt cool and fresh. If not for the crew around her, it would have been the perfect place to relax and forget her worries.

  Starting at the bow of the ship, she worked her way back towards the stern, huddling low against the railing to stay out of sight of the sailors that eyed her suspiciously. Quite soon into her efforts, an unexpected benefit arose. Along the inside of the railing, where the deck met the hull, Minerva discovered a trove of treasures ground into a layer of dirt. Not only did she excavate the expected sorts of metal too heavy for lazy swabbies to sweep up, including a few small coins, but she also found buttons, thread, and a number of wooden needles. She immediately used the needle and a strand of thread stripped from her sleeve to tighten the neck hole of her shirt. After she pocketed the supplies she resumed her task, eagerly anticipating the next exciting new treasure she might uncover.

  In time, her focus shifted from beautiful horizons and green treetops to the narrow intersection of wood on wood. Lost in the activity, she continued around the deck oblivious to the world, picking through the discarded treasures of the crew.

  A painful yelp brought Minerva's attention back to reality, and she looked up to see the foot of an angry sailor lodged inside her bucket. The man shouted in pain as he twisted over, toppling backwards with an armload of netting and junk hauled up from below the ship. Bits of clutter and plunder crashed onto the deck, blanketing Minerva and the man at the same time.

  Along with the rest of the goods, something shiny and metal skittered out, coming to a rest beside Minerva's hand. A slim curved dagger, about as long as her hand and as wide as her pinkie, complete with a small guard, brushed against her fingers.

  Shouting and cussing, the man flung the netting off and leaped to his feet while Minerva cowered against the hull. "Stay out of the way!" he screamed, brandishing Minerva's scrub brush at her as he shouted. Dissatisfied with the power of his threat, he launched the tool down into the bucket. A column of water erupted into the air in response. Then he snatched the dagger as well and wielded it menacingly, causing Minerva to tense up in fear and contemplate a hasty exit overboard. "And take your damn hairbrush with you!" he added, flinging the dagger into the water with the scrub brush.

  Not long after the shouting began, the dashing Captain Glass arrived with Olbus at his side. The angry sailor took one look at the imposing boatswain and immediately went back to work as if Minerva didn't exist. Captain Glass briefly assessed the situation before returning to the helm while Olbus remained behind to tower over Minerva.

  Minerva's heart sank. A dagger of any size was certainly a weapon, and now it was in her bucket. If he pulled it out, he could blame her for concealing it. Olbus said nothing as she turned her face downward and went back to scrubbing, hoping that he failed to notice the weapon in her bucket.

  "Lunch," he said. It was more than a fact. With that one word, his voice alone conveyed a command, an expectation, and an explanation. She was to put away her supplies and head to the galley immediately.

  "Yes, sir," she replied with her heart racing.

  After Olbus departed, Minerva moved to conceal the dagger in her pocket with the rest of her treasures, but realized it was likely to either escape or injure her without a sheath. Instead, she unrolled her bun and pinched the dagger between the wooden slats that held her hair in place, winding all of it together once more. Minerva's mother often joked that Minerva's hair could shatter sheers, so there probably wasn't much risk in a solitary blade.

  Minerva surreptitiously peered around in search of witnesses, but all the sailors were now intently focused on acquiring lunch. Her body flushed at once with the pride and anxiety that accompanies a successful lie.

  Chapter 7

  Lunch Break

  The sound of a hundred voices buzzed in Minerva's ears as she approached the galley. Once inside, she found a room teeming with the heat and vibrancy of life. Even the floorboards emanated warmth from the passage of many eager bare footsteps.

  Thankfully, nobody noticed when she took her place in line, and she enjoyed the contrast of the smooth sweaty wood beneath her toes and the cold tin bowl and plate between her finge
rs. She kept her gaze downward and admired the gentle curves and splendid knots of the floorboards, fearful of those that were surely staring at her.

  Pleasantly distracted, she was shuffling along in time with the movements of the queue when the person in front of her stopped unexpectedly, causing her to run head first into the small of their back. The man spun to face Minerva, much too quickly for her to hide.

  "I suppose that's – one way to make friends," he said. "But you're a little high – and not enough pucker."

  Minerva struggled to understand why some of the words came out without the man moving his mouth. Then another man, behind the man she ran into, leaned sideways and smiled. She had heard of identical twins before, but had never met any, and these two clearly embraced the most literal interpretation of the concept. They both had the same straight dark hair, brown eyes, and broad grin, but more than that, they tucked their clothes the same way, wrapped their belt the same, and stood in such a perfectly duplicitous way that their trousers creased in the same place.

  "Luff – and Leech," they said, pointing at each other as they both spoke separately. "We're – riggers. Minerva – right? Nice to – meet you."

  Minerva grinned widely, wanting to say something but unable to interrupt without feeling rude. It wasn't two people speaking separately as much as it was a uniform sentence spoken smoothly by two people.

  "Three weeks and a day. One month."

  "I'm sorry," she offered, desperate to keep up with a conversation that was apparently carrying on without her.

  "Sorry that – you ran into me? Sorry that – you aren't sure what to say? Sorry that – you're not a sailor? Sorry that – we're last in line? Sorry that – you don't know – which of us is Luff – and which is Leech? You need to be – more specific."

  "Sorry for bumping into you," she blurted, doing her best to be involved.

  "Well mannered. Seems sharp. Soups up. Hey, Jim. Good eggs? Never are. Thanks."