Cerulean Isle by G.M. Browning Read Free Book Online Page A

another word.
    At first, I did feel better. The cool spray of the waves was refreshing, but it wasn’t long before I realized that I had been made a fool. I suffered terrible burns on my back and neck. The skin on my back cracked and bled.
    Apart from the maltreatment, I continued to work as hard as I could. I found that if I focused on the labor, I forgot my woes, if only for a little while. Though terrified, I climbed the highest rigging to the top of the mainmast to check the condition of the lines. I handled buckets of volatile gunpowder, served the pirates their food and drink, and held watch over the sea so the ship’s navigator could take a few moments rest.
    After several days of working the main deck, I grew fond of the sounds of beating lines and flapping sails. The pull of the wind, the rolling of the water, the moonlight casting a web of shadows on the deck—I enjoyed this part of life on the sea.
    In the few fleeting moments I was permitted to rest and eat, I went to the starboard bow to look out over the beautiful azure sea. The tips and swirls of the dancing waves sparkled like my mother’s eyes. In my heart I could hear her last words to me: I promise that I will watch over you always. I will be the sunlight that warms and the wind that cools. I will be the rustle of leaves and the stir of the sea. Feel these things through all of your days and know I am with you. Remembering her comforted me. I pressed on with strength.
    ~~~~~~
    “This isn’t so bad, Jacob,” Grant said.
    We were down in the barrel hold helping the others check the food and other provisions. The stock was dangerously low.
    “Better than being thrown overboard, I suppose.” I answered. “I like not being confined to the barrel room, but I don’t share your allure of the pirates’ life.”
    “For many years, I picked pockets to survive. I lived alone, and when I lost my way, there was no one there to help me. I dreamt of sailing, dreamt of being free. This is it, my friend. The Obsidian can go anywhere.”
    “Your devotion will not be rewarded. You’ll see. L’Ollon means to use us and then we’re dead. If not for his plans in Curacao, we would be dead right now.”
    “When we get there, we’ll see how…” he paused, and then tensed. “Today is the day, Jacob. We should be entering Willemstad Harbor this afternoon.”
    Grant and I stared at each other, suddenly frightened. A part of me wished we had another week to sail, another week of working the main deck instead of committing thievery with the possibility of being killed at any moment.
    “Aye,” said a deep voice from behind us. Christoff looked imperial in his fine russet blouse and shiny black boots. His leather belt held a magnificent cutlass enclosed in a gold trimmed scabbard. On his fingers he wore dazzling jeweled rings that sent beams of color dancing on the walls. He needed to impress Captain Shanley, to convince him that he was a wealthy seaman interested in purchasing a ship. He looked the part as he stood in the lantern light of the barrel room.
    “Come with me,” said Christoff. “Captain L’Ollon wants you cleaned up and readied for land.”
    We went to the main deck where the crew was hard at work furling the sails. At dizzying heights, the pirates dangled from taut lines and swaying beams. They hollered and grunted as they hoisted the heavy, wind-catching fabric to long bulging rolls. As the sails were raised, I felt the Obsidian slow. Soon, the three great masts looked like naked trees, and the pace of the mighty barque was reduced to a drift. I looked over the starboard side and saw Curacao resting on the horizon. The island looked long and flat; we were close enough that I could make out the pointy roofs and colorful paint of the Dutch-built homes.
    We followed Christoff to a small storeroom. He opened a long wooden chest to reveal bundles of clean clothes. Christoff drew out two clean, white linen shirts and handed them to us. Next, he gave