Minerva's Voyage by Lynne Kositsky Read Free Book Online Page B

obey your commands.”
    â€œYes. Thank you. Good night,” said Boors, ever the gentleman. He put his cap back on.
    â€œGood night, sir,” I replied.
    â€œOld fool,” Scratcher said, as Boors closed the door on his own thumb and was obliged to open it again. He let out a yelp, and his straggly beard bristled.
    A wall of water poured over the deck. The cannons groaned, straining against the ropes that held them in place. We scrambled for safety as the pilot was thrown off balance and fell from on high among us; he seemed unhurt, racing back to the helm to try to direct the ship. Boors, who had been following us, scurried back to his room.
    That afternoon there was a lull, but later the wind grew stronger, roaring without cease, so loud that we could hear it below, despite the usual din. Rain pelted the hatch, a small stream of water leaking through it and down the ladder. Water was coming in also through gaps in the timbers. Those who had fallen asleep began to wake and moan as they tried to light lanterns. I had been cowering in a corner, legs drawn up, but now rose and pushed my body against the tilt of the boat so I could reach a wooden support and hold on.
    The ship creaked as though about to split in half. Children were howling. Women and men were shouting and trying to hang onto their belongings, to one another, and to the upright supports, as I did. A memory of meat and maggots came back to me, and I threw up into the bilge.
    â€œLook to my chest, you snivelling fish brain,” yelled Scratcher. The chest, like much else in the hold, was sliding across the wet floor. A barrel was sliding too, before falling on its side and rolling.
    â€œLook to my chest, I said. And stop that keg, before it bursts and the hold is awash in beer.”
    I meant not to budge, whatever Scratcher said, but lost my grip and fell over when the ship’s prow reared up and out of the water. I slid like an eel along the floor as the boat lurched violently down. There was nothing for me to grab hold of. I had lost my place and the supports were few and far between, already thickly surrounded by others fighting to keep their balance; everything seemed in motion. We listed to the right. My feet hit the side and for an instant I was anchored. Then, as the boat listed the other way, I began to slide back. My shoulder hit the chest and I stumbled up and sat on it. It moved little after that, but I felt that at any second I would be hurled elsewhere. The beer barrel hit it too, coming to a sharp halt as it did so. Then it rolled again, exploding beer into the water. Everything else slithered and skidded as the ship reeled.
    â€œDear God, I want a dry death, any death but this. Dear God, save me from the sea,” I implored over and over. “I swear I will never listen to the whoosh and flash of wickedness again.” I clung to the chest. But the wind and rain only grew more violent.
    Fence hurtled down the ladder, tripping over a rung in his haste.
    â€œWe were sleeping on deck,” he said, “until the tempest grew right wild. Then I was sent high into the rigging to help furl the sails. Another sailor up there toppled into the ocean.”
    â€œThere was no rescuing him?”
    â€œWe passed him in a second as the ship was driven on.”
    â€œNot Piggsley?” My heart skipped. “It wasn’t Piggsley?”
    â€œI saw little. The gale lashed my face, blinding me.” He was drenched and trembling.
    â€œPerchance, with a bit of luck, it was Proule.” As the words left my mouth, I felt shamed. I hugged Fence. “Hell’s Bells and Cockle Shells, thanks be that you’re safe.”
    â€œThanks be,” he echoed, his blue eyes dark and wild.
    He and I clung to each other, true it is, through the dark hours, though I could barely see him. We were violently shaken and sick. In spite of the heat, my teeth chattered, sure that we were on our way to hell or already there. God