Owned by the Ocean by Christine Steendam Read Free Book Online

retreating shoreline. His father owned a sugar
plantation somewhere on the island, but he’d never seen it, never
left the confines of England until now. Had his father been there,
on his yearly trip to oversee it? Could they have been walking the
same streets these past few days and not run into each other? Brant
shook his head, dislodging the thoughts. The chances of his father
being there were slim, at best. And even if he had been, and even
if they’d seen each other, Brant knew there would be no
acknowledgement. He’d made the choice to leave; he was dead in his
father’s eyes now.
     
    * * *
     
    Months went
by, days of hard work melding into each other. It seemed like
yesterday that Brant had sailed away from Port Royale. The only
sign of passing time was his continued improvement at sparring and
the growing pile of wooden barrels and chests in the hold.
    Brant had
become more accustomed to raids; the noises and smells no longer
bothering him. And, in the months since leaving Port Royale he had
been promoted from Cabin boy to Sailor, allowing him to collect a
larger portion of pay and no longer being required to swab the deck
or clean the latrine. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. He wanted to
be Sailing Master.
    Many times
he’d watched Corbin plot out a course using his tools and the
stars. He’d adjust the rudder by centimeters, to keep them from
sailing kilometers off course. He wrestled the ship against winds
and won. It was the perfect mixture of science and strength, and it
fascinated Brant.
    It was good
work, respectable. Maybe not enough to write home to his father
about, but it was a start, and it was a goal he could work
towards.
    Brant’s
seventeenth birthday came, no different than any other day. He
wouldn’t have even realized if he hadn’t been going over some of
the navigation tools with Corbin and he had mentioned the date.
    “ It’s my birthday,” he said, working with the
astrolabe.
    “ Yer birthday? How many years?”
    Brant
shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.
“Seventeen.”
    “ That be a year deserving of a drink.”
    Corbin
disappeared down to the hold for a few minutes, leaving Brant alone
on deck, feeling a little silly that his friend was even
acknowledging a day that seemed so trivial and childish.
    Corbin
returned with a dusty bottle of rum and took a swig before handing
it over to Brant. They drank together as Corbin showed Brant the
different uses for the tools he had laid out on the deck in front
of them.
    “ You done real good for yerself,” he told Brant as he packed
away his leather pouch of instruments. “Cap’n is pleased with yer
work and you be well on yer way to being the best swordsman we have
on board.”
    “ And yet Captain LaFleur will not let me fight.”
    “ Cap’n won’t be appreciatin’ me saying this, but he’s a softy.
He ain’t eager to send anyone into the fray until they’ve proven
they can hold their own. Soon, you’ll be up there. You can best
nearly anyone on the ship, just gotta let the Cap’n know yer
ready.”
    Brant nodded
and took another swig of rum. “Are you looking forward to summer
leave?” he asked, changing the subject.
    “ Aye, it’s been too long since I seen my wife. You have family
waitin’ for you?”
    Brant’s mind
went briefly to James, but he shook his head. “It’s just me.”
    “ Yer welcome to stay with me and the wife. The house ain’t
much, but it’s a roof over yer head.”
     
    * * *
     
    Two months of leave went by uneventfully and Brant found
himself happier than ever to be back on the BlackFox and sailing again. He had
spent the summer storm months with Corbin and his wife, Anna,
helping them with various repairs Anna needed done before they
left. In the evenings Corbin taught him the more intricate science
of navigation; how to map and read the stars and use the more
delicate instruments in his arsenal.
    Every day he
found time to spar with Corbin, more to keep himself in shape