several bunks away, called to Drake, fear in his tone. Drake turned toward him, desperate for a distraction. Danny had proved his salvation more than once on this hellish voyage. He saw the boy through the dim light. His thin frame draped in ragged clothes, hanging onto his cot, eyes wide. Drake’s stomach turned. Watching the children endure this suffering required a different kind of bearing up than he’d yet experienced. The numbers haunted them all—only twenty-one of the original forty children were still alive.
Drake held tight to the beds on the way to Danny’s cot as the ship jerked about anyone who tried to walk. Grasping the boy’s thin-boned hand, Drake squeezed, panting to catch his breath so he could shout above the gale. “Is this not a grand ride, Danny?”
“My stomach hurts and I think I’m going to throw up, but there isn’t anything in my stomach to come up.” Danny grinned at his own joke, the skeletal smile making Drake’s stomach twist harder. He remembered his breakfasts of coddled eggs and ham and toast, and how he’d thought it his due as a human, never mind as a duke. What he wouldn’t give to have that golden, butter-smeared toast to give to Danny right now.
How different he could have been! Drake’s chest heaved with the sorrow of it, but he rallied, became bright and encouraging, because he didn’t have anything else to give Danny but hope. “Well, in that case, it’s a good thing your stomach is empty. Now let us see if we can get your mind on something else. How is your reading lesson coming?”
Drake had written out the alphabet for Danny some days ago, helping the lad memorize them and the sounds they made.
“I’m up to letter p, sir.” He put his lips together, forcing air out, making the p sound. He stopped suddenly as a violent cough racked his emaciated body. Drake put a comforting hand on the boy’s back. When the spasm subsided, Danny blurted out, “Will you really give me a book once I ’ave it all down?”
Another dip rolled Danny into Drake, nearly knocking them both to the floor. “Of course. A gentleman always keeps his word.” Drake rushed the statement, seeing the boy’s eyes fill with terror as he righted them, settling the child back into his blankets.
Suddenly, a loud creaking sounded above them, which turned into a thunderous crash. Drake covered Danny’s body with his own, waiting for the ceiling to cave in on them, the water to flood in. When it didn’t, he looked up to see a sailor coming down the steps, water pouring into the hold.
“You there! And any other able-bodied men! We need help!”
Drake patted Danny’s arm. “Hang on tight, Danny. We’re men of the sea now. We can overcome this.” The boy nodded, hero worship in his eyes as Drake turned from him and scrambled up to the deck, panic imbuing him with renewed strength. The ship had righted itself, but the damage to the main mast was massive. Every man available scrambled to the huge, wooden pole with its tattered sails flapping like wind-blown laundry. Drake shouldered his part of the load as they struggled to raise the beam. The wind tore at them and the weight, too much for their combined weakened state, knocked the beam out of their hands.
Again and again they tried to raise it, creaking and groaning, the men grunting and heaving, but finally, they gave up and laid it back down on the deck. They could only try again after the wind died down.
Drake’s dread grew. Without the main sail it was impossible to steer the ship, which now tossed upon the gray, foaming waves like some giant child’s toy. The thought of going off-track and losing time sobered them all. Rations were already slim; they couldn’t afford to lose their way.
Soaked to the bone and shivering violently, Drake abandoned the attempt and, with the other defeated men, stumbled back down into the cesspool of stench that was their home.
Nothing was left to them but to wrap sodden blankets around themselves