The Stowaway (Or The Tales of Curly and Crooktooth)

Chapter 1

"Lady Janelle getting underway!" A voice shouted.

Michael leaned back in the shadowed corner behind the lifeboats. He fiddled with his watch, which was not stolen, just borrowed for an extended amount of time unbeknownst to the owner, and pressed his blue wool hat further on his head; this of course really wasn't stolen, it was a gift. He wanted to close his eyes and take in the salty sea air, the gulls screeching above his head, the lapping of the waves, but he had to remain hidden until the ship was too far to send him swimming back to shore.

Groups of men swore, well, like a bunch of sailors whenever they passed. The clatter of shoes on the wooden deck made Michael jumpy and exposed. What if his hiding spot wasn't good enough? What if he was found? What if-?

He took a deep breath. Those were irrational thoughts. Nobody would come near the lifeboats unless there was a dire emergency, then he would be in trouble.

"Get out of my sight and clean those boats Curly!" A grumpy man shouted.

"But sir, they're never going to be used unless there's a dire emergency."

Michael peeked out ever so slightly from his hiding spot. A short, gruesome looking man with a tangled beard was throwing his fist in the air at a boy, around his age, not quite an adult, but definitely not a teenager. The first thing that stood out to him was the boy's curly hair and tattered clothes. It didn't look like he was winning his argument with Captain Grouchy-Face anytime soon.

The Captain thrust a bucket and a rag at the boy.

"NOW!"

There was disappointment in his voice. "Yes, sir."

Back into the corner again, Michael slid to the floor, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. Why did he have to take this ship? There were plenty in the port but he had to sneak on the one that would throw him overboard. Getting away from Los Angeles was a dream that should have died before he stepped on ship and was going to die himself.

A splash of water hit Michael in the face. Instinctually, he made a noise of discomfort.

"Hello?" The curly head wondered aloud.

The boy searched around the lifeboats and nearly tripped upon him.

"Oooh weee. Man, you're not supposed to be here." The boy grinned a sunshine smile.

Michael didn't say a word. He was too busy thinking of how well he could swim.

"I won't tell anyone. You don't look the dangerous type anyways. At least I hope you're not dangerous. Captain says that stowaways are ruthless and carry swords and guns and all sorts of weapons to sabotage the ship. You don't have a gun do you?" Michael shook his head in puzzlement. The boy sat down in front of him and extended his soapy, wet hand. "I'm Micky."

Michael watched the soap drip off of the boy's hand. Micky followed his gaze and promptly wiped his hands on his pants, which were also slightly soapy and wet.

They shook hands.

"Michael," he introduced himself.

"Can I call you Mike? I'd call you Micky but that's my name. Well, it's also Michael, but that's too formal for me."

He nodded.

"Sweet. We better get you to a better hiding spot. I know all the hiding spots on this ship. There's the one in the galley, and the one just round the corner from the captain's quarters, though that one's a bit risky, but risky is fun sometimes, and then there's the one-"

Micky was interrupted by a pair of boots walking past the lifeboats. "Who you talking to, Curly?"

Micky jumped up and grabbed the soapy rag. "Just an imaginary friend. You know me, Ratrunner. Always need someone to keep me company, real or not." He splashed grimy water on the boats, inevitably getting Michael wet. Ratrunner, a man named not for making rats run but vice versa, stayed and chatted with Micky, or Curly as he was known as on the ship.