Secrets of the Sea

Chapter 8

        The next day I decided to take my break from the kitchen sitting peacefully in the shade of the staircase that led up to the ship’s wheel. It was time for me to set things straight in my mind.

            First, the things I knew for sure:

v  My friends are all dead.

v  I am on a ship headed for Dissira.

v  I do not know why we are going there.

I asked Char, but he neatly side-stepped my question. I didn’t even realize he did that until I reviewed our conversation later.

Second, the things I need to find out:

v  Why we are going to Dissira.

v  How I am going to find that information .

v  And why I always get fluttering feeling in my stomach when I think of Char, and get warm when I hear him speak.

I pondered on the last issue  for several minutes, looking but not looking at the sailors who did their jobs on deck, tossing ropes around, fastening lines, and crawling around the rigging. At first the answer seems quite obvious. But no. No! I promised myself I would never again fall in love. There must be another reason... something I’m missing….

Nat’aniel scampered up next to me. In the past couple of days we’ve been getting closer. There were so many differences between us, so many things that should keep us apart. But, somehow, there were a lot of similarities. Like…

“I’m bored.”

“Me, too,” I sighed. “Doesn’t the cook need you around this time?”

Nat’aniel shrugged. “I don’ know. Or care. Me Master’ll call me when he sees some other dirty job ‘e wants me t’do.”

I gave him a dark look. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Nat’aniel let out a long sigh and flopped down on his back. “I don’t know, I don’t care. My Master will call me when ‘e wants me.” He accented each word he pronounced right with exaggerated frustration. His language was something we had been working on while we cleaned the kitchens.

“Very good,” I said and rubbed my hand over his short curly hair. He glared at me for real then and lightly kicked me. I stuck my tongue out at him. Before he could retaliate, though, a large shadow slid over us and we both looked up into the red livid face of the cook.

Sir punched at Nat’aniel’s head. The boy curled up to protect himself as Sir bent over and grabbed the collar of Nat’aniel’s shirt. Part of it ripped and revealed dark skin stretched over a small rib cage. Sir grabbed his bronze slave collar instead and lifted him easily in the air by it.

“Who’re you ta be familiar wi’ Miss Dawn, ya mangy flea bag! Ya slave boy!” Sir continued to shake the poor boy as he yelled at him.

“Stop it! Leave him alone!” I pulled on the arm that held Nat’aniel off the deck. The poor boy squirmed and choked. His bony arms pulled at his collar.

“You’re choking him,” I screamed at the big man. What was wrong with him???

The cook yelped and threw Nat’aniel to the deck. A thin red line appeared on his forearm.

“How dare you treat this boy in such a manner?” Char thundered. His slid his sword back in its sheath on his hip. I’d never seen him that angry. His brown eyes, usually so soft and warm, were now dark and stormy, something I never they could never be.