With Courage [Prince Caspian]

Chapter 2

My sanity is slipping.

It's been seven days since I arrived, I think. It's hard to properly keep track in an environment like this, when every day follows a routine that's painfully monotonous. At dawn, the hammocks below deck are stowed for the day and the crew set about their various tasks of scrubbing above and below deck, the ladders and the hatches until Drinian determines it adequate. Breakfast consists of biscuits and sardines, though on Saturday's we're treated to salted pork, and occasionally someone brings out a bottle of wine to begin the day. When that happens, I've found it to be a sign of a great day which eventually turns sour; I partake when included and drink as much as I can get away with, grateful for its light buzz to numb my panicked thoughts, but after lunch the lurching of the ship catches up with my weakened stomach and I end up bent over a railing returning the sardines to their rightful home. Thankfully, the crew chalk it up to a lack of sea legs (now only partly true. I'm getting there.) and have yet to deny me my one saving grace in the mornings.

Following breakfast, a select few carry out further maintenance while the rest dissolve into their smaller groups and socialise. Some mend clothes, other spar, but mainly they talk, laugh, shout and sing shanties. In my case, I dedicate my morning to scanning the horizon and trying to will a piece of land into existence so we can dock or finding a convenient barrel to hide behind so I can observe the others.

Tavros, the minotaur, no longer shocks me merely with his presence and, for the most part, neither does the fact he's the sweetest member on board. Though not able to help cook – his exceptional strength combined with his hooved hands making it an impossible task, despite his determination – he's the most complimentary about the food and is always the first to help clean afterwards. From what I've seen, there's not a single member who dislikes him in the slightest way, and he makes a point of communicating with everyone and sustaining morale on the occasion where we're lacking. It sounds strange, having been here for such a short time, but I feel my mornings back home when I return will always be incomplete without his unfailingly cheerful greeting.

Caspian, once he's finished listening to reports from Drinian and the other high-ranking lieutenants, emerges from his office to have lunch with the crew, followed by overseeing the rowers changing shift, and stays on deck talking and sparring until dinner. It's hard to remember he's considered a king here, wherever here is. Despite his clothes differing from the uniform everyone else (including myself) wears, his regal posture and the broadsword that puts our cutlass's to shame slung at his hip, those features seem to melt away when he's in conversation. The ease with which he jokes with the crew is something I never expected from a king, not those in my childhood storybooks, at least. Always so stoic and stately, like Drinian, and unswervingly old. Caspian seems to defy everything I thought a king would be, except his humble offering of his private cabin to me on my first day here. When I saw the hammocks strung from the rafters in columns three high, where he had moved to for the nights, I was infinitely grateful for it.

Much of the crew stayed clear of me, to which I felt a mix of gratitude and disappointment. It was easier to observe at a distance, though I think that may have been one of their reasons for keeping far – I was always watching. A faint part of me recognised how weird it must seem, a stranger washed up in the deep sea claiming to be from another land, spending all her time observing without comment, but I was fascinated with this world of fauns and minotaurs and even a giant talking mouse called Reepicheep, who sang and talked more than the rest and always bowed the deepest. It never felt good to be alone, though. On the occasion that I did interact with others, they were unfailingly polite, which made me feel guilty about being so odd. Thankfully I had –

"Get out from behind the crate and spar me, Blackwill!" -Marco. He appeared above me, leaning the top half of his body on the aforementioned crate and grinning down at me. I startled and looked away from the gap between boxes I used to spy and up at him.