With Courage [Prince Caspian]

Chapter 5

We're silent for a long time. Like me, Lucy collapses to the ground against the opposite wall and keeps her eyes trained on the floor, eyes unblinking. I think she's trying not to cry. Eustace, for once, is speechless. He shifts nervously on jittery legs by the bars, looking out to the empty stone room free of any decoration bar from a window we can't see out of and a broken chair, its disconnected forth leg left on the seat. There's a weight on my chest, so heavy that I might as well have been crushed underneath the Dawn Treader, as I properly process this situation.

"She can go to market." He had said. Call me crazy, but I doubt I'll be hand-picking fresh fruit tomorrow morning. Normal markets can't buy the fabrics they wore, or the jewels. I huddle my knees against my chest and bury my head between them, trying to stay as calm as possible. If I cry or scream, I don't know if these people will try to help me or they'll end up doing the same, turning us into a cage of distressed monkeys at a zoo. It doesn't help knowing we'll probably be paraded as such tomorrow.

"What do we do now?" Eustace splutters. I guess I should have appreciated the quiet while it lasted, but it's good to hear someone, even him, voice one of the many questions rolling through my head. Lucy looks up, dejected.

"I don't think there's anything we can do."

"That's ridiculous! There's an entire ship cre– " Lucy leaps up and clamps a hand over his mouth before he can finish. Eustace squirms away, apparently enough of a germaphobe to avoid contact even with his cousin.

"What if they're listening? Drinian and Reepicheep will be organizing a search party any minute now, look!" She whispers, removing her hand and pointing at the window in our cell, too high up for any of us to peer through and the wall below it worn so smooth that we can tell countless others have already scrabbled for the chance. What we can see however, is the barest tip of the sun rapidly setting, leaving a deep blue sky in its wake. Dusk.

"How long do we wait?" Lucy pauses, staring at the window. She turns to Eustace, but glances at me too.

"As long as it takes for them to get us." She stands straighter, spine rigid with faith and a warning to not doubt her, or by extension, the crew. I nod and look down again, cheek tipped against my legs as my eyes scrape over the stone beyond our bars. Once again, I mentally list the positives.

1: I'm with Lucy, who has experience in Narnia.

2: A group of merchants must be inexperienced with sword fighting compared to the Dawn Treader's crew.

3: The crew are a family who wouldn't leave anyone behind.

4: This would make an interesting book if I live through it.

Everything else I file behind a heavy door in my mind, chained so the innumerous worries won't break through and bury my measly optimism.

Lucy sits beside me. "Were you alone?" She whispers.

"Yes. I snuck off." She nods, satisfied.

"Where did they take Caspian and Edmund?" I ask through a lump in my throat. The worst possibilities sneak into view, teasing me as if they were a brash puppet show.

"The dungeons." My shoulders slump in relief. Nothing too bad can happen if they're locked away, unless that cage also contains a feral lion, which I heavily doubt. "They're going to sell us as slaves." She adds. Her eyes are drowned in fear, any previous hope diminished by the unspeakable possibilities that wait for us come morning.

I manoeuvre my hands the best I can around her shoulders. Before they threw me in the cell, they reshackled my arms in front, most likely so that I wouldn't dislocate my shoulder with the way they were stretched backwards. I wouldn't be a very good slave in that state. Lucy rests her head on my shoulder. "They're not going to sell us. We've got Drinian coming for us. And Reepicheep, and Marco, and Tavros. Who's going to stop Tavros from getting us, eh?" She laughs briefly. Their names bring an unexpected level of comfort. I hold them close to my heart as I turn to the window and watch the sky darken, eventually drifting into a dreamless sleep.