With Courage [Prince Caspian]

Chapter 7

I knock my head against the wall and suppress a scream.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven –

"Somebody looks grumpy." Marco jumps up onto the crate beside me and swings his legs nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side as he assesses me.

I imagine I look far worse than simply grumpy right now. After my sword training session with Caspian this morning, in which I was tested with an increased fervour following the events in Narrowhaven, I found the tightest space on deck where I could slip between some stable crates and the railing and wedged myself there for the day with only my sketchbook and a steadily rising temper for company.

After my third failed attempt at drawing the crow's nest I was ready to rip my hair out. After the fifth I was prepared to cut the bastard down for vengeance. Now, after the seventh, I'm a hairs width away from jumping ship completely and letting the ocean wash away my sense of complete failure. How unstable must I look huddled away in this corner bent over my knees to try and brace the biting wind, hair wild and face red, knuckles turned white as I clutch the book like my life depended on it?

Marco's eyes focus on the book. "Is there something wrong with it? Are the pencils bad?"

"No, no, they're perfect. I'm the problem, I'm out of practice." I grumble, running a hand over the cover in apology. It feels like such a waste to decorate valuable pages with unsightly scribbles but feels equally wasteful to not use it at all. At the very least, my anger towards my non-functional hand is better than several of my other options, like dwelling on issues I should keep buried within the deep recesses of my mind. Marco leans over and plucks it from my hands, flicking through my half-finished sketches.

"These are good!" He says.

I snatch the book back and hold it close to my chest. "They're rough." He sighs, watching me as I move to trace the vaguely deckled edges.

"I picked it out, you know." He nods to it and hums in pride. "Caspian was busy being a King, he makes it sound like such a chore..." I roll my eyes, unsuccessfully containing my laugh at the thought of Marco attempting the same role, but the mental image of him tripping over a long, furred cloak is cut short by Caspian emerging onto the deck. Marco's head swings around, eyes narrowing. Scheming.

Caspian. Me. The crow's nest. Me. Caspian.

He grins.

"Your Majesty!" Marco leaps from the crates and skips to Caspian who pauses mid-stride and smiles.

"Marco! How are you?"

"Fine, fine," He brushes him off. "Can Amber go up the crow's nest?" My heart falters at the thought, eyes drifting to the meagre basket perched high on the mast, suddenly looking more unstable than before. And yet... A spark of excitement, like an electric shock, jolts me into action. I stand up and catch Caspian's attention.

"Do you want to?" He asks.

"Am I allowed?" From what I've seen, not many crew members go up there. Five at most, and that's across a rotary system.

"Of course. If you're comfortable climbing the ratlines, that is?" I follow his sight to the ropes in question.

A lattice of thick, sturdy knots attached to a jutting platform off the side of the ship and secured at the base of the crow's nest to form a large, gridded triangle. I walk to the railing and look into the water – and the parallel drop that awaits me if I make a mistake climbing.

"And if I fall in the sea?"

"I'll fish you out." From over his shoulder, Marco nods enthusiastically.